The Gathering (34 page)

A strange look crept over Johnny’s face. He had not expected any sort of measured response. He had been trying to goad his guest into some sort of outburst, or at least into losing his self-control. Seemingly, he was not succeeding. “Viking? What Viking?”

“You ought to hire a more dependable clipping service.”

“Clipping service?”

“You know: The guys who snip gossipy items and send them to you for your edification. The people you’ve got now couldn’t find an elephant with a nosebleed in a snowbank.”

“What?” Piccolo looked sullen. This was not going the way he’d planned.

Alice appeared in the doorway. “Dinner’s ready.” It was said without much confidence.

Piccolo bounded up from the couch. There was no indication of wooziness of any sort. Dudgeon seemed to have neutralized the effect of the alcohol.

He strode into the dining room, brushing by Alice, who shrank back, looked appealingly at Manny, then scurried after her husband. Obviously she had experienced this sort of treatment before.

After some hesitation, Manny followed. Arriving at table, he concluded that Alice had made an excellent presentation. That brief glance was all he saw of the dinner.

Johnny picked up a platter filled with delicious-looking meatloaf. Without a word, he flung it at Alice, who ducked in a practiced manner. The platter hit the wall, hurling the sliced pièce de résistance in every direction. The wall now resembled a modern expressionist exhibit.

Johnny kicked at Alice’s buttocks, knocking her to the floor. “Stay where you are, you slut,” he yelled, “and clean up this mess! You’re not even capable of being a scullery maid!”

“Wait a minute, buddy …” Manny stepped forward.

Johnny, now completely out of control, turned and hurled the contents of his drink in Manny’s face.

Before Manny could recover, Johnny was all over him. Manny went down with Johnny atop him. They scuffled, rolling from the table to the wall and back again, with dishes crashing down each time their bodies bumped against the table legs.

The combatants didn’t speak, merely grunted as they invested every bit of strength they had in the battle. Johnny, larger and more powerful, was getting the upper hand. Manny could think only that he was rapidly losing this fight.

Alice was sobbing her heart out. Manny heard the sound. He knew then that he could not lose this fight. No telling how far Johnny might go or what he was capable of. The state he was in, he might even kill Manny and/or Alice.

Manny tried to free his arms, which Johnny held in a firm grip. Manny’s reserve strength was nearing its limit. At this point, the winner would be the man with the greater desire.

Manny pulled free of Johnny and, dynamized with the same passion he’d felt in his previous fights, began pummeling, left and right fists, again and again. Now, naked aggression superseded mere self-defense. Manny was determined to ensure that his opponent would be in no shape to fight any further. If that involved Johnny’s death—so be it. In his frenzy, Manny didn’t recognize that Johnny was already dangerously injured.

Manny felt a tentative touch on his cheek. No more; just a soft touch. He stopped punching, pulled back, and surveyed the damage. It was considerable.

The dining room furniture was scratched and nicked; the chairs close to kindling. Alice’s battered face was streaked with tears. The walls and carpet were splattered with food, blood, and sweat.

“Are you all right?” Manny gasped.

Alice nodded. “How about Johnny?”

Manny regarded his adversary. Piccolo was breathing. That was a relief. He might well not have been. “I think he won’t be conscious before we get out of here. Even if he does come to, believe me, he won’t have any fight left.”

“‘We’?” Alice repeated, confused. “‘We get out of here’? What … ?”

Manny noticed for the first time that some of the shed blood was his own. He also noted that in previous fights, he’d had to be forceably dragged off the loser. This time it had taken only a gentle touch from Alice to stop him.

“Manny, you’ve got to leave. John will be furious.”

“I think I kicked the fury out of him.”

“He’s got guns—”

“Where?”

“Under lock and key … somewhere, I don’t know.”

Manny considered this. A gun could change the complexion of the situation. “Get your things together. Quick!”

“I can’t leave. I’m his wife.”

“We’ll see about that. If I let you stay here now, he’d probably kill you. He’d probably kill me too. I think leaving is a better alternative. Take only what you need. C’mon,” he said insistently. “I’ll help you.”

Alice hesitated. But Manny was right: Both of them had to be gone before John came to. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

While Alice collected the essentials, Manny had time to think, if briefly. What had he done? Did he have to solve everything with his fists? What kind of monster had he become?

Wait a minute: This was classic self-defense. He had fought for his life—literally.

Over the long haul, he was making enemies. Tough guys who could think they had reason to maybe kill him. He was going to have to do something about that.

But first, take care of Alice.

After stowing Alice’s luggage in the trunk, Manny gently helped her into the front seat, then went around and slid behind the wheel. Before starting the car, he turned to look at her. “Shouldn’t we get you to a hospital? That eye doesn’t look so good.”

“It’ll be okay. It’s happened before. It’ll go down given a little time. When it’s safe to travel around, I’ll see my doctor.”

“This has happened before?”

“Uh-huh.” She was embarrassed. “It’s my fault.”

“
Your
fault!” You mean what he did to your meal and to you was
your
fault?”

“I just don’t measure up. So he kicks me around a bit. But he always forgives me.”

Manny shook his head. “Do you have a family doctor?”

“Yes. Dr. Laura Gaynes.”

“When Johnny kicks you around, he leaves scars and bruises?”

“Most of the time.”

“Your doctor sees the bruises?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“What does she say about them?”

“They’re always superficial. I heal quickly.”

“That’s it? The doctor patches you up and sends you back for more?”

Alice tried to smile, but one side of her face hurt too much. “No. She’s been after me from the beginning to leave him. She’s disgusted with me.”

“You get it from every side, don’t you?”

“It’s my fault.”

“We’ve got to do something about that attitude of yours. But first, we’ve got to take you someplace safe.”

“Where?”

“That’s what I’ve been working on. I think … yeah … let’s go home.”

Neither Fredo nor Maria Tocco had gone to bed. They were watching the small-screen television that was, for them, a brand-new entertainment package.

Manny let himself in and held the door for Alice. He called to his parents. They could tell from his tone that this was not an ordinary visit. All they needed was one look at Manny and Alice, and they knew something was wrong. Alice was one of “the six.” They had attended her wedding. Of course she was welcome in their house.

Manny explained what had happened. He was going to have to deal with Johnny Piccolo. But for now, until they could enlist the help of Alice’s parents, she needed a safe place to stay. The Tocco guest room would be reclaimed from the den.

Fortunately, Manny had found a sympathetic hearing. Maria fixed them something to eat, although neither he nor Alice had much of an appetite.

The next day the process that would lead to a divorce was begun.

Johnny waged a furious battle to retrieve and reclaim his favorite punching bag. But in the face of threatened testimony from her doctor, the neighbors, and several employees in the law firm, he eventually realized he didn’t stand a chance.

Alice asked for and got nothing from Johnny. She wanted only to be free and have time to recuperate. Manny, in their final meeting, told Johnny that if he wanted to think of Manny as a Knight in Shining Armor, or as Sir Lancelot, no matter. But if Johnny ever touched Alice again—if he even so much as looked at her cross-eyed … well, a smart lawyer like him would have meticulously planned for a lavish funeral.

In time, Alice was granted the uncontested divorce. Meanwhile, Manny had informed Bob, Stan, and Mike. Alice herself told Sister Marie Agnes, who was heartbroken for her.

But life continued.

Bob Koesler was ordained and began his first assignment at an east-side Detroit parish. Mike and Stan were made deacons and began their final year at St. John’s. Bob was inwardly convinced that the seminary had seen the last of Manny Tocco. Manny and Alice were spending so much time together that they had become an “item” to those who knew them well.

And, indeed, they did fall in love, and thought of marrying. But there was the matter of a previous marriage and the necessity for a decree of nullity.

Church law regarding marriage was taught in the seminary’s final year. Manny was not there for the study. He was aware, however, that an annulment was not easy to obtain. The services of a priest were required to get a couple through this legal maze.

Neither Manny nor Alice wanted to ask Father Bob (as they chose to address him) for help. Which was no reflection on his competence. It was just that they were all too close—something like a doctor’s reluctance to operate on a family member.

Manny had heard Stan speak of Father Ed Simpson. Something about how he’d gotten Stan into the seminary. They asked for an appointment. Reluctantly, Father Simpson agreed to see them. Stan was close to ordination now and Simpson, prematurely, was planning his new life in a desirable parish. If Tocco had not been close to Stan, Father Simpson would have refused to even see him. And that on sound grounds, since neither Alice nor Manny was a member of Guadalupe parish. After all, there was always the possibility that Tocco might do something to upset Benson’s—and thus Father Simpson’s—applecart.

But after hearing Alice’s case, Simpson knew that her getting an annulment was another definition of Fat Chance.

Alice and Johnny were Catholic; neither had been previously married, neither had denied the other the right to have children, neither had held a gun on the other to force marriage. Wifebeating might belong in the confessional or the counseling office, but was not an impediment that would make a marriage null and void from its very inception.

Going down the short list of conditions that might favor a declaration of nullity, Father Simpson found theirs an open and shut case. A little too open and shut for the two young people. A more sensitive and caring priest would have let them down more gently. Simpson was not such a priest.

Manny was not the type to brood over a decision. He did not think Jesus would be so tight in making rules and regulations for people whose only crime was that they truly loved each other.

Alice and Manny considered it, discussed it, argued over it, prayed over it, and finally reached a decision. They were married by a judge, the ceremony witnessed by two surprised but delighted secretaries who had been passing the judge’s chambers at the time.

In the eyes of civil law, Alice and Manny were married. In the eyes of the Church, they were excommunicated. And as such they were no longer welcome in the homes of the Toccos, the Smiths, the McManns, the Koeslers, and even the Bensons.

Of the clique, only Mike Smith joined in the shunning. The others, for their own peculiar reasons, could not break off their long friendship. Still, the unconditional acceptance no longer existed.

   
TWENTY-FIVE