Nino Salerno pulled his old black Cadillac into the last spot in the parking lot and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He picked a cigar stub out of the ashtray and lit it with his fat fingers cupped around his mouth. He sat for a moment before puffing on the cigar, the warm orange glow highlighting the perspiration on his fat checks and forehead. Then he sat some more.
When he couldn’t stand the cold any longer, he waddled through the snow toward the portico with the collar of his navy blue suit jacket flipped up. He flicked his smoldering cigar stub into the bushes before going inside.
“Salerno
Nino pressed his way into the sea of black suits, black dresses, and black overcoats. Talking, laughing, hugging, and crying, relatives mingled all around him. A few people noticed him in the commotion but quickly turned away as he shuffled by.
Half way through the mob, an old woman hurried to block his forward progress. “Nicky!” she slowly warbled, clasping his face about his graying sideburns. She pinched one of his fat cheeks, taking a good look at him. “Oh, Nicky,” she continued. “All the way from Chicago tonight? I’m so sorry, honey. So sorry. You look good, honey.” He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, then slipped past her.
Nino approached a short man standing at the back of a side room. He recognized that it was his brother Marco by his soft baritone voice. Marco was speaking to three old men who eventually embraced him in turn before heading for a row of folding chairs. Nino stepped up greet to him.
“Hey,” said Marco, almost startled. “You made it. You OK?”
“Yeah, fine,” replied Nino. “How ‘bout you?”
“Hanging in there, you know.” Marco shook his head. “Pop would be so happy you came. You know, I thought you—no. You know what? It’s great to see you.” He hugged Nino, pounding him on the back four times before pushing away.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Nino assured. He paused. “I don’t wanna get into it now, but I was hoping. Did you’se get a chance to read pop’s—”
“Uncle Nick!” interrupted a young man who wrapped an arm around Nino’s waist.
“You remember my Anthony, don’t you?” asked Marco. “All grown up now, huh?”
“You bet,” said Nino, messing up the teen’s hair.
“Dad, can I take my new wheels for a spin with Tommy and Joe?” Anthony begged his father. “We’ll be back in a half hour—I swear.” Marco nodded and pointed at his watch.
“Already got your license, huh?” asked Nino. “That’s really something.”
“Yeah,” Anthony replied. “Dad let me get it after I worked with him at the terminal for a few months. And now I got a white Buick, too, thanks to Grandpa Salerno.”
Nino’s smile slowly vanished. He turned to face Marco. “So you did read it. Or what did you do—you just pass out his stuff?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Anthony stepped away from his uncle.
Marco looked around uncomfortably. “Well, you never really came around, you know?” he tried to explain. “Dad just didn’t see you all that much these days. You know what, let’s not do this now.”
Nino’s face went completely red. “What about the stuff he left for me?”
“Nick, please,” Marco pleaded in a hushed tone. “Please. Enough.”
“No, you tell me!” Nino bellowed. “I want to hear all about the house, the money, the cars—everything. You tell me now!”
All eyes were on the brothers. No one said a word.
Marco’s shoulders sank. “There was nothing left to you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Nino looked into his sad eyes and then scoffed. “OK. OK. I see the way it is,” he snarled, turning back into the hallway. “You lying piece of—”
Marco grabbed for his arm, but Nino swatted him away. Nino shoved past a few men in the hallway, threw the doors open, and stomped through the snow to his old Cadillac.
Cussing to himself, he had to turn the key in the ignition twice to get the engine to turn over. He pulled into the street with his headlights still off and started back for Chicago .
