Tony Partly Cloudy (9 page)

“TONY, ARE YOU SURE about this whole weather thing?” Jimmy asked one night. The poker game was over, but Jimmy had lingered after the others had left, accompanied only by the ever-present Eric.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, as he emptied ashtrays into a wastebasket.

“I just wondered if you were still dead set on doing... well, doing whatever it is that guys who study the weather do.”

Tony laughed. “There’s lots of stuff that those guys do. And the cool thing is, there’s jobs all over the country. Hell, all over the world. ‘Cause you know what the thing is about weather, Uncle Jimmy?”

Jimmy smiled. This was an old routine of Tony’s. “No, Tony,” he said, “tell me what the thing is about weather.”

Tony’s smile grew. “No matter where you go – they got weather there!” he announced, delighted with his pronouncement.

Jimmy smiled at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, Tony – I know,” he said. “I was just wondering, you know, if you’d ever think of coming to work for
me
.”

Tony had been gathering up empty beer cans, but now he stopped.

“Wow, Jimmy. I like hanging out with you and the guys, and you know I totally appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me. But I really want to do this – I’ve wanted my whole life to be, you know,
involved
somehow with the weather. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer.”

As Tony spoke, he became more and more uncomfortable. He liked Jimmy, and had come to think of him as a friend. But he had also never lost sight of what Jimmy was; what he did for a living. He knew he owed Jimmy a lot. And now he was worried that he might be forced to pay up.

Jimmy saw the flash of fear on Tony’s face. “Tony, relax,” he said. “I’m not pressuring you. Do you hear me? I am
not
pressuring you. That’s not why I asked you, understand?” Tony was relaxing somewhat, but didn’t look entirely convinced, so Jimmy continued.

“I just asked because I like you. I respect you. You’d be a great guy to have on my crew – I mean that.” Jimmy walked over to Tony and put a hand on his shoulder. “Tony, listen to me. I’m not ever going to try to keep you from pursuing this. You got me? I’m not going to do that. And that’s not what I was trying to do just now. I’m just letting you know – if you ever decide you want to work for me, you got a job. Guaranteed. That’s all I’m saying, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony said, smiling with relief. “I really appreciate that, Jimmy. That means a lot to me, sincerely. And if I don’t turn out to be the next Harold Taft, I may take you up on that.”

“Who the hell is Harold Taft?” Jimmy asked.

Tony’s eyes went wide. “Jeez, Jimmy – he’s like the household name of weather forecasting. Like the, you know, Mickey Mantle of weather.”

Jimmy laughed at the reverent tone Tony had adopted. “Household name of weather forecasting?” he said. “Tony, that’s what you call a genuine oxymoron.”

Tony didn’t think it was very nice to call Harold Taft an ox
or
a moron, but he knew better than to openly contradict Jimmy, particularly with Eric right there.

“Anyways,” Tony said, eager to redirect the conversation, “I really appreciate the offer. And I really enjoy these card games. I’m actually getting to where I don’t totally suck at poker!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jimmy said. “You still suck pretty bad.”

Tony laughed. “Not as bad as Nicky No Luck!”

“You may have a point there,” Jimmy said. Nicky “No Luck” Mancuso was possibly the worst poker player who had ever lived, a fact that didn’t diminish the man’s enthusiasm for the game, for reasons nobody else understood. Week after week he showed up at the Partly Cloudy Poker Club, and week after week he lost. But he was a good loser, told great stories, and always paid his debts immediately – you never even had to float him a ten-spot. So there were worse guys to have at your poker table.

Jimmy said, “Hey Tony, speaking of Nicky, I just remembered. We’re probably not going to do this next week.”

Tony’s surprise showed on his face. Outside of the holidays, Jimmy and his friends hadn’t missed a Thursday in nearly two years. “Okay, Jimmy,” he said, “whatever you say. Are you going to be out of town or something?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. But almost everybody else will be – I only know one other guy who can make it next week, and it would be pretty boring to have it just be the three of us.”

Tony shrugged, saying, “Yeah, I guess.” Then his face brightened, and he said, “But hey, Jimmy – it really depends on who it is, you know? I mean, who would the third guy be?”

“Danny Mouthwash,” Jimmy said with a grimace.

Tony cringed. “Oooooh – you’re right. That could make for a long freakin’ night.”

Danny was a skinny foul-tempered man whose nickname was doubly earned. In addition to having breath that could make a Bronx garbage man faint, he was legendary also for the
words
that came out of his mouth, which were if anything even more offensive. Like a verbal volcano, Danny’s mouth emitted a continuous spew of profanity of a quantity and quality that were unmatched, his utterances notable for the bizarre, often anatomically improbable expletives they contained.

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, “I don’t know if I could take a whole night of just you and Danny Mouthwash – no offense, Tony.”

“None taken.”

“I just can’t believe that out of all the guys I know, I can’t come up with a fourth player.”

Tony thought for a moment, then he leaned forward and whispered, “Hey, Jimmy – maybe we could ask...” Tony nodded toward Eric, who stood in his usual sentry position in front of the door.

Jimmy shook his head. “Think about it, Tony. Would you want to be anywhere near that guy when he loses a hand?”

Tony shuddered, shaking his head. If Eric overheard them, he showed no sign.

Tony snapped his finger. “Jimmy – I got it. What if we asked my pop? I bet he’d love to play.”

“Frankie B?” Jimmy smiled. “That’s not a half bad idea. Does he play poker?”

“Hell yeah,” said Tony. “He’s the one taught me to play.”

Jimmy smirked. “What did that take – like, five minutes?”

Tony shot him a look. Well, as much of a look as you could get away with, with a guy like Jimmy. Sure they were friends – even family, sort of – but this was still Jimmy Carbone.

Jimmy said, “Go ahead and ask him. If he’s into it, we’ll have ourselves a game next week. As long as Danny Mouthwash’s breath doesn’t fog up your old man’s glasses, that is.”

Frankie was into it. When Tony called his father the next day, he seemed delighted to have been invited. But he was surprised to learn Tony had been taking part in these games regularly. In the tight-lipped tradition of the family business, Frankie never asked Tony about his dealings with Jimmy Carbone, nor did Tony volunteer any information. So while Frankie was aware that Jimmy and his associates made occasional visits to his son’s apartment, he had no idea that the powerful gangster had actually become poker buddies with his son. He figured Tony just acted as a waiter, refilling drinks and emptying ashtrays. He felt a combination of pride and envy as Tony described the social traditions of the Partly Cloudy Poker Club.

But the name stopped him. “What the fuck is the Partly Cloudy Poker Club?” Frankie demanded, his voice crackling over the phone. Tony figured his mother must not have been nearby, since Frankie wasn’t watching his language.

Tony laughed. “Oh, that’s on account of my nickname. They been calling me Tony Partly Cloudy. You know, like Joey Bag of Donuts?”

Smiling despite himself, Frankie immediately saw the beauty of the nickname, and started to chuckle. “Tony Partly Cloudy,” he repeated. Then he stopped. “Wait a goddamn minute. They ain’t calling
me
that shit, are they? They better not—”

“Pops – relax!” Tony said hastily. “They don’t call you that. Relax. I mean, they know better than to call you that. No, you’re Frankie B – just like always.” Hearing no response from his father, Tony pressed on. “And they don’t mean any disrespect. I kinda like the name, you know? I think it’s funny. And it’s a hell of a lot better than some boring name like Big Tony or Tony the Tiger or something. But it’s kinda cool to be called
something
. I mean, let’s face it – there’s not exactly a shortage of Tony’s in our neck of the woods.”

“Yeah, you got that right,” Frankie said. Tony relaxed when he heard his father’s casual tone.

“Anyways,” Tony said, “It should be fun. I always have a good time with these guys. I mean, there’s a couple of them that sometimes give me a little attitude. But Jimmy kinda watches out for me, and doesn’t let them give me too much shit, you know?”

“That’s good, Tony. You know to watch your mouth around these guys, right?”

“Yeah, Pops, absolutely. I mean, I joke around with them some, but I’d never be stupid enough to really bust anybody’s balls or nothing.”

“Good,” Frankie said. “Just keep in mind who you’re playing with. Speaking of which, who all’s going to be at the game?”

“Probably just you, me, Jimmy, and this guy Danny Mattioli.”

“You’re shitting me. Danny Mouthwash?”

“That’s the one,” Tony said.

“Jesus, the mouth on that guy. I took your mother to Antonio’s Bistro one time, you know, for a special dinner – I think it was her birthday or something. Anyway, that guy Danny is at the next table, and the shit he’s saying to his pals – Christ, I couldn’t believe it. And your mother – you
know
how she is about that shit. She made me take her home. We had to take our meals home in goddamn doggie bags.”

Tony heard the metallic clink of Frankie’s Zippo, and waited, knowing that somewhere another Marlboro was meeting its maker. Finally Frankie let out a long breath, and continued.

“Your mother kept saying,
if you don’t tell that man to watch his mouth, you’re going to have to take me home
. Jesus, was she mad. I tried to explain to her that you can’t just walk up to a made guy like that and tell him to watch his mouth, but she wasn’t having it. So we finally had to leave.”

Tony laughed. “Well, I definitely can’t see inviting her to one of our poker games.”

Frankie was laughing now, too. “Christ – can you imagine?”

Tony was surprised to find himself laughing and bullshitting with his father. It was like Frankie was starting to treat him like a man, not a kid. It was nice.

“So anyways,” Tony said, “I guess it will just be the four of us. Well, the four of us and Eric. That’s the guy drives Jimmy around and stuff. He’s cool, but he doesn’t play cards or hang out with us. He just sort of keeps an eye on things. You know who that is, Pops?”

“Eric? Yeah, I’ve seen him around. Big fella, right?”

“Big like you can’t believe. But he’s nice to me. And I’m
real
freakin’ nice to him!”

“Smart move,” Frankie said. “Weird name, though. Is he Italian? I never met no Italian named Eric before.”

Tony said, “Yeah I wondered about that, too. Usually a guy like that has some nickname like Tiny or Moose or something. But nobody calls him anything other than Eric. I finally asked Jimmy about it. Turns out Eric is half Italian. But his mother was Swedish or Norwegian or something, and wouldn’t let the father give him a normal Italian name. So he’s just Eric. And he’s probably the biggest guy I ever seen.”

“So I probably shouldn’t try to arm wrestle him, eh, Tony?” Frankie said with a laugh.

“Oh Jesus, Pops – don’t even joke about it!” Tony’s tone was urgent, startling Frankie. “I forgot to tell you, whatever you do, do
not
touch Eric. Don’t even shake hands. Nothing. You got that?”

“Okay okay, Tony, I got it. I was just kidding around. No big deal.”

“I know, Pops. But Eric? He’s just not the kind of guy anybody kids around with, know what I’m saying?”

“I got you. No funny business with the gorilla.”

“He’s not like that, either, Pops. He’s just – I don’t know – kinda
sensitive
, I guess.”

“Relax, Tony. I’ll be cool. I mean, who taught you how to act around these guys?”

“You did, Pops.”

“And I’m always telling you to watch yourself, right? Did I teach to you look out for yourself or what?”

“Yeah, you did. And I’m grateful – it’s really paying off. I probably never said nothing before, but I’ll say it now: thanks. Thanks for everything, Pops.”

Frankie was uncharacteristically silent. Tony assumed he must be lighting up another smoke, but he didn’t hear the Zippo being fired up.

Finally Frankie spoke. “Yeah, well, hey – enough of all this. We sound like a couple of women. I got stuff to do, and you should probably be studying, am I right? So I’ll see you Thursday night. You’ll call me if anything changes, right? Do I need to bring anything – some beer or something?”

“Nah, I always take care of that,” said Tony. “Hell, it’s the least I could do, with them setting me up here and all.”

Tony suddenly realized what he had just said. He hoped it would slip past Frankie.

“You
always
take care of it?” Frankie said.

Crap – it hadn’t slipped past him.

“Tony, if I remember correctly, you just turned twenty-one. How the hell have you been buying—”