A hat floating out to sea

Sonny waited for Vinnie for nearly 45 minutes before he asking Sally where the hell he was. She'd told him that he was probably going to see his girlfriend, which didn't sound like Vinnie—he didn't duck out of work to chase skirts.

He had to pry the rest of the information out of Sally, that when Vinnie had heard Lorenzo was going to see Gina, he'd high-tailed it there himself. Sonny knew there was an ugly scene at the end of that trip, and he felt a strong surge of fear. He told Sally to call to the helicopter ready, then went back in his office to find Gina's address.

Sonny ran into Sid coming in as he was going out. "Sidney, you knock before you come into my office," Sonny snapped, pushing him backward out the door. He ignored Sid's whining voice telling him something about profits and losses and how Mr. Patrice wasn't happy, and got in the elevator. He knew what was going to happen; Lorenzo was a nutbar and if he was bothering Gina, Vinnie would have to do something about it. Sure, yeah. And when he does, I'll have to do something about that. That was when he realized just what he was afraid of.


Gina was sitting in Vinnie's car when Sonny's cab pulled up; she was wearing a bathrobe and her eyes, peering out from behind her long, blonde hair, told the whole story—they were blank with shock. He nearly stopped to speak to her, but the sound of distant sirens caught his attention and he hurried inside.

Lorenzo was on the floor, blood pooling around him. Sonny barely spared him a glance, going to Vinnie, who was sitting slumped on the edge of the bed. Sonny tugged his sleeve. "C'm'on, we gotta get outta here."

Vinnie looked up, surprise on his ashen face. "How'd you get here so fast?"

"Quit asking stupid questions and come on. The cops're on their way."

"Yeah, I had Gina call 'em. You better go, though." His tone was cool and detached. Sonny laid the back of his hand to Vinnie's cheek; it was cold.

"You're in shock. If the cops're on their way, they'll take care of Gina. Let's get out of here."

Vinnie jerked away from his touch. "No! I'm waiting for the cops! It was a righteous shooting, I got nothing to be afraid of. Go on, get out of here or they'll take you in, too."

It was true, but Sonny hated to do it. "I'm calling Volker," he promised. "He'll be waiting for you, don't say anything he doesn't want you to." And added, "It'll be OK."

Vinnie nodded absently and Sonny left, got back in the cab and told the guy to drive. In the rear view mirror he could see the cop cars approaching.


He wanted to—he didn't know what he wanted. Damned if he'd go to the police station and wait. He'd go back to the office and call Dom. What else could he do?

But he didn't go back to his office. After a call to Volker, he had the pilot fly them out over the ocean, until there was no land in sight. "Nothin' else he could do," Sonny muttered, looking at the waves, the sky, at how they blended to one, until finally he thought of nothing at all.


Vinnie stared at the ceiling, cracking his gum while the cops circled him. He knew how he looked on the outside—typical dumb low-level mob guy. In his head he was making notes, things to have Frank pass on to the higher-ups, to tell guys like this to make their patter more effective. So far they'd been pretty good, Vinnie had to admit. They certainly knew where their strength was—what should have been Vinnie's more-than-reasonable fear of Sonny. If the creep had really been Lorenzo, and I was really who you think I am, you might just stand a chance flipping me. But your technique's a little rough, you wanna go more for seduction than assault.

"You might as well talk to us." That was Good Cop, the one who'd given him a cigarette, uncuffed his hands, brought him some water. Vinnie wondered if it had occurred to anyone that the Good Cop, Bad Cop game might not be so effective anymore, what with every eight year old who'd even seen an episode of Starsky & Hutch being wise to it these days. "It's not like you can go back to Steelgrave, no matter how good your reasons were for shooting his nephew."

Vinnie blew a bubble, popped it. "Yeah, right, fuck you." He wished Frank would get there. They really needed to get going on getting Sonny apprised of Tony San Martano's true identity or these locals would be right—he'd need somebody's protection.

"You play ball with us, give us what you know about Steelgrave's organization, and you can walk away clean. We'll get the feds to put you in Witness Protection."

Vinnie laughed contemptuously. "That's a good one. You know any other jokes?"

"You know where Tony Greco is right now?" This was Bad Cop, who didn't have much of a hand to play, since sweet talk was the name of the game. He'd spent his time glaring at Vinnie from a corner.

"Landfill in Idaho?" Vinnie guessed. "That's a great deal you're offering. What's my signing bonus, a free shroud?"

Bad Cop started to answer, but Frank's entrance interrupted him. "Thank you, gentlemen, but I believe this is my party."

"You can have him," Bad Cop muttered as Good Cop turned a look of pure antipathy on him.

"Good luck." The door slammed behind them.

"Dammit, Frank, you just blew my deal. I think they were getting ready to offer me what's behind door number two." Frank's perplexed look got him giggling at the absurdity of being offered WITSEC. He knew he shouldn't be laughing, he knew it was stress, he knew he should quit.

"What the hell happened?" Frank demanded. "What are you doing here now?"

"I shot Lorenzo. San Martano," Vinnie corrected himself. "He raped Gina." That dismal pronouncement was enough to sober him.

Frank sat down across from him. "What happened?"

Vinnie filled him in, leaving out Sonny's appearance on the scene. Why tell him? It's not pertinent, it deflects from the issue at hand, he'd never believe it was nothing more ominous than a gesture of concern, and we'd waste the next hour arguing about it.

"Did you have to shoot him?" Frank's voice was soft, his face filled with worry. "You said he'd released Ms Augustina—"

"Frank! For God's sake! Even the locals can see it was self-defense—"

"OK, OK. I had to ask." He was silent for a moment, then, "I told you there were good reasons not to get involved with civilians—"

And Vinnie was on him in a flash, the guilt tearing loose, pouring out. "You're kidding me, right? You're telling me I shouldn't've been seeing Gina because maybe some bent axle might kill Sonny's nephew, impersonate him, and get fixated on her? You're seriously saying this is my fault—"

"Vince—" Frank tried to forestall him.

"That I should have been able to foresee this somehow, that I'm now responsible for the actions of a bunch of psycho-losers—you think it matters if you lock them up? It doesn't matter, lock them up! They're predators, as long as they're breathing, they'll find someone to prey on—"

"Vince!" Frank was shaking him, pulling him back from that dark haze he'd fallen into again, the one he'd gone into just before he pulled the trigger. There was fear in Frank's eyes when Vince looked into them, and caring.

I didn't shoot that sick fuck to protect Gina, I shot him to protect myself. Some big hero. Frank was handing him a cup of water. Vince didn't even remember him leaving the room to get it.

"Are you all right?"

There wasn't a doubt in his mind Frank knew. "Yeah, I'm OK."

"You want—" Frank broke off abruptly. "You want me to find you someone to talk to?"

He was about to offer himself, an idea that amazed Vince. "No, I'm OK. Anyhow, Sonny's lawyer should be here any minute. I'm not being charged with anything, so you can't keep me here without making Sonny suspicious."

"We'll think of something, Vince, if you want to talk. Comes down to it, I'll bang your face against the door and take you someplace for stitches."

It may have been a serious offer; with Frank it was hard to tell. The water Vinnie'd been about to swallow came out mostly through his nose. "Gee, thanks for the swell offer, but I think I'll pass." He searched his pockets for a handkerchief before taking Frank's proffered one, and mopped his face. "Just get on the phone, will you, and get somebody from Immigration over to tell Sonny that that wasn't his nephew I shot. I really don't want to go back 'til I'm sure he knows."

"It's in the works. I'm only sorry we didn't think of that sooner."

"Yeah, Frank, why didn't we, huh?" Guilt was overtaken by anger, a much more palatable emotion. Why not blame Frank for this whole thing, then maybe I can sleep tonight. "Why in the hell should we have waited for Dom to tell Sonny? Why didn't INS pick him up? Sonny can't even get a hold of Dom, he's been calling ever since San Martano attacked me in the parking lot. We knew he was in the country illegally, we suspected he was a dangerous criminal—what the fuck were we waiting for—"

"Daryl was afraid it would endanger the investigation, might possibly endanger you."

Vince looked at him in disbelief. "Daryl thought picking him up might endanger me? Daryl's an idiot! Frank, I was sleeping in the same apartment with that psycho, what's he think, that that was like having my very own guardian angel?"

Frank ignored this. "You think there's gonna be a problem with Steelgrave?" he asked. "It took me a while to get down here."

"Nah, no sweat, not as long as it's squared away about San Martano. I'll just tell Sonny the truth—you guys were trying to flip me an' I told you to shove it. He'll get a big kick out of it."

Frank rolled his eyes. "I wish you'd take this more seriously."

"I am taking it seriously, it's Sonny who thinks it's funny."


"Go on back," Sonny told the pilot. It was starting to get dark. Time to face the music.

He hadn't gone back to his office, had instead gone to his apartment where he poured himself a drink. And then another, and let himself think about this nightmare for the first time. Vinnie'd told Gina to call the cops, he'd turned himself in to them. What was it he said, it was a righteous shooting? Sonny had to smile at that. It was cop lingo. Funny how it bled in, insinuated itself, you picked it up from the air, practically. Vinnie's faith in the cops was nuts, but—

Is it faith? Or is it just that he feels safer going with them than with me? And why shouldn't he, he knows the repercussions, he's not stupid—

Sonny threw his glass against the glass wall and received a satisfying crash in response. "There was nothing else he could do! Yeah, nothin' else I can do, either." If it was up to me, I'd give Vinnie a pass. But it isn't, and there isn't any question what Dom's gonna say—like Vinnie for Lorenzo is any kind of fair trade! It's a joke! Why should I give up Vinnie—I need Vinnie! Because a brother I don't even hear from at Christmas wants it? Fuck that! If anybody's to blame for this mess, it's Dom—no wonder he was so anxious to send Lorenzo. He sends me his problems and what do I get in return? I lose— No! No fucking way, I won't do it—

But he would. Not for Dom, or because those were the rules, but because of what would happen if he didn't. Dom would be well within his rights to go to Mack—

"Shit." He dropped to the sofa and sat, telling himself to pick up the phone, but not doing it. "Fuck it, I'll call tomorrow." Maybe Vinnie wouldn't come back, maybe he'd disappear and that would be the end of it—

The phone rang. For one stupid moment Sonny wondered if it was Dom, finally returning one of his calls. "Yeah, right," before he grabbed the receiver off the hook. "Yeah?"

"Sonny, it's Vinnie. I'm downstairs in the lobby. D'you want me to come up?"

Sonny's heart ached at his proper, formal tone. "Yeah, sure, kid, c'm'on up." He glanced over at the broken glass. "Better yet, go on up to your place, I'll meet you there."

"OK, Sonny, sure."


Sonny was there when Vinnie let himself into his apartment, wandering around aimlessly, looking at the over-priced bric-a-brac, picking things up and putting them back down without really seeing them. Vinnie understood the grief he was feeling, and he hated himself for what he was going to do. Fuck it. I've gotta worry about Sid all the time, I need Sonny on my side. If this cement it, I don't know what will. "Sonny, I'm sorry."

Sonny glanced over at him. "Yeah, I know. What choice did you have?"

"None. I'm glad you understand that."

"Sure. We all do what we gotta do." Sonny was still not looking at him; he was staring out the window. Vinnie hurried on, before Sonny had a chance to spill the beans and spoil his performance.

"I just want you to know, I'm not going anyplace." Now Sonny turned to stare at him. "I'm not trying to duck out on this. Whatever you gotta do, Sonny, you don't gotta hunt me down to do it; I'm right here."

Vinnie wasn't sure what kind of response he'd expected, but Sonny gave none. He went to the refrigerator, poured himself a glass of orange juice, then began to walk around the room, brooding. Vinnie was at a loss for what to say next.

Finally Sonny stopped in front of the answering machine. "Looks like you're a real popular guy today—you got eight messages waiting for you."

What the hell? "Can't be anything important, I'll check 'em later."

"Nah, go ahead, don't mind me."

Perplexed, Vinnie went to his answering machine and pushed the button. Uncle Mike's voice came on, not sounding quite as cheerful as usual. "Hey, Vinnie, it's your Uncle Mike. Just wanted to let you know I'm going to have to take a rain check on breakfast tomorrow. Your Aunt Cecilia's not feeling so well. Give me a call." Breakfast? That meant emergency pull-out. What? He glanced over at Sonny, who was leaning against the back of the sofa, watching him. Does he know? Why is he acting like this? The next message was from Uncle Mike as well, sounding stressed out, telling him to call, his Aunt Cecilia was in the hospital. What? What kind of message is that? What do I do? Again he glanced over at Sonny, who was still looking at him, still with that brooding expression. The next two messages, also from Uncle Mike, were terse orders to call— Vinnie punched the stop button.

"Sounds like you better call," Sonny said, and laughed shortly. Was there something in his voice, something threatening? Cut it out, you're getting paranoid.

"Yeah, guess I better," Vinnie agreed, and dialed his Lifeguard's number. Uncle Mike picked up on the first ring.

"Vince?"

"Yeah, Uncle Mike, what's up? Is Aunt Cecilia OK?"

"Vince, Frank says the INS guy hasn't talked to Steelgrave, he never went back to his office, the guy waited all afternoon, 'til they closed the office—"

Vinnie stood there, holding the phone to his ear so hard it hurt his head. "Yeah, Uncle Mike, I understand. It's just—there's stuff going down here, I can't—my boss's here right now—"

"He's there with you now? Vince, you need to get outta there immediately, you understand me?"

"Yeah, Uncle Mike, I understand, but—" No! Fuck, this was such a perfect plan! Yeah, that's what you get for hubris.

"You need to got to the hospital?" Sonny asked. "We could take the chopper, be there in half an hour—"

We? We doesn't help me any—we get in the chopper and where do we go? To the hospital to visit my imaginary aunt? Shit, I don't believe this, I gotta get the information to Sonny somehow—I don't wanna lose this case! "No, Sonny, thanks, it's fine, she's home now," he said, covering the mouthpiece with his hand and forcing a smile. "Now he's just reading me the riot act about being incommunicado all day."

Sonny smiled back, but there was still something wrong. Of course there's something wrong, he's making plans to pop me. "Uncle Mike—Uncle Mike, will you shut up a minute?" Vinnie waited for the silence, heard Sonny laugh. "I'm sorry I wasn't where I was supposed to be when you called, but I got a job here, you know?" Please, understand what I'm saying! "Tell Aunt Cecilia I'm sorry, that I'll see her as soon as I can, but right now I'm busy, my boss is here with me, you know I don't work regular—"

"Vince," Uncle Mike interrupted, but Vinnie kept talking.

"If you really need me, you know where to find me—I'm right here at my place, with Sonny."

There was a long pause. "You can't get away from him?"

"No, I don't think so. Look, how about if I call the florist, have some flowers delivered, you think that would make her feel better? Flowers showing up on her doorstep?" Another laugh from Sonny.

"I'll call Frank, have the INS agent come to your place."

"That'd be great, thanks a lot."

"I don't know how long it'll take," Uncle Mike warned. "Can you stall? Will you be all right?"

"Yeah, sure. Give her my love, and thanks." Vinnie hung up.

"Everything OK?"

"Yeah, just—it's a long story." Vinnie was struggling to keep his breathing even as his heart pounded and his instincts told him to run. No! Not fight or flight, just stay calm and play this out, it will be fine.

"I got nothing to do," Sonny said, his casual tone forced. "Unless you're kicking me out."

He doesn't want to do it. Vinnie was one-hundred-percent sure of that. All I gotta do is hold out 'til the cavalry arrives. "Sure, stick around," Vinnie said in his own forced-casual tone. "You want me to order up some dinner?"

Sonny shrugged. "Sure, go ahead."

Vinnie went to the phone, picked up the receiver, looked at the blinking light telling him about all the messages he hadn't listened to. Would he . . . ? The way Sonny made himself at home, Vinnie really wasn't sure. He pushed the button to erase them all. "Hey, you mind if I grab a quick shower first? I been feeling grimy since that interrogation room."

"Yeah, sure, I'm in no hurry." Sonny had taken off his jacket and seated himself on the sofa.

"Thanks." Vinnie started from the room, but Sonny's voice stopped him.

"What about the flowers?"

"He said he'd take care of it, he knows a guy."

"Lemme guess—he works at a funeral parlor."

Vinnie faked a laugh. "You got it."


Sonny sat listening to the water rushing in the shower. I'll call Dom in the morning. What's the rush, Lorenzo will still be dead in the morning. I don't want to do this. Not any of it—call and tell his brother his son is dead, not hear the words that would take Vinnie away from him, none of it. "I'm not trying to duck out on this. Whatever you gotta do, Sonny, you don't gotta hunt me down to do it; I'm right here." It just broke his heart.

Vinnie came out in fresh jeans and T, drying his hair. Sonny watched him call down for dinner, thinking what a quick study he was, knowing just what to select; liking so much what he saw.

Vinnie put down the receiver, joined him on the sofa.

"So, tell me your long story. What's up with your family?"

"Sonny, you don't wanna—" A token protest; Sonny waved it away. Vinnie sighed. "Most'a my family's not speaking to me, since my time inside. On my mother's side there's just my cousin Danny and his wife, on my father's, my uncle Mike and aunt Cecilia. Uncle Mike's OK, he's always borrowing money off me, but he's OK. Aunt Cecilia's real a hypochondriac. That's what those calls were all about—she had one of her 'sinking spells.' She's been havin' 'em for forty years, gettin' herself taken to the ER. They've never once kept her, or found anything wrong with her, but every time, Uncle Mike panics."

"And you get phone calls."

"Yeah, well, used to be my dad, now it's me. Sorry about that."

Again Sonny waved it away. If I gotta lose him, maybe before I do . . . .

He got up and took his drink over to the windows, staring out, rattling the ice. There wasn't much drink left. Vinnie came over and took the glass our of his hand, came back in a moment with the glass full, put it back in Sonny's hand.