“I know you went to Florida. I don’t care if you want to go to Florida, Jesus, everyone wants to go to Florida, but don’t you think you could tell your old man what you’re doing? What, you’re a hot shit all of a sudden? You don’t tell me what you’re doing no more?”

“Thought you were pissed at me.”

“I am pissed at you. For running down to kagotz without telling me.”

“I thought you were pissed before that, though.”

“For what?”

“Didn’t you get a letter from Mort?”

“What, you think I’m gonna believe that cocksucking bastard? I raised you better than that, Dildo. Your Mr. Mort’s gonna have two broke hands the next time he lies about any kid of mine. I knew you ain’t done none of that shit he said. They can’t fool the guy who raised you.”

“Hold it,” I said. “Are you telling me that Caveech was the one who broke Mort’s arm?”

“I got nothing to do with it. Your old man’s a straight shooter. Had nothing to do with you neither. They owed Caveech money. You’re lucky you got in when you did, though, because now he’s all paid up and the school don’t want nothing to do with him. For Christ sakes, Caveech couldn’t get one of them genius Japs in there if his life depended on it.”

Shorty brought the drinks all the way over to the booth, something I’d never seen him do for anyone.

“This your first martini?” the old man asked.

“No.” I downed it in one gulp. “We used to do martini shooters.”

“Holy shit.”

I wanted to order another immediately. Didn’t feel comfortable with this man-to-man stuff.

“I’ll always back you up when you’re right, Dildo. I always told your teachers they could give you a backhand if you ever got out of line—and I believe in that—but I never told no one they could smack you for no reason.”

“I appreciated that.”

“Listen, wiseguy, the family always comes first with me,” he said. “Anything I ever done was for the family. Remember that. The family comes first.”

I nodded.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

I looked around uncomfortably.

“You always think I’m out to screw you or I’m lying to you,” he said. “You think it’s my fault that your blessed mother killed herself.”

“I never said that.”

“But you never said nothing. You think it, though. Let me tell you something. God knows I tried to help your mother. I was a young guy when we got married, not much older than you now. What are you, eighteen, nineteen?”

“Seventeen.”