Last, the most expensive item, the pièce de résistance. It’s a silicone pregnancy belly, sold by Amazon but made by a company called MomTime. It was expensive because it’s adjustable, allowing the wearer to look anywhere from six to nine months pregnant. It attaches with Velcro straps. Billy knows that these fake bellies are notorious shoplifting tools, big-box security personnel are told to be on the lookout for them, but Billy has not come to this small city to shoplift, and it won’t be a woman wearing it when the time comes.
That will be his job.
CHAPTER 5
1
Billy shows up at Nick’s borrowed McMansion a bit before seven on Thursday evening. He has read somewhere that the polite guest arrives five minutes early, no more and no less. Paulie is the official greeter this time. Nick is once more waiting in the hall, thus out of sight of any passing law enforcement drones – unlikely but not impossible. His smile is turned up to maximum, arms outstretched to enfold Billy in a hug.
‘Chateaubriand on the menu. I got a cook, I don’t know what he’s doing in this rinky-dink town, but he’s great. You’re going to love it. And save some room.’ He holds Billy back at arm’s length and drops his voice to a hoarse whisper. ‘I heard a rumor about Baked Alaska. You have to be tired of microwave dinners, right? Right?’
‘That’s right,’ Billy says.
Frank appears. In an ascot and a pink shirt, with his hair combed in gleaming swoops and swirls piled high above an Eddie Munster widow’s peak, he looks like the hoodlum in a gangster movie who gets killed first. He’s got some glasses and a big green bottle on a tray. ‘Champers. Mote and Shandon.’
He sets down the tray and eases the cork from the bottle’s neck. No pop and no splurt. Frankie Elvis may not know French, but his opening technique is superb. So is his pour.
Nick lifts a glass. The others do likewise. ‘To success!’
Billy, Paulie, and Frank clink and drink. The Champagne goes pleasantly to Billy’s head at once, but he refuses another glass. ‘I’m driving. Don’t want to get stopped.’
‘That’s Billy,’ Nick says to his amigos. ‘Always thinking two steps ahead.’
‘Three,’ Billy says, and Nick laughs like this is the funniest thing he’s heard since Henny Youngman died. The amigos dutifully follow suit.
‘Okay,’ Nick says. ‘Enough with the bubble-water. Mangiamo, mangiamo.’
It’s a good meal, starting with French onion soup, progressing to beef marinated in red wine, and ending with the promised Baked Alaska. It’s served by an unsmiling woman in a white uniform, except for the dessert course. Nick’s hired chef wheels that in himself to the expected applause and compliments, nods his thanks and leaves.
Nick, Frank, and Paulie carry the conversation, which is mostly about Vegas: who is playing there, who is building there, who is looking for a casino license. As if they don’t understand that Vegas is obsolete, Billy thinks. Probably they don’t. There is no sign of Giorgio. When the serving woman comes in with after-dinner liqueur, Billy shakes his head. So does Nick.
‘Marge, you and Alan can leave now,’ Nick says. ‘It was a great meal.’
‘Thanks, but we’ve just started to clean up the—’
‘We’ll worry about that tomorrow. Here. Give this to Alan. Car-fare, my old man would have said.’ He pushes some bills into her hand. She mutters that she will and turns to go. ‘And Marge?’
She turns back.
‘You haven’t been smoking in the house, have you?’
‘No.’
Nick nods. ‘Don’t linger, okay? Billy, let’s you and me go in the living room for a little chin-chin. You guys, find something to do.’
Paul tells Billy it was good seeing him and heads for the front door. Frank follows Marge into the kitchen. Nick drops his napkin into the smeared remains of his dessert and leads Billy into the living room. The fireplace at one end is big enough to roast the Minotaur. There are statues in niches and a ceiling mural that looks like a porno version of the Sistine Chapel.
‘Great, isn’t it?’ Nick says, looking around.
‘It sure is,’ Billy says, thinking that if he had to spend too much time in this room, he might lose his mind.
‘Sit down, Billy, take a load off.’
Billy sits. ‘Where’s Giorgio? Did he go back to Vegas?’
‘Well, he might be there,’ Nick says, ‘or he might be in New York or Hollywood talking to movie people about this great book he’s agenting.’