Pasco made him come, Danny thinks, on his friendship with my old man. But it’s also a smart move. Peter knows that if the “Ryan faction” sits on its hands, he’s deprived the Murphys of me, Jimmy Mac, Ned Egan, and maybe a couple of other potential shooters. And Bernie Hughes, who was one of Marty’s guys before the fall. He’ll stick with the Ryans, and Peter knows that.
“What have the Murphys ever done for you?” Peter asks. “Hell, they took your old man’s part of the business and they throw you some scraps from the table. Treat you like the redheaded stepchild.”
That’s all true, Danny thinks.
“I’m not asking you to go against them,” Peter says. “I know you wouldn’t do that and I respect you for it. But if you just sit this out, when it’s over . . . and you know how it’s going to end, you’re not a stupid person . . . we’d be prepared to restore to you what is rightfully yours. Your father would get the respect he deserves; you would be the boss.”
“Has Pasco—”
“He signed off on this, of course,” Peter answers. “But you need to know that he’s going down to Florida, he’s really going to retire this time. I’m the new boss of the family. Paul will be my underboss.”
So Dogtown’s done anyway, Danny thinks. With Pasco out of the way, the Morettis will take what they want and use this whole Liam mess as their excuse. The ship’s going down, it’s just a question if I want to go down with it.
Peter Moretti is tossing me a big life preserver.
“Don’t give me your answer now,” Peter says. “Think about it, get back to me. You can approach O’Neill or Viola there.”
“Okay.”
“But don’t take too much time,” Peter says. He nods to the cops outside and O’Neill opens the door. Danny starts to get out. Peter reaches over, touches his hand and says, “Danny, I want you to know that we have nothing but respect and affection for you and your father. Please give him my personal regards.”
“Sure.”
“Good night, Danny. I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Good night.”
Danny walks home, gets out of his clothes and slips into bed beside his wife.
She’s warm under the blankets.
“I’m late,” Terri murmurs.
Danny thinks she’s half-asleep. “You mean I’m late.”
“No,” Terri says. “I’m late.”
Must have been that night on the beach, she tells him, after Pasco Ferri’s clambake.
Part Two
City on Fire
Providence, Rhode Island
October 1986
Thus on the beachhead the Achaeans armed . . . avid again for war,
And Trojans faced them on the rise of plain.
Homer
The Iliad
Book XX
Fifteen
The phone wakes him early in the morning.
Danny rolls over and answers it.
“Hello?”
“Thank God.” It’s Pat. “Danny, get the hell out of there.”
“What are you talking about?”
The Morettis hit and hit hard.
Three guys dead.
“Who?” Danny asks, his brain still a little cloudy.
“I’ll run it down when you get here,” Pat says. “Just get the fuck out.”
“Jimmy?”
“He’s my next call.”
“I’ll call him.” Danny sits up, punches in Jimmy Mac’s number.
“What is it?” Terri asks, waking, irritable.
“It’s not good,” Danny says. Feels like he can’t breathe, like there’s this heart-attack band around his chest as he listens to Jimmy’s phone ring. Pick up the fucking phone, pick up the fucking phone, Jimmy . . .
“Danny? The fuck.”
Danny tells him the news.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Come heavy.” Danny hangs up and punches in his father’s number. Marty answers it on the first ring, says, “I’m still breathing, that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Pat call you?”
“John.”
“Ned with you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you when I know more.”
Danny pulls on his jeans, a T-shirt, then straps on a shoulder holster with the .38 and puts a denim work shirt on over it. He goes downstairs, Terri’s already in the kitchen. She’s got the coffee going and has bacon in the pan for his eggs. Danny likes it crispy, almost burned. Doing the little things, keeping the routine, Danny knows it’s her way of dealing with it.