Angelo didn’t know what it was. It was a feeling that twisted his gut and stayed in his head. Rio Java. Rio Java. All he could think about was Rio Java. Was this love? he thought to himself bitterly.
This couldn’t be love, this nagging, persistent obsession.
Rio Java was not a beautiful woman; she wasn’t even a particulary young woman. She was just a freak. A tall, randy, red Indian fuckin’ freak.
He made up his mind to forget her.
Enzio phoned from New York to inform him there was trouble all over, there had been certain threats. It was best that Angelo not go around unprotected.
‘Aw, c’mon,’ Angelo bitched. ‘Nobody’s gonna come after me.’ His father talked like an old gangster movie.
‘Read the newspapers, you dumb little cocksucker, there’s hits happenin’ everywhere. You’re my son, so that makes you a target. I’m havin’ the Stevestos assign a man to you.’
Angelo groaned. ‘Listen—’
‘No, you listen,’ Enzio said coldly. I’m gettin’ reports of you being drunk, bumming around. Straighten your ass or I’ll haul you back here. You want that?’
Angelo swallowed an angry reply. He liked it in London. The more distance between himself and his family the better. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll get myself together,’ he promised.
‘You’d better,’ Enzio warned.
A man called Shifty Fly was commissioned to protect him. It infuriated Angelo that he had to be followed and accompanied everywhere.
Shifty Fly looked like his name. He was small, with watery, darting eyes and a thin, downturned mouth. Under the crabby gray suit he wore rested a shoulder holster and a concealed gun.
‘This is a joke,’ Angelo complained to Eddie Ferrantino.
Eddie’s cold eyes flicked over Angelo, marvelling yet again that this bearded asshole was Enzio Bassalino’s son. ‘Just do as your father says, be a good little boy, huh?’
Fuck the ‘little boy’ jazz. Angelo was sick of it. First Rio and now Eddie. Who the frig did they think they were?
He took out his various girlfriends and gave it to them regularly. There were no complaints.
He forced himself not to contact Rio. She was a bad scene, and even he knew enough not to ask for more.
He couldn’t hold out. He called her.
‘Hey, Rio, this is Angelo.’
‘Angelo who?’
Bitch! ‘Angelo Bassalino.’
Her voice was cool. ‘Let me see now, I don’t think I remember an Angelo Bassalino…’
He laughed, full of false bravado. ‘Stop kidding around. I thought you might like dinner.’
‘I always like dinner. In fact, I have it every night.’ A long pause. ‘Do you have it every night?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Then why don’t you run off and have it now?’
She hung up on him. The bitch hung up!
He sent her flowers, something he had never done. She sent them back when they were dead with a short note: ‘Hey—isn’t it funny—does everything you handle go limp?’
He found that although he was able to service all his girlfriends, it was virtually impossible for him to reach a climax. He remained hard as a rock, ready to go forever, never reaching the final destination. It was causing him great physical discomfort. When the hard-on vanished he was left with a pain in his gut that lasted all night.
Apart from that aggravation, there was Shifty Fly always close at hand. Foul-mouthed and slimy, he trailed Angelo everywhere.
* * *
Rio was pleased with the way things were going. She’d always possessed the power of grabbing men sexually. Larry Bolding had been one of the few exceptions, and that was because he was shit-scared of his wife, political career, and spotless reputation.
Boy, could she blow the whistle on his spotless reputation. Oh yeah, she could really make him squirm.
It was days since she’d returned the flowers to Angelo. Now the time was ripe. Picking up the phone, she called him.
Angelo groped for the receiver in his sleep. ‘Yeah?’ he said in a muffled voice.
‘Listen, stud,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think it’s about time I taught you how to really get it on?’
He was silent, trying to gather his thoughts.
‘Last chance, sweetheart,’ she said mockingly. ‘So why don’t you get your fine ass over here quick, an’ I’ll show you tricks you ain’t never gonna forget!’
By the time he was properly awake she’d hung up. It was past midnight. Throwing on some pants and a shirt, he ducked out the back entrance. This was one scene Shifty Fly wasn’t going to be following him to.