The old immigrant cultures, I reflected, still exerted a powerful influence on their people and on American society. But truly they were losing their identity as they became homogenized, and ironically they were losing their power as they filled the vacuum created by the so-called decline of the Wasp. But more important, back there in the shadows, somewhere in the outer boroughs, were the new immigrants, the future that neither Frank Bellarosa nor I understood or wished to contemplate.

As the car approached the skyline of Manhattan, Bellarosa said to me, "You have a good time today?"

"It was interesting."

"Yeah. Sometimes I have to just get out and see these people. You know? To see that everybody's still out there. I've been losing touch, kind of holed up at Alhambra. You can't do that. You go out there and if somebody wants to take a pop at you, then at least you went down out on the street, and not holed up someplace waiting for them to corner you. You know?" "Yes, I do. But do you need a lawyer along while you're tempting fate?"

"No. I need a friend."

I had several sarcastic replies right on the tip of my tongue, but I said nothing, which said it all.

He added, "I'm gonna make you into an honorary Italian like Jack Weinstein. You like that?"

"Sure, as long as that doesn't make me an honorary target." He sort of laughed, but I think he was finding less humour in the subject of his assassination. He did say, however, "I talked to some people. You got nothing to worry about. You're still a civilian."

Great news. And I trusted these people, right? Well at least they probably all belonged to the rifle club and were good marksmen. I surely hoped so.

CHAPTER 31

We went back to the Plaza Hotel. Bellarosa gave Vinnie and Lenny the night off, and Frank and I ordered dinner in the suite.

As we ate at the table in the dining area, we made small talk, mostly about vegetables and real estate. I sliced my steak, and as I did so, I wondered what new and exciting course my life would take if I plunged my steak knife into Bellarosa's heart.

I think he was reading my thoughts because he said, "You know, Counsellor, you're probably thinking that your life is getting fucked up and you think I fucked it up for you. Wrong. You fucked yourself up and you did it before you ever laid eyes on me."

"Maybe. But you're not part of the solution."

"Sure I am. I helped you get rid of all the bullshit in your life. So now you got to go on."

"Thank you."

"Yeah. You think I'm some kind of dumb greaseball. Wrong again." I was getting a little annoyed with this guy now. I said, "Stupid people think you're stupid. I know better."

He smiled. "Yeah. It's an old Italian trick. Claudius did it to save his life before he became emperor. There's a guy in my business up in the Bronx – you know the guy – he's been acting simple-minded for ten years because the feds are on his case. You know? But Ferragamo is stupid and he thinks I'm stupid, so I surprise him every time, but he's too stupid to get it." He laughed. We went back to our steaks and didn't speak until coffee, then he asked me, "You ever play dumb?"

"Sometimes."

"Like, I mean, you know something, but you don't let on you know. You hold on to it until the right time. You don't go off hot and get yourself hurt. You wait." I replied, "Sometimes I never let on. Sometimes I just let the other guy go crazy wondering if I know."

He nodded appreciatively. "Yeah. Like what, for instance? Give me a for instance."

We looked at each other across the table, and I replied, "Like the bullshit with the IRS, Frank. You told Melzer to go to his friends in the IRS and see if they could find something on me, and they did. Then you turn me on to Melzer, who fixes things for me, and I owe you a favour. You're a real pal." He played around with his dessert and didn't reply.

I asked, "But what if I hadn't come to you with the problem?"

He shrugged.

"Then," I said, "you'd find another problem for me. Or maybe I'd need another kind of favour from you, like the variance for the stables. I'm not sure that was a coincidence or a set-up, but apparently you have my wife's ear, so you can get to me through her."

The man obviously knew there was trouble between Susan and me, and if he had a conscience at all, it was a guilty one. In fact, he actually looked uncomfortable. I mean, beyond class differences and political differences, and ethnic and racial tensions, and all the other problems that people have with one another in society, the most primitive and elemental cause of violence, murder, and mayhem is sexual possessiveness. To put it more simply, people get angry when other people are fucking or trying to fuck their mate. Anyway, Bellarosa must have been feeling a little uneasy or he wouldn't have prodded me into the subject to see my reaction. He looked at me, waiting to see, I think, if I was actually going to broach the subject of him and Susan. But since it was he who was feeling a little uneasy, not me, I decided to leave him hanging awhile longer.

Without a word, I stood and went to the sideboard on which were a few dozen telephone messages, one of which was from Susan advising me that she'd changed her telephone number. I suppose the media were getting to her, not to mention our friends and relatives. I threw the message with the new phone number in the wastebasket and left the suite.

Down in the lobby, I was accosted by none other than Jenny Alvarez, the lady in red, except that she was not wearing red that evening. "Hello, Mr Sutter," she said.

She was, in fact, wearing a black silk dress, sort of an evening dress, I guess, as if she'd just come from dinner. She really looked good, and I wanted to ask her if we'd spent the night together, but it seemed like a silly question, so I just replied, "Hello."

"Can I buy you a drink?" she asked.

"I don't drink."

"Coffee?"

"I'm in a bit of a hurry."

She seemed hurt, and I began to believe we really had spent the night together. I'm a lot of things, but a cad isn't one of them, so I accepted the offer of a drink, and we went into the Oak Bar and got a table. She ordered a scotch and soda, and I made it two. She said, "I saw the statements you made to the newspapers this morning."

"I didn't know TV journalists read the papers. Or read at all."

"Don't be a snot."

"Okay."

"Anyway, I'd like to do an interview with you."

"I don't think so."

"It won't take long. We can do it right here in the Plaza, live for the eleven-o'clock news."

"I'd be dead for the morning news."

She laughed as though this were a joke. This was not a joke. She said, "Could you get Mr Bellarosa to join you?"

"I think not."

"Maybe we could tape an in-depth interview and run it on our nightly news show at eleven-thirty. That's a national show. That would give you both an opportunity to present your side of the case."

"We're actually going to present our side in court."

So we went on in this vein for a while, Ms Alvarez thinking I was playing hard to get, and I, to be honest, not blowing her off because I was enjoying the company. She had nice full lips.

We ordered a second round. She could not comprehend, of course, that not everyone in America wanted to be on television. Finally, growing a little weary with her obsessive badgering, I said, "I had a dream last night that I slept with you."

She seemed like a tough sort of lady who'd heard it all before, but this took her by surprise, and she actually got flustered. I was smitten. I said, "Look, Ms Alvarez – can I call you Jenny?"

"Yes."

"Look, Jenny, you must know that these people don't appear on TV shows. You have a better chance of getting the Premier of the Soviet Union on your show than getting Frank Bellarosa."