Warren Murphy - Last Rites

Vinnie made the sign of the cross and said, "On my mother's life, they are housebroke, Don Silvio."

"Then they are welcome in my house."

And so grateful was Vinnie "Three Dogs" that he leaned over and gave his don a very long kiss. Which was noticed.

So Vinnie Cerebrini had turned himself in, made bail and returned to his capo the next day. "The trial date's not till spring."

"Good. In the meantime, you gotta take these curs back."

"Sure. What-they been a problem for you?"

"They alla time sniffing my crotch."

"Yeah. They do that."

"What kinda queer dogs you got, Vinnie? They sniff crotches?"

"Some dogs do that. I'm sorry."

Don Silvio eyed Vinnie dubiously. "They sniff your crotch?"

Vinnie shrugged sheepishly. "All the time. Hey, what can I do? I love those dogs like brothers."

"Just get these fairy mutts outta my house. They give me the creeps. And I want you married by year's end. Capisce?"

Vinnie "Three Dogs" didn't think much of the conversation, but already the rumors were starting.

The trial went well, as promised. Evidence got suppressed, witnesses skipped town or found themselves inextricably caught up in various civic-improvement projects for which the D'Ambrosia family supplied the concrete.

"We got 'em on the run," his lawyer had confided at the end of week three.

"I just wish we could get that damn security tape quashed," Vinnie hissed back.

The lawyer shrugged. "Hey, it's circumstantial. Purely circumstantial. They can't convict on that alone."

And they hadn't. The tape was shown, and his lawyer knocked it down hard on cross-examination.

"I was taking a leak in that warehouse," Vince said solemnly from the stand. "It was dark. How was I to know the poor stiff was laying there with his mouth open?"

"But you do admit to urinating in the deceased's mouth?" the prosecuter asked when it was his turn to question the accused.

"Listen, if my piss-excuse me, Your Honor-was on that poor guy, I profoundly apologize to the family. I did not know. I swear on my mother's grave."

"But your fingerprints were found in his coat. How do you explain that?"

"Hadda wipe my hands on something. It was the only cloth in the entire joint."

In the end Vinnie pleaded no contest to the reduced charge of abusing a corpse. He was all smiles as he stepped out of the San Francisco courthouse while the press surged and jostled around.

That's when the linguini hit the propeller.

"Mr. Cerebrini, what do you have to say to these new allegations about your personal life?"

"There's ain't no such thing as the Mafia, honey. Don't you fall for that old bull."

"I was referring to the rumors of your homosexuality-"

"My which?"

"The victim was gay. Didn't you know that?"

"I didn't do nothin' to the guy," said Vinnie in an injured tone. "All I did was piss in his dead mouth. Is that a crime?"

Another reporter jumped in. "According to the security tape, you left the warehouse with your fly open."

"I told you I was taking a freaking leak. I forgot to zip up. Coulda happened to any poor mook."

"Is it true you are not-and never have been-married?"

"What are you-my godfather? I'll get around to it, okay?"

"Did you ever have relations with the dead man before he died?"

"I never knew the guy. I'm telling you. All I did was whack-I mean piss-on him. I got a weak bladder. It coulda happened to anybody. It just happened to happen to me."

And as the mob lawyer shoved him into the waiting Lincoln, Vinnie "Three Dogs" Cerebrini muttered, "What the fuck kinda rap they trying to hang on me now?"

In the car the phone rang. "Yeah?" barked Vinnie. "Three Dogs, I hear you are a free man."

"And I have you to thank, Don Silvio."

"Good. Now, Vinnnie. We been together a long time. You can tell me anything and everything. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"These ugly rumors, V'mnie. There is no truth to this?"

"I swear before God, I am no fag."

"You married yet?"

"No," Vinnie said in a small voice.

"Engaged?"

"No."

"And you still got the queer dogs?"

"They are not queer! They happen to be African ridgebacks. They used to be used for running down escaped slaves. They are the biggest, meanest, most masculine dogs ever bred. Ask anyone."

"You like masculine dogs, huh, Vinnie?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"You like to watch them walking around with their great big balls jigging between their furry butts, am I right?"

"I do not look at them that way."

"They lick your face?"

"Sometimes," Three Dogs admitted.

"You know what else they lick, Three Dogs? Their nethers. Their lower regions. You like tongues to lick you there, too?"

"Never. I swear. My dogs know better than to lick me there. They are moral and honorable dogs."

"Have 'em clipped."

"Shoot my own dogs?"

"No, I mean have their balls clipped. I don't want you looking at those dogs that way no more."

"I fix them dogs, they'll turn into girls."

"You don't fix them dogs, and I'll have you clipped. And I don't want no rumors around my family. I take pride in my family. We are family men. Fuck the dogs and find a wife. And another thing. I don't want you peeing on the guys you clip no more. It's unsanitary."

"It's just my way of sending them off. You know. It don't mean nothing."

"The papers are calling you an abuser of corpses. I do not want this word abuser to be connected with members of my family."

"It's all circumstantial. It don't mean nothing, Don Silvio."

"From now on you don't whip it out except in front of ceramic or lipstick. Capisce?"

"I understand," Vinnie said miserably.

When he got home, the dogs were all over him, sniffing and pawing his best suit.

"Cut that out, you three! You'll get me killed. Down, Numbnuts. Get offa me, Bonehead. You too, Fatface."

When they finally settled down, Vinnie tried to explain the facts of being mob dogs to them. "Now listen, you guys," said Vinnie, getting down on his knees on the floor. "We gotta talk about our futures together."

The dogs began licking his face.

"Don't do this to me! I'm trying to break the news to you gently,"

In the end he couldn't do it.

"You guys are men. Just like me. It's not right to lop off a man's balls even if he is a dog."

And so Vinnie "Three Dogs" Cerebrini made the most difficult decision of his life. He chose his dogs over his capo.

Unfortunately it wasn't that hard a choice. The rumors that he was gay were all over San Francisco. If he married triplets, he could never live them down.

Vinnie "Three Dogs" Cerebrini would have sued if he could. After all, it was slander what they were saying about him, the rat bastards. The trouble was you really couldn't sue La Cosa Nostra. Even if you were a soldier in La Cosa Nostra, suing your godfather was just not done.

The slander had gotten so out of control, Vinnie was forced to drop out of sight. Way out of sight.

Bangor, Maine, was as far out of sight of San Francisco as you could get without taking up residence in a cave. Vinnie had bought a tract of land and a mountain of old used tires. He dug the hole himself, and with his own hands and the sledgehammer he had once used to split open the skull of Salvatore "Sonny" Slobone pounded dirt into each tire until they weighed three hundred pounds each.

In the piny Maine woods he built himself the hideaway deluxe of all time. It was impregnable because it was completely underground. The buried sides and roof were made from stacks of earth-reinforced tires. Rifle bullets couldn't penetrate it. Hand grenades detonated harmlessly over it. Katushya rockets only turned the graded topsoil.

There Vinnie settled down with his dogs and his savings and figured the D'Ambrosia family would never find him here.