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Vito motioned impatiently at Canidy, then pointed to the door and said, “Prego.”
Oh! Well, Shorty, since you’ve told me “please,” then sure.
Go take a rolling fuck at a miniature doughnut.
Canidy shook his head, pointed to the ground, and firmly said, “I wait for Jimmy.”
The man in the suit looked at him as if he now understood that Canidy was here to get one of Jimmy Skinny’s girls.
And I don’t know who the hell you are, but (a) that ain’t happening and (b) even if it were, it’d be none of your damn business.
Vito made a face, then walked over and motioned for Canidy to bend down so he could say something in his ear.
Now what? Are you joking?
Impatiently, Vito motioned again.
Jesus, all right! All right!
Canidy shook his head in disbelief as he bent over.
Vito whispered, “Andrea.”
As Canidy quickly carried his coffee toward the door, passing the man in the suit, he graciously gestured for him to help himself to what items remained on the tray.
* * *
Vito led Canidy down a back stairwell to a room with a locked metal door. He knocked on it, said something that also sounded like an order but, surprising Canidy, did not attempt to automatically enter. After a moment, he understood why.
The sound of locks turning could be heard, and then the door opened. Andrea Buda stood in the opening, and hurriedly motioned for Canidy to enter.
As Vito wordlessly went back to the stairwell, Andrea closed the metal door behind them, then threw the locks.
“Hello,” she said, smiled, and motioned for him to follow.
* * *
Andrea led Canidy past a row of olive drab cots, then around a wall formed by stacked boxes of condoms. He then saw John Craig struggling to stand from behind a small metal desk—the wireless was set up on it—then grab a pair of wooden crutches and lean on them. His right foot was neatly bandaged.
“Damn I’m glad to see you,” Canidy said. “Now I’m going to kick your ass from here to Messina and back for making me think you got grabbed like Tubes.”
John Craig made a face.
“Sorry, Dick. I did not do that on purpose.”
Canidy gestured at the foot and crutches.
“You getting better, Gimpy? You’re mobile.”
“A little.”
Canidy noticed that John Craig not only appeared freshly bathed, but his clothes were clean.
And getting taken care of, are you?
Better not let Tubes find out Andrea does this for all the American radio operators. . . .
“So just where the hell did you disappear to?” Canidy said.
