“It’s more than we can really afford,” Sal says, “but I can put a big down payment on it.”
No shit he can put a big down payment. Word is that Sal and his crew did an armored car thing up in Manchester, New Hampshire, and scored big.
Chris says, “It’s a buyer’s market.”
“I figure I can knock them twenty, thirty off the ask,” Sal says. He stands back and looks at the house. “Never thought we’d be able to do something like this, but . . . Anyway, Judy and I thought it would be nice for the kids. Looking down the road, grandkids. Someplace for the family to gather, you know?”
“Otherwise they scatter,” Chris says.
“What I mean,” Sal says. “What brings you down here?”
Because Chris don’t do nothing for nothing. He never comes just to shoot the shit, there’s always an agenda.
“This Solly Weiss thing . . .” he says.
Sal frowns. “You’re Peter’s consigliere. Did you talk with him?”
“Until I’m blue in the face,” Chris answers. “He doesn’t want to listen. I’m afraid if I bring it up again . . .”
Chris leaves it out there—Sal should go make Peter see the light on this one. Peter will listen to him, because Sal’s been doing most of the heavy lifting in the thing with the Murphys, and Peter needs Sal to keep doing what he’s doing.
Especially with Giordo gone.
Sal takes the bait, like Chris knew he would.
“I’m not afraid of Peter,” Sal says. “I’ll talk to him. What do you think about the house? I don’t know, it’s a lot of money.”
“Interest rates being what they are,” Chris says, “I don’t see how you can afford not to.”
Sal goes to see Peter. “Give the rocks back before we all end up in a landfill.”
“What, you giving me orders now?” Peter asks. “I’m the boss of this family.”
“Good—we can put that on your fucking headstone,” Sal says. “I’m not giving you orders, but shit.”
“Shit, what?”
“Forget it.”
“No, Sal,” Peter says, pushing it, “you got something on your chest, get it the fuck off.”
“Okay, fine,” Sal says. “You and Paulie sit in here in your office drinking coffee, eating doughnuts, while it’s me and my crew doing all the work, and now we got two guys dead because you don’t want to give back something you shouldn’t have in the first place!”
“You do not tell me what I should, shouldn’t have!”
“Guys, come on,” Chris says.
“Yeah?” Sal asks, standing up from the table. “What would you have, Peter, if my crew and me weren’t out there getting it for you? You’d have ugatz.”
Paulie says, “You are talking to the boss—”
“—of this family,” Sal interrupts. “Yeah, I heard. So maybe he should start acting like the boss of this family and do what’s best for this family and not just the Moretti brothers!”
“Cocksucker!” Paulie says.
“Come on, bring it!” Sal says.
“Guys!” Chris steps in between them. Even Frankie V gets up from his chair and steps in to calm things down.
“You want me to give the jewelry back?” Peter says. “Fine, I’ll give it back.”
“Good,” Sal says, settling down a little.
“But you’re going to kick to me on that Manchester job,” Peter says.
“What?!”
“You think I didn’t know about that?” Peter asks. “You think I wouldn’t find out?!”
“That’s my fucking money.”
“What,” Peter asks, “I’m supposed to walk away empty-handed? Everyone eats but Peter Moretti? Fuck that. You should have been kicking to me from moment one. Fifty percent. I was going to let it slide, but if we’re going to play by the rules now, we’re all going to play by the rules. I want it all now—not fifty, a hundred. A tax for not doing the right thing in the first place.”
Sal turns to Chris. “You believe this fucking guy?”
Chris shakes his head. “He’s the boss, Sal. He’s within his rights here.”
Sal’s hands flex, like he’s ready to go.
Frankie V reaches inside his jacket for his piece, just in case.
But Sal just slowly nods, then looks at Peter and says, “Fine. You got it. You want the money, you got it, you greedy fuck. But take a good look at this face, Peter, because it’s the last time you’ll see it.”