he wasn’t going to do the simple thing and kill himself, he might as well do the decent thing and carve out a life worth the effort of living.
He made contacts, talked his way into deals and scams, made sure he had something to go to when he left, jobs which would lead to others and start the ball rolling again. It took years to pull himself back up. The big guns didn’t trust him—he’d cracked once, they figured, and might again. He was a risk. But he kept at it, moved from one job to another, proved his worth, clawed his way up the ladder until he was in a position to put forward ideas and initiate his own deals. He employed a few thugs, bought a couple of suits, invested in guns and was back in business.
He built it up over the next few years, expanding his territory, crushing weaker opponents, advancing slowly but surely. When he felt secure, he decided to bring in an heir, someone to carry on when he was gone. In the absence of a son he chose one of his many nephews. He spent a few months sizing them up, then settled for one with a touch of the wicked in his features, with what might prove to be steel in his blood, with a will to succeed at any cost. The nephew he chose was Capac Raimi. Me.
Theo wanted to be angry with me for arriving late, and he was scowling as the cab pulled away, stranding me at the foot of the house. But he was too excited to remain hostile, and by the time I was halfway up the steps he was grinning like a kid at a birthday party.
He threw his arms around my body and clutched me tightly. For a small, skinny guy he had a lot of strength. When he released me I was astonished to see him weeping. That was one thing I hadn’t expected from a hardened, twice-come gangster like Theo Boratto. He wiped the tears away with a trembling hand and sobbed, “My boy, my boy.” Then, sniffling and smiling weakly, he led me into the house, shutting the door gently behind us.
In the sitting room, with the lights up full and a real log fire spitting tongues of flame up the chimney, I got my first good look at him. It had been years since our last encounter. I could hardly remember what he looked like. It was as if we were meeting for the first time.
There wasn’t much to him. He was no more than five foot six, slim, very haggard. There was a part in his hair that Moses would have been proud of, a long stretch of skull with a few brownish spots. The hair at the sides was gray and smartly cut. He blinked a lot, eyes of an owl, and it was nearly impossible at times to see the globes behind the shutters. He was clean-shaven, with the shining skin of a man who shaved at least twice a day. His suit was conservative. Light leather shoes, a red handkerchief ornamentally placed in the upper left pocket. The perfect picture of a stereotype gangster. All he was missing was the slit-skirt moll with a sneer and a drooping cigarette.
“What do you think of the city?” he asked when we were comfortable.
“Couldn’t see much of it,” I admitted. “It was raining.”
“It’s huge,” he said. “Growing all the time, like a cancer.” He paused, maybe thinking of death and Melissa. “I’m glad to see you, Capac. I’ve been alone so long. I always hoped I’d have a son to take over, but things didn’t… You know the story.
“Things have been bleak ever since,” he continued. “I don’t mean the business—that’s grown nicely. I’m talking about family. Family’s what really matters. I’ve been alone since Melissa. My brothers never followed me into the business. They went to college, got proper jobs, real lives. We were never close. My sisters… they write me now and again.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m a lonely old man. Nobody to live with, nobody to live for.” He leaned forward, patted my knee and smiled. “Until now.
“What do you drink?” he asked, getting up. “Tea, coffee, wine?”
“A beer if it’s going.”
“Always!” He laughed and fetched a couple of bottles from the fridge. I gulped most of mine with one thirsty swig and sighed happily. It seemed an eternity since my last one. Theo went slower