Then Pepper said, “I’m here,” and Carney’s planet went awobble again. He handed Pepper the keys to the furniture store, as they had arranged. Ever since the Donegal’s meeting earlier that afternoon, the image of Pepper sitting at his desk on watch duty had made him chuckle. You’ll take the matching ottoman and fucking like it.
“You got your boy on ice somewhere?” Pepper asked.
“Out in Brooklyn,” Carney said. Freddie’s new hidey-hole was a rattrap off Nostrand.
“I don’t want him underfoot.”
Neither did Carney. Would Freddie appreciate his efforts when Carney packed him into the train, or bus, with all that get-out-of-town money? Before the bus pulled out of Port Authority—maybe the Newark Greyhound depot was a better bet—and Freddie disappeared Out West, would he give a proper thanks, or see it as something owed him?
The goddamned park squirrels had been brazen all summer—that was a whole nother story—so that’s what Carney thought the pressure on his leg was, a squirrel. “Daddy!” John said, wrapping his arms around his thighs. From the dirt on their clothes and the scrape on John’s knee, it looked like Elizabeth had taken them on a playground excursion.
Carney introduced Pepper as a friend of his father—a mistake, as Elizabeth invited him to join them for dinner. She insisted when Carney made an excuse. “We have plenty.” She was disappointed the leftover pot roast （often dry, per statistics） usually went unconsumed by her family and welcomed help in polishing it off.
Pepper didn’t put up the fight that Carney expected—a residue of politeness or curiosity—and that was that. The crook extended formal handshakes to May and John, like they were bank managers reviewing his loan application.
The smell of the cooking meat filled the hallway outside the elevator. “Damn,” Pepper said, in pleasure, and he did not apologize for the blaspheming in front of little children because it did not occur to him. Pepper didn’t speak as Carney showed him around the apartment, until they reached the living room and he gave his verdict: “Nice setup.” He registered the rooms’ dimensions and checked out the angles from the window as if appraising the defensive and offensive possibilities of a hideout. Elizabeth went to get the pot roast out of the oven.
The children, as they often did before dinner, lazed on the rug with their comics and toys, occasionally sharing with the grown-ups an urgent non sequitur. Carney normally leaned back in his spot on the Argent sofa but he didn’t want to appear too casual in front of their guest, who might judge his middle-class indulgences. Pepper took his time before he finally sat in the armchair. He crossed his arms.
For the most part, the men sat in silence. At one point, John brought over his souvenir program to show it off and Pepper said, “World’s Fair—what will whitey think of next?”
Elizabeth told May to get the good napkins and they sat down to eat. She had cooked the roast with potatoes and carrots and made cornbread earlier in the day. Elizabeth nodded in approval as Pepper helped himself to a healthy serving. Carney brought two cans of Schlitz to the table.
“How did you know Raymond’s father?” Elizabeth asked.
“He knew Grandpa?” May said. Having experienced the one, she was curious about the other.
“From work,” Pepper said.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said.
“Not that,” Carney said, before the broken kneecaps grew too vivid. “Remember I told you my father used to work at Miracle Garage sometimes.”
“The garage,” Elizabeth said.
“I wouldn’t work with Pat Baker,” Pepper said. “More crooked than a country preacher.”
Elizabeth squinted at Carney but let it drop. “What sort of work do you do now?”
Pepper looked at Carney. Not for a tip on how to respond but to communicate that his rate had gone up. Carney might have to throw in a side table, to hold a beer or a bowl of grapes. Pepper said, “Odd jobs.”
“Can you pass the potatoes?” Carney said. “Just how I like them.”
Despite the slow start, Elizabeth got more out of Pepper than Carney ever had. Where he lived now （off Convent）， where he grew up （Hillside Avenue in Newark）， if he had a lady he liked to take out on the town （not since he got stabbed in the gut, mistaken identity, long story）。 John moved over to sit on May’s lap and asked their guest his favorite color. He said, “I like that shiny green that parks get around here in the spring.”