We were soon on our way to Metairie in Eddie’s commonplace Ford sedan, the lights of New Orleans disappearing in the mirror as we motored west on I-10. The unincorporated suburb lies between New Orleans and the Armstrong International Airport in Keener, and is home to nearly half a million people.
“No one cooks Italian like my own dear mother, but Via Vittorio Veneto is the best replacement I’ve found between visits back home. Ever eaten there?”
“Never heard of it.”
“Lots of Italians live in Metairie, especially in Old Metairie. I was drunk one night and wandered into this place. I’ve been going back ever since, though I haven’t visited in awhile.”
“What’s stopped you?”
“The owner’s daughter. She has the hots for me.”
“And?”
“She’s the hostess and likes her family’s cooking a little too much.”
“She’s fat?”
“A pound or so over two-hundred, I’d say. Too bad because she has the face of an angel.”
“Is she a good person?”
“Great personality and wonderful to be around.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be so picky,” I said.
“I have my standards.”
“Yeah, like Mama said, your karma’s going to catch you one of these days.”
“Mama Mulate said that?”
“Among other things I won’t repeat.”
“Don’t worry about my karma. You’re not entirely flawless yourself, you know.”
“Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said. “Soon as we’re seated at Via Vittorio Veneto. There could be a wait. It’s quite popular with the locals.”
Via Vittorio Veneto wasn’t as expensive as its name sounded. The classic wooden building could have passed as an uninteresting box of a building, except for the neon sign in front advertising its existence.
“Relax,” Eddie said. “It looks great on the inside.”
“And the food?”
“You won’t be disappointed, I guarantee.”
I knew Eddie wasn’t hyping me the moment he opened the door to the dim room, light supplied primarily by flickering candles and pulsating neon. An absolutely stunning brunette beamed when she saw us.
“Eddie,” she said, rushing around the lectern for a hug. “Where you been?”
The young woman swept a hand through her long hair, dark eyes flashing in the cozy area’s pale light.
“Toni, is that you?”
“It’s me,” she said, pirouetting to show her body. “How do I look?”
“Like a million dollars,” he said.
He wasn’t lying. Toni’s low-cut blouse exposed lots of cleavage, pink lips causing a curvy body to seem even more abundant. Though maybe weighing one hundred thirty, she was nowhere near two hundred pounds. She spoke with a distinct Metairie accent.
“Who’s your handsome friend?” she asked.
“Toni Bergamo meet Wyatt Thomas.”
When I offered my hand, she pushed it away and gave me a hug. “If you’re a friend of Eddie’s, you already family to me.”
“Then my thoughts are incestuous.”
“You making me blush,” she said, giving me another quick hug.
“Hey, what about me?” Eddie said.
Toni pecked his lips. “Mama come see who finally came back to see us.”
An attractive woman in a flowing black dress hurried out of the kitchen. She could have passed for Toni’s older sister and began smiling the moment she saw Eddie.
“You no good,” she said, hugging him. “Where you been?”
The diners in the small restaurant watched as Eddie twirled the woman around, hugging her when he finally returned her feet to the floor.
“Dreaming of your lasagna, Adele.”
She slapped Eddie playfully. “You liar! You got some woman chasing after you and got no time to come see Toni and me.”
“Not true. This is my friend Wyatt.”
Unlike her daughter, Adele shook my hand. “Happy to meet you, Wyatt. I hope you’re not as bad as this one,” she said, cocking her head toward Eddie.
She also spoke with an accent, maybe Italian-flavored Metairie though it was hard to tell. People from every suburb in the metropolitan area had their own distinct speech characteristics, Adele probably born and raised in Metairie.
“Worse,” Eddie said. “Wyatt’s the person I ask when I need advice about women.
Adele shook her head. “Then come into this place. You are both welcome here no matter how bad you are.”
The theme from The Godfather was playing as she led us to a table, complete with a red-checkered tablecloth, in a corner of the restaurant. Toni kissed Eddie again after handing us red, leather-bound menus. When she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Eddie, I glanced at him with a grin.
“If you think she’s fat, I’m going to have your eyes examined. She’s a knockout.”
“She’s lost weight. That’s all I can say.”
We had little time to discuss Toni’s body before Adele and an older man returned from the kitchen. Adele was carrying a bottle of chianti, the man two wine glasses. She poured each of us a glass before I could say something. Eddie didn’t notice. He was on his feet, embracing the little man.
“You’re looking good, Pancho. Don’t you ever age?”
“Clean living,” the person named Pancho said, his smile highlighting a set of white teeth.
“Pancho Bergamo, this is Wyatt Thomas.”
Pancho had a firm grip for such a small man. Flour dusted his black pants and his checkered shirt rivaled the tablecloth on our table. His shoes were worn, but polished, his socks white. Like his pants, his dark flattop was peppered with grey, as was his bushy mustache. His smile never seemed to disappear.
“Glad to meet you, Pancho. Eddie’s raved about this place so long, I finally made him take me here.”
“And you won’t be sorry,” he said, patting me on the back before returning to the kitchen.
“No need for this,” Eddie said, handing his menu to Adele. “You know what I want.”
“I’ll have the same,” I said when Adele glanced at me.
As she hurried away to the kitchen, Eddie filled me in on their family history.
“Pancho’s Adele’s papa, Toni’s grandpapa. Adele’s a widow. Her husband was a roughneck on an offshore drilling rig, killed in a natural gas explosion.”
“Dangerous work,” I said.
“Adele’s a terrific looking woman. Hard to believe she’s been unattached so long.”
“Maybe she likes it that way. It’s easy to see where Toni gets her looks from.”
Eddie nodded. “I’ve thought about asking her out.”
“What stopped you?”
“Probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“You’re probably right,” I said.
“Pancho’s lived here forever. Not much has happened in Metairie he doesn’t know about. After dinner, we can ask him about Carla’s granddad.”
“Sure we won’t be stirring up a bucket of worms?”
“Nah, he likes to gossip more than an old woman. He also likes to sample the house wine, if you know what I mean. His tongue will be loosed by the time we finish our cannolis.”
“Got to hand it to you, Eddie.”
“How’s that?”
“You boys at the Justice Department employ all sorts of sophisticated investigative techniques. I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, well the old methods still work best.”
Music had segued into a Sinatra torch song, the ambiance and pleasant aroma wafting from the kitchen whetting my appetite. Other diners came and went as we waited for our meal, Toni smiling and working diligently as they did. Adele soon appeared, pushing a cart bearing two steaming entrees.
“You’re not drinking your wine,” she said.
“One sauce I have to avoid,” I said. “The water you brought is all I need.”
“Not to worry,” Eddie said. “I’ll drink what he doesn’t.”
“Good for you, Wyatt. My husband, may God rest his soul, had a problem with the bottle. I had to knock him out with a baseball bat one night he got so mean.”
“Whoa!” I said. “I was lots of nasty things when I drank. Mean wasn’t one of them.”
“Then you just like Grandpapa. He drinks till he falls asleep on the old recliner in the kitchen, and then with a smile on his face. Half the time he don’t even make it home.”
“I’ve never seen him frown,” Eddie said.
“Oh, I made him lose his smile a time or two when I was young.”
“I’ll bet you did,” I said. “Your lasagna smells wonderful.”
“Then eat,” she said, backing away from the table.
“I think she likes you,” Eddie said.
“I like her too,” I said as she disappeared into the kitchen. “She’s kind of sexy, in a mature sort of way,”
“Toni didn’t get her good looks from Pancho.”
“Maybe his positive personality though,” I said.
As the last customer left the little restaurant, Pancho locked the door behind them and flipped a lightswitch to tell everyone the restaurant was closed for the night. He returned to our table with a fresh bottle of Chianti. Adele and Toni joined us when they finished straightening up, Toni sipping cola through a straw, Adele working on a gin martini.
“The only place I can get Italian food as good as this is at my mom’s, and she lives in New Jersey.”
“Bring her in,” Pancho said. “We’d like to meet her.”
“I’ll do that. She’s coming to see me next month, and it’ll be her first visit to New Orleans.”
“You kidding me?” Pancho said. “What about your dad? He coming too?”
“Dad passed when I was in high school.”
“So sorry,” Pancho said. “I know he musta been a fine man.”
“Thanks, Pancho.”
Eddie finished the last of his Chianti and Pancho topped up his glass, Sinatra still singing in the background. When Toni burped and grabbed her mouth, everyone laughed.
“How old’s your mom?” Pancho asked.
“Pushing seventy,” Eddie said. “Why? Need a date?”
“Sure. Maybe we can compare Italian recipes,” Pancho said.
“She’d like that,” Eddie said. “I’ll bring her in.”
Adele wasn’t paying much attention to Eddie and her dad. She’d inched her chair closer to mine, finally grabbing my hand.
“And you, Wyatt? What do you do?”
“Ex lawyer,” Eddie answered for me. “Now he’s just a private dick and glorified tour guide.”
“Ex?” Adele said.
“Long story. I’d like to tell you about it someday if you have the time.”
Still holding my hand, she squeezed it.
“I’d like that.”
Toni was watching her mother’s hand and didn’t seem too happy where it was placed. Bending over her lap, she grinned and gave me a glimpse of her ample breasts. Adele pushed her away, smiling when Toni gave her a dirty look. Eddie had a dirty look of his own, feeling slighted for attention.
“Tour guide?” Toni said.
“Wyatt’s partner is a voodoo mambo named Mama Mulate. Local rich folks hire them when they need a spell cast on someone,” Eddie said.
Toni’s dark eyes grew wide. “Really?”
“Eddie exaggerates,” I said.
“Then what do you do, Wyatt Thomas?” Adele asked.
“This and that. I work for myself. People hire me when they have a problem and think I can help them.”
Like her dad, Adele’s drink wasn’t her first of the night. She wasn’t soused but was feeling no pain. Her voice had grown huskier as we’d sat there. Toni wasn’t smiling.
“I got a little problem,” Adele said. “How much do you charge?”
“Moth-er!” Toni said. “You starting to embarrass me.”
Grabbing her arm, she yanked her up from the chair.
“What?” Adele said.
“I want to talk to you. Alone,” she said, pulling her away from the table and into the kitchen.
“Those two,” Pancho said, topping up his and Eddie’s glasses. “You’d think they were sisters the way they carry on.”
Eddie was apparently not happy with the attention Adele was paying me. When he glared across the table, I shrugged. He soon forgot about Toni and Adele, remembering the reason, other than the food, we were there in the first place.
“Say, Pancho, you know about everything there is to know about Metairie.”
Pancho nodded. “Lived here all my life. Why?”
“Wyatt and I were wondering about something and thought we’d ask you about it.”
“Ask away,” Pancho said.
“You’re Italian. What do you know about the local mob?”
Pancho’s smile disappeared, and he quickly crossed his arms tightly across his chest.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Oh, come on,” Eddie said. “I’ll bet you know more than you’re letting on.”
“I said I don’t know nothing. You got a problem with that?”
Eddie apparently failed to detect the faint rattle of Pancho’s warning, persisting with his line of questioning.
“Everyone in town knows one thing or another. We have a question, and I bet you can answer it.”
Pancho pushed away from the table and turned to go. He wheeled around when I touched his arm.
“Pancho, we’re sorry. Eddie misspoke. He’s not suggesting you know anything about organized crime in Metairie,” I said.
“He’s an idiot. Get him out of my restaurant and don’t ever bring him back. Now!”
I grabbed Eddie’s arm, pulling him to his feet, and then dragged him to the door, Pancho right behind us. By now, Adele and Toni had stuck their heads out of the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about. Pancho pushed us out the front door, closing it with a not-so-subtle slam. Eddie stepped back and kicked the door so hard it rattled in its frame.
“Why that old bastard...”
“Let’s go before he calls the cops,” I said, grabbing his arm again and yanking him off the porch.
I had to push him across the parking lot to the car. Adele and Toni were waiting for us, and both were crying. When Adele grabbed Eddie and hugged him, his anger quickly diffused.
“What did you say to Grandpapa to make him so angry?” Toni said.
“I’m sorry. I’m going to apologize.”
“No, Eddie. Papa don’t listen to nobody when he flips out like this. He’ll have his gun by now. He’ll kill you.”
“Why is he so upset?”
“What did you say to him?” Toni asked.
“Nothing. We wanted to see if he knew something that happened when he was younger.”
“Like what?”
“The grandfather of a friend of ours was lynched by a Metairie mob because they assumed he was a hitman for the Black Hand. I thought your father might know something about it. He gave us no chance to ask.”
Still hugging him, Adele shook her head. “Papa never talks about the mob.”
“Your father worked for them?”
“Please, Eddie. You don’t understand.”
“I think I’m beginning to. Get in the car, Wyatt,” he said, pulling away from her grasp.
A truck raced past on the street, horn blaring when the driver noticed the two women. Toni was crying, trying to pull her mother away from the car. Adele wrenched her arm loose and banged on the car window until Eddie lowered it.
“There’s an old man that works in the kitchen at the Havana Club. His name is Paco. I don’t know his last name. He’s a friend of Papa’s and knows about the hanging. Some say he was there when it happened.”
“How do you know this?” Eddie asked.
“Just trust me,” she said.
Eddie’s anger faded again. Taking her hand, he kissed it.
“I’m so sorry about tonight, but I swear I’ll make amends with your dad.”
Toni cried as she wrestled her mother from the car.
“Don’t bother, you bastard!” she said. “I hate you.”
Eddie raised the window and raced off across the shell and gravel parking lot, spinning his wheels and not slowing until we were on the main road through town.