Free Only Child by Andrew Vachss Page A

doing forever, and you never know. So, what the hell, let's eliminate the possibility ."

"What happened," the Italian said, his voice almost religious with conviction, "is that the feds planted that word. It's perfect. You hear you're on the spot, what're you going to do? Sit down with the boss, ask him, 'Hey, you got a hit out on me?' You got no place to run, because you been around the same people all your life and that's all you know. You know how easy it is to get someone done in prison. The only safe harbor is to make a deal with the feds. And since you got so much to trade . . ."

"Maybe so," I said.

"You don't sound convinced."

"I wasn't there. You know where I was once? In a war. That war's been over for a while. Guess which side gets to say who was in the right?"

"Verdad," the Latin said. "Same as in my country."

"This isn't fucking history, " the Italian said, his voice tight as piano wire. "This is right now. Today. Look at how the feds use the super-maxes. Pelican Bay, they lock you down for being a gang member. Then they tell you, right to your face, you're staying there until you get out of the car, all right? Only thing is, you do it, you have to prove it. And how do you do that ? The only way they accept is, you turn rat. Give some people up." He stopped talking, closed his eyes so hard the corners crinkled. The way you do if you don't know the technique to fight a headache. "So, if they want to kill a man, all they have to do is fucking put him back in population, am I right?"

"Yes," I said, waiting.

The Italian did his breathing thing again. I ground out my cigarette, stayed patient.

"There's a new twist on that game," he finally said. "The way this one works, you put word out that someone's already cooperating."

"When he's not?"

"When he's not; right."

"What's the gain for them? Getting someone whacked?"

"No. They don't want the guy whacked. What they want is for the rumor they planted to be true. To be come true, see?"

"What you're talking about, it's too delicate. Valachi was a gift, dropped in their laps. They could never be sure a hit would miss."

"Exactly! But what if the guy got a warning first?"

"A warning not to rat? That doesn't make any sense. The way you're laying it out, the cops would already know he's not."

"It would make sense if the warning came from . . . people who weren't sure, maybe. But worried . . ."

"You've lost me now," I said, telling the truth.

I caught the glance between them again. Went back to waiting.

"Fuck it," the Italian said again. Not angry, resigned. "I got a daughter. By a . . . girl I knew when I was a kid. It was an outside-the-tribe thing, you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes."

"The girl, when she told me, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't ask anybody, either. I offered her money to get rid of it, but she wouldn't. I even didn't feel right about that myself. Abortion— by the church, that's murder. I was just getting some traction then. I wasn't made or anything, but I was on my way; sure thing. What was I going to tell my people? What was my mother going to say? 'Oh, my Giovanni don't live here no more. He's over in the Village, married to a moolingiane . I got a beautiful granddaughter, too. Sweetest little half-breed you ever saw.' That was all the choice I had.

"The girl, she wasn't some whore I had on the side. She was . . . a very pure person. I was the first man she'd ever been with. I had . . . feelings for her, for real.

"But if I went with her, that was the end of everything. I'd end up like one of those robots from my old neighborhood. Ride the subway to work every day. Hope you get on with the union; be like every good paisan with a steady jay-oh-bee. Keep some tomatoes out back, some pigeons on the roof, maybe. Play some bocce, get a weekend in Atlantic City once in a while. Once a year, two weeks in Florida; do some fishing or whatever. Always making payments on something. What's all