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Canidy offered his hand and Lanza shook it with a very firm grip.
“Pleased to meet you,” Canidy said, impressed by the mobster’s heavily callused hand.
Lanza, stone-faced, replied only with a nod.
“Have a seat,” Guerin said, motioning to a place beside himself and opposite Lanza.
As Canidy sat down, putting his attaché case at his feet, the monster fishmonger stepped away from the table and positioned himself in the back corner of the restaurant, out of the kitchen traffic, with a clear view of both the front door and the booth with Canidy, Lanza, and Guerin.
“Our friend contacted me,” Guerin began, “and I in turned asked Mr. Lanza if he would be open to this meeting.”
“Thank you,” Canidy said to Guerin, then looked at Lanza and said, “Thank you.”
Lanza made a slow blink of acknowledgment.
Guerin took a sip of coffee, then said, “Oh, excuse me. Would you care for something to eat? The food is very good here.”
“Thank you, but nothing right now,” Canidy replied. He looked at the cup. “Coffee would be nice.”
Guerin got the fishmonger’s attention, held up his cup and pointed to it, then to Canidy. The guy walked over to where a waiter was putting cups of coffee and espressos onto a tray, took from it one of the espressos—earning him a sharp look from the waiter—and a moment later slid the steaming cup in front of Canidy.
“Thanks,” Canidy said.
The fishmonger wordlessly returned to his post.
Guerin said, “Now, what is it that you need, Mr. Canidy?”
Canidy looked at him a moment, and thought, Whatthe hell am I supposed to do? Come out right here in public and tell a Guinea gangster that I want the Boss to set me up with the mafia in Sicily? This is unbelievably surreal, even for me.
“Did Mur—” Canidy began, then caught himself. “Did our friend give you any indication as to the subject?”
Guerin shook his head. “Only that it is of the utmost importance,” he said.
Well, that’s just great.
Canidy glanced at the fishmonger, who was staring at the front door. He wanted to look that way, too, to at least see if anyone would be able to overhear what he was about to say. But that did not seem the proper thing to do at this point.
“I’m not sure here is the best place to discuss this,” Canidy said finally.
Guerin looked around casually. “Here is fine. Nothing happens without my client’s say. Nick, the owner, is protected.”
Canidy wanted to reply, Like nothing happens at your hotel?
He instead said, “With respect, this is not the place. Things—”
“Things what?” Guerin said impatiently.
Canidy picked up on that.
Oh, to hell with it.
“—Things happen, like the surprise at the hotel.”
“That,” Lanza said, suddenly and coldly, “was a misunderstanding and it is being dealt with.”
“It is not what I want to happen here,” Canidy said evenly. “A misunderstanding.” Now he looked around the room, then back at Lanza. “A misunderstanding after someone overhears something that they shouldn’t.”
They stared at each other a moment, then Lanza said quietly, “After some guys at Brooklyn Terminal thought they could slow down the ship loading, we had them kicked in the ass. That led to this other thing just now. All a misunderstanding.” He shrugged. “These things, they happen. Then they’re dealt with.”
