Dirt

Bacchetti, are you of Italian extraction as well?”
    “Yes. My people have always had lands in Sicily, from time immemorial.” There was only the tiniest trace of sarcasm in her voice.
    “I see. And your family name?”
    “Bianchi.”
    “Ah.” Whitfield seemed to have heard this name before, somewhere, but he apparently didn’t remember where.
    “Mr. Bacchetti, I see your father is deceased; may I ask what work he did before his death?”
    “He was curator of a private art collection. His specialty was Renaissance drawings.” The closest Dino’s father had ever been to a Renaissance drawing had been the pictures in the girlie magazines in his candy store.
    “How very interesting. And Mrs. Bacchetti, what does your father do?”
    Dino felt Mary Ann shift; irritation was boiling off her in waves. He squeezed her hand, and she seemed to relax a bit.
    “My people have always been in the revenge business,” she said sweetly.
    Dino, unable to control himself, burst out laughing. To his amazement, Whitfield and his wife were laughing, too, as if Mary Ann had made some very clever joke.
    “Just one more question,” Whitfield said when he had composed himself. “Mr. Bacchetti, I see that you are employed by the city of New York.”
    “I am.”
    “In what capacity?”
    “I am a lieutenant with the New York Police Department; I command the detective division of the Nineteenth Precinct.”
    “I see,” Whitfield said, not at all certain that he did. “And how did you come to choose that particular line of work?”
    “My family has always been drawn to public service,” Dino replied.
    “Very commendable,” Whitfield mused. “We had a burglary in our building recently, I’m afraid. Never happened before.”
    “And if I come to live here, it will never happen again,” Dino said smoothly.
    “Ah, yes!” Whitfield cried, his tumblers working. “I quite see your point! One watches
NYPD Blue.
”
    “Excellent program,” Dino said. “Utterly realistic. By the way, I should mention that I am aware of the burglary, and I have doubled the police patrol on this block.”
    “Wonderful! Have you caught the perpetrator yet?”
    “I can reveal, in confidence, of course, that we now know his identity. We expect an arrest at any moment.”
    “Excellent! Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bacchetti, I believe that tells us all we need to know. You will be hearing from the board very soon, and I think I can intimate that the answer will be a favorable one.” The Bacchettis made their good-byes and departed. Once in the street again Dino said, “You sure you want to live in that place?”
    “Very sure.”
    “I mean, couldn’t you find a building with at least some Jews or something?”
    “Get used to it,” Mary Ann said.
     
Chapter 45
     
    Arrington, Dino, and Mary Ann sat at Stone’s kitchen table drinking wine while Stone cooked linguine with white clam sauce. The television was on NFL football, muted, and the men occasionally stole glances at the set.
    “Anyway,” Dino was saying, “you shoulda been there to hear my wife tell these people that her family is in the revenge business.”
    Everybody laughed.
    “I always tell the truth,” Mary Ann said.
    “Yeah? Then what was that about the Collegiate School?” Dino asked.
    “That was almost the truth.”
    “I never even heard of the Collegiate School, and my wife is telling these people that our kid is going there.”
    “How old is he?” Arrington asked.
    “Four,” Mary Ann replied.
    “Apply now,” Arrington advised. “It may already be too late.”
    “There’s not a public school in that neighborhood?” Dino asked innocently.
    “Forget about it,” Mary Ann said. “He’s going to Collegiate.”
    “Sounds like it’s tough to get in,” Dino said hopefully.
    “We’ll have help,” Mary Ann said.
    “Mary Ann, there are
some
things your old man can’t help with.”
    “Name three.”
    “Well, the Collegiate School is probably one of them.”
    “Wanta bet?”
    “I don’t think so,” Dino said resignedly.
    “Good move,” Stone chipped in.
    Arrington moved over to the stove and pretended to watch Stone work on the clam sauce. “Who is Mary Ann’s father?” she whispered.
    “Why?” Stone whispered back. “You want somebody in cement shoes?”
    “Oh.” She went back and sat down at the table. “Smells wonderful,” she said.
    “I’m having a hard time with this,” Mary Ann said.
    “With what?”
    “With this extremely