“That’s right,” Toby said quickly. “I’m glad you understand, Al.”
Al smiled benignly. “Sure. But you know what I don’t understand? You didn’t call to find out what time the wedding is.”
“I was going to call in the morning.”
Al Caruso laughed and said chidingly, “From L.A.?”
Toby felt a small pang of anxiety. “What are you talking about, Al?”
Caruso regarded him reproachfully. “You got your suitcases all packed in there.” He pinched Toby’s cheek playfully. “I told you I’d kill anyone who hurt Millie.”
“Wait a minute! Honest to God, I wasn’t—”
“You’re a good kid, but you’re stupid, Toby. I guess that’s part of bein’ a genius, huh?”
Toby stared at the chubby, beaming countenance, not knowing what to say.
“You gotta believe me,” Al Caruso said warmly, “I’m your friend. I wanna make sure nothin’ bad happens to you. For Millie’s sake. But if you won’t listen to me, what can I do? You know how you get a mule to pay attention?”
Toby shook his head dumbly.
“First, you hit it over the head with a two-by-four.”
Toby felt fear rising in his throat.
“Which is your good arm?” Caruso asked.
“My—my right one,” Toby mumbled.
Caruso nodded genially and turned to the two men. “Break it,” he said.
From out of nowhere, a tire iron appeared in the hands of one of the men. The two of them began closing in on Toby. The river of fear became a sudden flood that made his whole body shake.
“For Christ’s sake,” Toby heard himself say, inanely. “You can’t do this.”
One of the men hit him hard in the stomach. In the next second, Toby felt excruciating pain as the tire iron slammed against his right arm, shattering bones. He fell to the floor, writhing in an unbearable agony. He tried to scream, but he could not catch his breath. Through tear-filled eyes, he looked up and saw Al Caruso standing over him, smiling.
“Have I got your attention?” Caruso asked softly.
Toby nodded, in torment.
“Good,” Caruso said. He turned to one of the men. “Open up his pants.”
The man leaned down and unzipped Toby’s fly. He took the tire iron and flicked out Toby’s penis.
Caruso stood there a moment, looking down at it. “You’re a lucky man, Toby. You’re really hung.”
Toby was filled with a dread such as he had never known. “Oh, God…please…don’t…don’t do it to me,” he croaked.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Caruso told him. “As long as you’re good to Millie, you’re my friend. If she ever tells me you did anything to hurt her—anything—you understand me?” He nudged Toby’s broken arm with the toe of his shoe and Toby screamed aloud. “I’m glad we understand each other,” Caruso beamed. “The wedding is at one o’clock.”
Caruso’s voice was fading in and out as Toby felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. But he knew he had to hang on. “I c-can’t,” he whimpered. “My arm…”
“Don’t worry about that,” Al Caruso said. “There’s a doc on his way up to take care of you. He’s gonna set your arm and give you some stuff so you won’t feel no pain. The boys will be here tomorrow to pick you up. You be ready, huh?”
Toby lay there in a nightmare of agony, staring up at Santa Claus’s smiling face, unable to believe that any of this was really happening. He saw Caruso’s foot moving toward his arm again.
“S—sure,” Toby moaned. “I’ll be ready…”
And he lost consciousness.
11
The wedding, a gala event, was held in the ballroom of the Morocco Hotel. It seemed that half of Las Vegas was there. There were entertainers and owners from all the other hotels and showgirls and, in the center of it all, Al Caruso and a couple dozen of his friends, quiet, conservatively dressed men, most of whom did not drink. There were lavish arrangements of flowers everywhere, strolling musicians, a gargantuan buffet and two fountains that flowed champagne. Al Caruso had taken care of everything.
Everyone sympathized with the groom, whose arm was in a cast as a result of an accidental fall down some stairs. But they all commented on what a marvelous-looking couple the bride and groom made and what a wonderful wedding it was.