Charlie Stella - Charlie Opera

Cuccia wiped drool from the corners of his mouth. “Hey, you pull it off, this Pellecchia prick and Rizzi when we get back home, I’ll bring it to my uncle. I’ll see I can’t get you made without waiting around the rest of your life.”

A smile crossed Francone’s face. Cuccia shot him a wink before he looked down at the pool again. The big man had moved. Cuccia could see the woman in the pink thong again.

“The things I could do with that,”he said.

Francone scouted the men at the pool for muscle competition. He focused on one guy who was huge. “Steroid freak,” he said.

“Huh?”

“The guy down there. He’s juiced.”

Cuccia furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh, Joey, you got nothin’ better to look at down there?”

Jerry Lercasi fixed his grip on an Olympic bar as he lay on the bench under the weight. He sucked in air as he tightened his grip. He gasped loudly and pushed the bar off the rack. He steadied the weight before lowering it and blew out air as he pushed the bar from his chest. He did it again and again, in slow, measured repetitions, before reracking the bar.

“Morning, Hercules,” Detective Albert Iandolli said.

Lercasi was wiping sweat from his forehead with a Vive la Body hand towel. He looked up from the bench to frown at the organized crime detective.

“The steroids do anything for your dick?” Iandolli asked.

Lercasi stood up from the bench. He was a few inches shorter than the detective. His body was well defined with muscle. He made a point of flexing his biceps as he wiped sweat from his neck with the hand towel.

Iandolli pointed at the Olympic bar. “How much is on there?”

“Three-fifteen,” Lercasi said. His voice was rough. “You wanna give it a try?”

Iandolli shrugged. “What’s the point, Jerr? You get all beefed up like that and somebody puts two behind your ear someday, like Benny Bensognio. You’re as dead as a ninety-pound weakling would be, no?”

“You got a point,” Lercasi said. “This a social call, or you want to join? We’re running a special for city employees this month. A third off on a year.”

Iandolli sat on the bench as Lercasi added weight to the bar. “Cute, Jerr. You’re a funny guy. Except I have a situation came up the past few days I’m concerned about.”

“My attorney already spoke to the police about Mr. Bensognio,” Lercasi said. “I knew the man casually. I had no idea he was a bookmaker. I never placed a bet in my life. In fact, I was at a private dinner last night with two City Council members. If I’m not mistaken, some snoopy reporter was there and took pictures. I live in Las Vegas because of a respiratory condition. I have no idea why anyone would want to kill Mr. Bensognio. I sent flowers to his funeral out of respect for his wife and children. I’m sure this is a terrible time for them.”

“He was probably skimming off your book operation,” Iandolli said. “But Benny isn’t why I’m here. Some guy and his wife were assaulted. They’re from New York. Know anything about it?”

“Why would I know something about that?”

“I don’t know. Except the guy was assaulted at the Palermo construction site. One of the workers there found him behind the model.”

Lercasi stopped adding weight. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. That’s your turf, Jerr, the Palermo. And that’s a big no-no, assaulting tourists on their vacation. Even if it is mob-related.”

“What’s mob-related? What the hell does that mean?”

“Right. Anyway, just so happens, a couple of the boys are in from New York the same day the unlucky couple were assaulted.”

“Couple of the boys? I don’t know any boys.”

“You know, Jerr. That dumb-ass fraternity you’re involved in that don’t exist? The one where they rat on each other every time one of them gets busted? The one they made all those movies about?”

Lercasi continued adding weight to the Olympic bar.

“How much you got on there now?” Iandolli asked.

“Three-thirty.”

“I wanna watch. You mind?”

Lercasi lay on the bench, took his grip, took a few deep breaths, and grunted as he lifted the bar from the rack. He brought the bar down to his chest slowly. He set the bar on his chest, held it a split second, then grunted as he pushed the bar up. He lifted the weight two more times before reracking the weights. When he sat back up on the bench, he was breathing hard.

“That really give you a woody?”

“You made your point,” Lercasi said through gasps of breath.

“Good. Because if this Palermo thing comes back to you, my friend, you’ll be lifting your weights inside the joint.”

Lercasi wiped himself with the towel. “I don’t know nothin’ about it.”

Iandolli mocked gasping for breath, as if he were about to lift the bar himself. “But I bet you’ll ask around now, won’t you,” he said, squeezing the words from his lungs.

Lercasi picked up a ten-pound plate to add to one end of the bar.

Iandolli let out a long mock exhale of breath.

Charlie decided to tell Samantha what was going on. He told her about the fight in the New York nightclub and about his wife being mugged. Samantha flinched when Charlie described what had happened to Lisa.

“My God,” she said.

“She’s been in and out of surgery.”

They were sitting at the kitchen table. Samantha was wearing white shorts and a navy blue blouse. Charlie wore gray Dockers and a maroon polo shirt. He had brought a navy sports jacket for dinner later. The roommate, Carol, was taking a shower.

“What does the DEA want?” Samantha asked.

“Who knows? Except I don’t trust them. Not their motives. The guy I met was making a deal for the creep who assaulted Lisa.” He lit a cigarette. “I wasn’t sure if I should come here. I’m still not sure I should stay.”

“Are you feeling guilty about your wife? Be honest.”

He took one of Samantha’s hands. “It’s not about Lisa.”

She tried to smile. “I like you, Charlie. But I don’t want to get involved where I don’t belong.”

“It’s not about Lisa.”

Samantha nodded. “He said you were safe, the agent, right?”

“It seemed more important to him that I didn’t go to the police,” Charlie said. “He was much more concerned about his gangster than me.”

Samantha took one of his cigarettes. “I haven’t done this in five years,” she said. She examined the cigarette a moment before sliding it back inside the pack. “Not even a filter?”

“And I didn’t start smoking until I was thirty. How’s that for stupid?”

“Pretty stupid. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll stay away if that’s what you want. It’s why I’m telling you all this. You need to know. Obviously I don’t want anything to come back here, to you.”

“That’s so unfair. No, I don’t want you to do that. Why would they come after me? No, that’s ridiculous.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

They held each oer’s hands. Samantha took a deep breath. She asked, “Did you get to see her?”

“She was in recovery.”

“Are you going back to the hospital later?”

He could sense she was still concerned about how he felt about his wife. He shook his head.

“It was a little uncomfortable,” he said. He told her about John Denton and the history of his wife’s affair. Samantha seemed somewhat relieved.

“I’m not going back,” he said.

Samantha took another deep breath. “I feel like the walls are closing in.”

“I’m not pressuring you, Sam. I understand how you feel.”

She reached for the cigarettes again. This time she lit one. She took a deep drag on the cigarette and coughed. “It’s like breathing fire.”