“I’ve got an idea, Uncle Gino. Why don’t you pull up a chair and join us?” I said.
He gave me that look that said, Shut up, smart guy.
“Don’t worry, Sean, I told the family to leave you alone for a while. I am not going to bug you and this lovely young lady while you are dining. I wanted to let you know that Fredo told everyone Kaitlin’s name. He even went upstairs and told Papa, he is listening to a baseball game on the radio. He’ll be down and he is going to try to pay you. Beware. Now you two lovebirds look over the menu and I’ll be right back to take your order.”
Uncle Gino danced away to another table.
Kaitlin was all smiles. “Wow, what a character. What’s this about Papa paying you?”
“Grandpa Mario is a fisherman. He has been fishing six days a week forever. He owns a beautiful little Monterey Clipper fishing boat, the Sun Dancer. When I was starting high school, Mario’s wife got very sick and was in the hospital for several months before she died. It turns out she had cancer. Mario didn’t have insurance and he borrowed against his house and the Sun Dancer. After she died, the bank moved in to take both. The kids all pitched in and saved the house. There was no money left over, so the bank was about to take the boat. My old man stepped in and paid off the note. The deal is, Mario pays one percent of his profits to my old man, and now me.
“Even though on paper I own the boat, it’s still Grandpa Mario’s as long as he lives and he fishes Monday through Saturday. When he is shorthanded I go out with him as a deckhand. It’s beautiful on the bay. You forget all your worries.”
Uncle Gino returned with a pad and pencil.
“Sean, the clams and mussels are excellent today. The veal parmesan is to die for. Your Aunt Celia made a pan of lasagna tonight, its excellente. The sweet basil is very fresh. Make sure you leave a little room, I saved you the last couple of cannoli from the case for dessert. Now what would you kids like?”
Kaitlin was studying the menu and was lost.
“What do you recommend for a small appetite?”
“Why don’t you let me bring you a small piece of lasagna and some spaghetti Bolognese with Celia’s meatballs? Would you like a cup of minestrone or a salad to start?”
“A salad would be great.”
Cousin Fredo came by with a basket of sourdough bread right out of the oven and placed it in the middle of the table.
“How about you, Sean?”
“Bring me the same thing, Uncle Gino. I have to leave room for espresso and cannoli.”
Out through the kitchen double doors came Aunt Celia. She was short, round, full of life, and not a woman you wanted hunting for you. When the Chiconis family is happy, there are hugs all the way around. When they are fighting however, they are like a cage full of wolverines. I wasn’t sure what I was in for with Aunt Celia.
“Sean, where have you been? I only see you at church anymore, and you live just down the block.”
It was a big bear hug, so I was all right. The real purpose of her visit was to inspect and grade Kaitlin.
“So you are the girl Petey was talking about. I’m Aunt Celia, and don’t let this one fool you into thinking I am mean, it’s not true.”
I laughed. “Aunt Celia, I hadn’t had a chance to tell her how mean you are yet.”
She slapped me on the back of the head with an open hand. It was a loving slap, the same as she does to her own kids. It felt like my brain was going to come out my nose.
“You be quiet, you’re already in the dog house for not coming around. By the way the Altar Committee met this morning and Father Mickey wants that hot water heater fixed. Get to it.”
She gave me a big hug and gave Kaitlin one as well.
“We are proud of you, Sean. It was about time.” She dabbed her eyes with a hanky and headed for the kitchen.
Kaitlin gave me a funny look. “About time for what?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kaitlin had a sly smile on her face.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s start with this: When were you planning on turning the parents loose on me?”
She gave a more genuine smile and sipped her Chianti. “Well, I am supposed to invite you for dinner at the house on Sunday.”
“Supposed to?” I said.
“I’ve been told to be coy and not let on that you are going to be grilled over cocktails.”
I laughed. “Well as long as there is a drink or two that goes with the meal, I can’t say no to that. I’ll tell you what: Let’s save all the family questions for the Sunday night inquisition. I won’t have to repeat myself. Who is going to be a tougher sell, your mother or your father?”
“One will be absolutely impossible, and the other will be harder than that.”
Uncle Gino delivered our salads and mixed the dressing at the table. I cut up some fresh sourdough bread. Fredo came along and deposited fresh Romano cheese on the salads.
Kaitlin was impressed. “Is the service always this good or are they putting on a show for me?”
“This is Uncle Gino’s place, it is always like this. The food is great, but the people who come and the people who run it are better. It’s always fun here. Wait till Uncle Gino and Aunt Celia get into an argument in the kitchen.”
As I said that, an argument broke out on the bocce court. Joeseppi and Michael got into a beef over whose ball was closer. Mike called me over to settle the dispute. I waved my hands and indicated there was no chance of that. Uncle Gino had to settle in Joeseppi’s favor. There was lots of talking, lots wine drinking, and then it was time for a new game.
Kaitlin was having a ball. “This beats the movies by a mile,” she said. “Not quite a baseball game, but fun just the same.”
“I have been meaning to ask,” I said. “I have two tickets for the Seals and the Oaks, at noon. You still want to teach me how to keep score?”
“No doubt you learned how to keep score; you just didn’t learn to do so properly.”
I smiled. “That sounds like an acceptance and a challenge, all at the same time.”
“You deserve a little fun before I feed you to my parents. Are you baking bread in the morning?”
“As a matter of fact I am.”
“Well, I’ll meet you at the bakery then at ten thirty.”
The parade of food began. Uncle Gino delivered the platters, and the food was wonderful. We asked for small portions, but Aunt Celia just couldn’t lay off. It was the best, as always. Petey came over and gave me a hug. He went to work singing “O Sole Mio.” He has a great voice. Kaitlin was blushing; she is so beautiful when she blushes. Petey finished and the placed erupted into applause. He took his bows like Caruso.
I shrugged and smiled. “They are really pouring it on, and we haven’t made it to cannoli yet.”
Kaitlin winked at me. “It’s better than going to a wedding single. For some reason every woman in the place turns into Cupid.”
The cannoli and coffee arrived. It was heaven. I have to watch this dating business. I could gain weight. I gave Kaitlin a stern look. “If you think the evening was hard, now comes the really hard part: getting a bill out of Uncle Gino.”
It was as described: he was insulted, you’re family, etc. I got the bill anyway and paid. There were lots of hugs all around. As we were making for the door, Grandpa Mario made an appearance, shuffling my way as fast as he could
“Sorry I am late, Sean, the Giants lost to the Cards. What’s the world coming to? That bum Frenchy Bordagaray hit a ninth-inning bases-clearing triple for the Cardinals. Slick Castleman had a no-no going until he walked three guys with two outs. Frenchy did the rest. How do you lose a one-hitter in the ninth, I ask you?”
To my surprise Kaitlin answered for me. “What are you talking about? Frenchy is on a twelve-game hitting streak. Check out Slick Castleman’s stats, he’s lost his last four in the eighth an
d ninth innings. He better learn to lay off that fastball in the late innings. The big hitters are waiting for it.”
Grandpa Mario was all smiles, ear to ear.
“Sean, who is this beautiful young lady, and when are you available for a date, my dear?”
“Easy, Grandpa. This is Kaitlin O’Doherty, and she already booked for the next Seals game with me.”
Grandpa Mario was undeterred.
“Bob Joyce is going tomorrow for the Oaks.”
Kaitlin was not asleep at the switch. “Lefty O’Doul is going with Bill Shores. His stats only look fair to good, but the real story is that he is serving up three to five double plays a game. I’ll go with Shores.”
Grandpa Mario was really pouring it on.
“What time are you picking me up for the game?”
I had to cut in here and save the poor girl. “Sorry, Grandpa, this swim is just for the kids. Are you going to be at the bakery after you fish tomorrow?”
“Is Kaitlin going to be there for coffee? It’s always a pleasure to talk baseball with a woman that knows her stuff. “
“She’ll be there at ten thirty.”
Grandpa Mario gave us both a big hug. “You two have a ball; I might see you in the morning. Kaitlin, it was a real pleasure to meet you. If you get tired of this guy, give me a call.”
We made our exit. I pointed across the street to the bakery. “There it is in all its glory, Grimaldi’s Bakery.”
“How come you don’t call it O’Farrell’s Bakery?”
“My pop bought it from Mr. Grimaldi when I was little. He never changed the name. This is North Beach; it’s an Italian neighborhood. An Irish bakery wouldn’t quite fit.”
I had a key to the bakery and opened it up to give Kaitlin a look. While I was fumbling with the keys, I saw them. It was dark and they were staying in the shadows but I saw them: a short guy and a tall guy, rain oats, fedoras, hands in pockets. FBI guys? Pinkertons? All I, and they, knew was that they were made.
Inside, I turned on the light and reached under the base of the bread-kneading table for an extra .45.
Kaitlin noticed. “Worried about a couple of loaves of bread getting out of line?”
“Kaitlin, I am working on a couple of cases where there might be trouble. I doubt it, but I want to be ready just in case.”
“I’m not trying to be a killjoy, but its eight thirty and I’ll bet you are getting up extra early to bake bread. Why don’t you give me a lift home?”
“I like a sharp girl. How did you know my car is here?”
“You’re just too organized not to have a way home.”
“True, but I can walk from here, how about you?”
“I’m not that far away. I’ll show you how to get to my place for Sunday night.”
The Ford was parked up the block. I helped Kaitlin with her sweater and we walked to the car. No shadows. Either they were very good, or they gave up for the night.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Up Mason, and I’ll guide you there.”
I was heading up Mason when Kaitlin asked an odd question. “How’s the transmission on this Ford?”
“It’s fine, do you hear something funny?”
“No, turn right here on California and go up.”
That’s what she meant. The Ford was roaring up California, where its steep, and it’s pretty hard to shift and clutch it in gear if you come to a stop. Luckily we made it to the top of Knob Hill where California goes flat for a while. We passed the Mark Hopkins, the Fairmont, Huntington Park and Grace Cathedral.
“Take a right here on Taylor,” Kaitlin said. We passed the Pacific Union Club on our right.
“This is it,” she said.
I was in the middle of the most expensive real estate in San Francisco. This is where the big wheels of the city, and some say the country, live. Nestled on the corner of Taylor and Sacramento streets was this little bitty shack at the top of the Knob.
“This is your abode?”
“Be it ever so humble,” she said.
Humble, my backside. It was at least four floors of Italianate mansion, with a Rolls Royce in the circular driveway. The lamps at the front door were gas, and gave the building a real sense of grace. It was really quite daunting to look at.
“Let me guess, the owners are broke and they take in boarders.”
“No, Sean, just me and my parents.”
“Gee, where do they find room for you?”
“Believe it or not, there is an apartment in the basement. Three bedrooms, kitchen, separate entrance. I come and I go. My parents stopped waiting up for me by the front door a long time ago.”
I smiled, “That may be true, but why do I get the feeling that if I kiss you good night, three or four tough guys will come running out the front door and clobber me?”
“You are over-exaggerating, Sean. It would only be two guys. I guess you are just going to have to find out if it’s true aren’t you. Remember you do have a gun.”
I pulled her close. I kissed her gently on the lips, once, twice, and again. It was the best kiss I had had in years. It left me wanting another.
She wrapped her arms around me. “Survive my parents on Sunday, and there’s more where that came from.”
We kissed again. She opened the door and waved good night. I walked her to her door and kissed her again. I could get used to this real fast. She went in and closed the door.
I got into the car and I noticed a figure on the second floor looking out through the curtains at me. I fired up the Ford and slowly left the driveway.
I figured I’d better fade before someone came and chased me away from where the better half-lives.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was three a.m., and I had one job to complete before I headed for the bakery. On the back porch was a garbage pail filled with sand. I removed the lid, emptied six .45s, and make sure they were safe and locked in the open position before I went into the dining room where everything was all laid out. When I was in the Navy, this type of bucket was called a “clearing station.” You always make sure your weapon was empty before you entered the armory.
I had a wool blanket on the dining room table, covered with an old bedsheet, and a flathead screwdriver, a toothbrush, a wire tube cleaner, a can of gun oil, and a bottle of Hoppie’s gun cleaner. It was time to begin, one at a time; the same way every time.
One, ensure the weapon is properly unloaded and clear. Two, engage the slide lock. Three, remove the front barrel bushing. Four, remove the slide lock. Five, next remove the slide itself. Six, remove the firing pin. Seven, remove and clean the extractor. Eight, clean the breach plate. Nine, position the barrel lock. Ten, reinstall the slide assembly.
I do this little act every Saturday morning before I go to bake bread. I do it once, then twice, then a third and so on, until all of the guns that I have in the house are cleaned and ready to go. Every once in while during the week I get a head start; I listen to a program on the radio and clean a gun for relaxation.
It always comes back to that old adage: take care of your gun and it will take care of you when needed.
Once I finished, I jumped into the Ford and got to the bakery in five minutes.
Petey was hard at work. Peter was a good-looking young kid: twenty three, olive complexion, large sensitive brown eyes, and a smile that would melt a girl’s hearts. Boy, did they melt. When Petey was in high school he was busier with girls then homework and sports. He was quite a playboy, then in his senior year he started going steady with a girl named Roberta. He called her Bobbi. I thought it was pretty serious, and so did Petey. After graduation, she suddenly broke it off and married another guy, a guy who wasn’t even from the neighborhood, my Aunt Celia would say. Petey shrugged it off, but five years later, he still hurts. Love is not a game for the weak.
Petey
was working a two-foot ball of dough fresh out of the mixer. “Hey, Sean,” he greeted me. “Wash up and take this, will you? This is my third ball and my arms are going to fall off.”
I washed up, grabbed a flat scrapper, and went to work. The dough had been kneaded in the mixer, but now came the hard part. Kneading and cutting into loaf shapes without overworking the dough. It takes years to perfect the proper technique. My old man had me up to master-baker level by the time I was ten.
I cut the big ball into quarters and kneaded that section flat with my hands. Without even thinking, I cut that section into thirty portions. I did the same to the other three sections.
Next came the shaping. Petey had his racks greased and filled with dough ready for the oven. He opened the oven door and stuck his arm in for ten seconds, then pulled it out. “Three fifty on the nose, Sean. We are ready to go.” I could go over to the wall, take off a portable oven thermometer and check the oven, and it would be three fifty. When you do this every day, you can tell what the oven temperature is by waving your palm over the closed door. It’s a guarantee when you check it like Petey did.
I had one hundred and twenty square cuts of dough. I threw some flour on the table and started shaping. You take the dough with both hands, put it into a little flour, and roll it into a ball. When it is the size of a softball, you take scissors and cut an X in the top, take it over to a tub filled with corn meal. There, you cover the bottom with it, shake it, then place it on a greased rack to rise.
Petey and I did all one hundred and twenty in ten minutes. All the racks were filled with bread; all they had to do was rise. That gave us ten minutes to clean up, then it was breakfast time. Petey was washing a few last items in the deep sink. The water was so hot that the steam was billowing up into his face.
The Halfway to Hell Club Page 10
