Shit, it's locked. I don't remember locking the sonofabitch.
He found the key and unlocked the glove compartment, and exhaled audibly with relief. The Flamingo Hotel amp; Casino envelope was still there, right where he'd shoved it when he got in the car.
He took it out and glanced into it. There was enough light from the tiny glove compartment bulb to see the comforting thick wad of fifties and hundreds. He closed the envelope and stuck it in his pocket.
; Not that much of it is still mine anymore.
I know goddamned well 1 didn't lock that compartment. Maybe, this is a Caddy, after all, it locks automatically.
He closed the glove compartment door, slid back across the seat behind the wheel, put the ignition key in, and started the engine.
Starts right fucking off! There really is nothing like a Caddy.
He backed out of the parking slot, noticed that the old Olds the Spic kid drove was still there. Well, at least he knew what he was doing in the Airport Unit. The little fucker was too dumb to pass the detective's exam, and too little to be a real Highway Patrolman, so they eased him out. They tossed him Airport Unit as a bone. He wondered if the little Spic was smart enough to know how lucky he was to be in Airport; they could just as easily have sent him to one of the districts, or somewhere else really shitty.
Vito decided he would be nice to the kid. Make sure he knows what a good deal he had fallen into. He might come in useful sometime.
He drove up South Broad Street and then made an illegal left turn onto Spruce.
What the hell it was after midnight, there was no traffic, and he was in his uniform, nobody was going to give him a ticket, even if some cop saw him.
He did decide to put the Caddy in a parking garage. If he didn't, sure as Christ made little apples, some asshole, jealous of the Caddy, would run a key down the side or across the hood. Or steal the fucking hubcaps.
When he parked the car, he remembered this was the garage where the mob blew away a guy, one of their own, who had pissed somebody off. Tony the Zee DeZego. They got him with a shotgun.
Tony met him at the door of her apartment in a negligee. Nicelooking one. Vito had never seen her in it before.
"You didn't have to wait up for me, baby," Vito said.
"I went to bed," she said, kissing him, but moving her body away when he tried to slip his hand under the negligee, "but Uncle Joe called me, and then I couldn't get back to sleep."
"What did he want?"
"He's worried about those markers you signed at Oaks and Pines Lodge."
"Why should he be worried? I'm good for them. And he set it up too, didn't he?"
"Well, that's what happened. He didn't set it up. They just thought he did. But because he sent you there, they told him they were holding him responsible. So he's worried. Six thousand dollars is a lot of money."
"Hey! I'm good for it. I got it in my pocket. You call him up and ask if he wants me to come over there right now with it, or whether he can wait until the morning."
"I'm sure it will be okay," Tony said.
"Call him!" Vito said. "Tell him the only reason I didn't make those markers good sooner was that I had to work."
"Okay, honey," Tony said. "Whatever you say."
****
Penelope Detweiler, wearing only the most brief of underpants, her naked bosom bouncing not at all unattractively, was chasing Matthew M. Payne around the upstairs sitting room of the Detweiler mansion in Chestnut Hill when the doorbell, actually a rather unpleasant-sounding buzzer, went off.
Matt Payne sat up in his bed suddenly.
Who the hell is that?
He looked up at the ceiling, where a clever little clock his sister Amy had given him projected the time by a beam of light. It was almost half past one.