Franco walked directly to the table. When Vinnie saw him, he patted the girls and told them to go powder their noses. As soon as they left, Ponti sat down.
“You want something to drink?” Vinnie asked.
“A glass of wine would be fine,” Franco said.
Vinnie snapped his fingers. A waiter instantly appeared for instructions. Just as quickly, he reappeared with the requested glass. Vinnie poured Franco some wine from the bottle standing on the table.
“You got something for me?” Vinnie asked.
Franco took a drink and twisted the bottle around to look at the label.
“Angelo Facciolo and Tony Ruggerio are with Cerino tonight. So they’re idle. But last night they were out hustling. I don’t know what they did early in the evening because I’d lost them. But after some midnight pizza I picked them up again, and they were busy. You read about those murders in Manhattan last night?”
“You mean that big-shot banker and the auction house guy?” Vinnie asked.
“Those are the ones,” Franco said. “Angelo and Tony did both those jobs. And they were messy. They almost got nabbed both times. In fact, I had to be careful not to get picked up for questioning, especially on the banker job. I was parked out front when the cops came.”
“What the hell did they whack them for?” Vinnie said. His face had gotten quite red and his eyes started to bulge.
“I still don’t know,” Franco said.
“Every day the cops are more agitated!” Vinnie bellowed. “And the more of an uproar they’re in, the worse it gets for business. We’ve had to shut most of our gambling clubs down temporarily.” He glared at Franco. “You got to find out what’s going on.”
“I’ve put out some feelers,” Franco said. “I’ll be asking around as well as tailing Angelo and Tony. Somebody’s got to know.”
“I have to do something,” Vinnie said. “I can’t sit around forever while they ruin everything.”
“Give me a couple more days,” Franco said. “If I can’t figure it out, I can get rid of Angelo and Tony.”
“But that would mean a war,” Vinnie said. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that either. That’s even worse for business.”
“You know something, Doc?” Cerino said. “That wasn’t so bad at all. I really was worried but I didn’t feel a thing when you operated. How’d it go?”
“Like a dream,” Jordan said. He was holding a small penlight and shining it in the eye on which he’d just performed surgery. “And it looks fine now. The cornea’s as clear as a bell and the chamber’s deep.”
“If you’re happy,” Cerino said, “I’m happy.”
Cerino was in one of the private rooms of the Goldblatt wing of Manhattan General Hospital. Jordan was making late postoperative rounds since he’d finished his last corneal transplant only half an hour earlier. He’d done four in that day alone. In the background Angelo was leaning against the wall. In an armchair next to the door to the bathroom, Tony was fast asleep.
“What we’ll do is give this eye a few days,” Jordan said, straightening up. “Then if all goes well, which I’m sure it will,” he hastily added, “we’ll do the other eye. Then you’ll be as good as new.”
“You mean I have to wait for the other operation, too?” Cerino demanded. “You didn’t tell me about that. When we started you just said I had to wait for the first operation.”
“Relax!” Jordan urged. “Don’t get your blood pressure up. It’s good to put a little time between operations so that your eye has a chance to recover before I work on the other one. And at the rate we’ve been going today, you shouldn’t have long to wait.”
“I don’t like surprises from doctors,” Cerino warned. “I don’t understand this second waiting period. Are you sure this eye you operated on is doing OK?”
“It’s doing beautifully,” Jordan assured him. “No one could have done better, believe me.”
“If I didn’t believe you I wouldn’t be laying here,” Cerino said. “But if I’m doing this good and if I got to wait for a few days what am I doing in this depressing room. I want to go home.”