“You think?” Donatti laughed. “You’re your mother’s son. If your ear wasn’t as good as it is, I’d swear that your mom fucked some other tall guy while I was penned up. Your face is easy to read, and if I can read you, Gabe, so can Decker.”

“I swear I won’t say anything. What more do you want from me?”

Donatti was silent for a minute or two. Then he said, “Give me three days to disappear. I can make my trail go cold in three days, okay.”

“Okay.”

“After that, I want you to tell him that we talked. Tell him I came so I could give you all the shit that I gave you. And tell him I didn’t do it. But don’t tell him about the fight and don’t tell him about the dude who I paid off. Let him figure it out himself. Agreed?”

“Whatever you want, Chris. You call the shots.”

“That’s what I want.”

“I’ll do and say whatever you want me to do as long as you didn’t hurt Mom.”

“When I left her, she was alive. I swear on my mother’s grave, that’s the truth.”

“Then it’s a done deal.”

Donatti laid a meaty hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay?”

“I’m fine.” In fact he was relieved by his father’s admission. Of course, his mom was still missing. But at this moment in time, it suited him best to believe Chris.

Donatti took a final puff on his second cigarette and dropped it into the cup as well. “You know you’re in good hands. Better than with me. We both know that.”

“I’d be fine with you, Chris. I’m okay wherever I am.”

“That girl you’re hanging with…She’s Decker’s daughter, right?”

“Right.”

“You should fuck her.”

Gabe felt his face go hot. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Donatti paused. “Are you queer?”

“No, I’m not queer.”

“I wouldn’t care if you were.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” The truth. His father was probably bi-sexual. Often, when his mom was working late or out of town, Gabe saw Chris taking the young boys as well as the young girls who “worked” for him into the bedroom. Chris Donatti fucked anything that moved.

“You still a virgin?”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Yes or no?”

“Chris, no guy over fourteen at St. Luke’s is still a virgin.” That was also the truth. It was a ritual: one of the upper-class girls from St. Beatrix would do you in her car. His first time had about as much complexity as a piano rendition of “Heart and Soul.” She had liked him and offered to do him again. She was funny-looking but he still said okay. He, like his dad, never had trouble getting girls.