Acrobat by Mary Calmes

of it, but shaving every day is a pain in the you-know-what.”
    She shrugged. “Tell me, how did you get the bruises on your face?”
    I pointed at her husband.
    Her laughter was there again, and her husband leaned forward to look at me.
    “What happened really?”
    It was fun to explain about the night before and the mugging I had stopped.
    “Now I feel worse,” Ray told me.
    “Good.” I smirked. “’Cause I think I need some Tylenol or something.”
    “Or another cappuccino?” Johnny offered.
    “Both, please.”
    As I watched his son leave, I saw Ray’s smile. He liked me. His whole family liked me, and feeling Michael’s knee wedged next to mine under the table, I knew my being there had helped.
    “So, Casanova,” I said, smiling, “what did we learn?”
    “Not to skip basketball practice when you’re trying to get laid?” he said under his breath, having leaned close to my ear.
    “You’re a riot.”
    He bumped my shoulder, and I asked how his grandmother was when he saw her the night before.
    “She’s fine. She’s getting out today.”
    “What was it?”
    “They had to put a stent in her heart.”
    “But she’s okay.”
    “Yeah, they said she could go home.”
    “How is your uncle?”
    “He’s okay; he was sort of weird last night after, but I think that’s your fault.”
    “My fault?”
    “He was really upset you got hurt.”
    I shook my head. “You’re mistaken.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Michael, who’s your uncle?” Johnny asked.
    “His uncle is Andreo Fiore,” his father told him.
    “ Figlio di puttana ,” Johnny said under his breath.
    “Johnny!” Carmen yelled at her son.
    “I’m guessing that was bad?” I smiled at Michael.
    When we left after lots of hugging and goodbye kisses from Carmen and Danielle, with a doggy bag that looked more like we had been shopping at Walmart, I asked Michael in the car what it was that Dreo actually did.
    “He works for Vincent Romelli.”
    “I still don’t know who that is,” I assured him, turning at a light, “but I’m guessing from everyone’s reaction that Mr. Romelli is some scary guy.”
    “Yeah, I think he’s a scary guy, and so most people think Dreo is too. I don’t know; I don’t ask. Dreo carries a gun, and he’s never left it at home, even when he goes out on dates. I am never, ever, allowed in his room, but for all I know that’s because he’s got a shitload of porn in there. He’s a really good guy, but I can’t vouch for what he doesn’t tell me.”
    Which made sense.
    Once we were back, he followed me to my door, and when I told him to go home, he laughed and said that he was going to take a shower and come do homework at my house. It was fine, I didn’t care, and I told him the door would be open because I had to take a shower myself. I needed to get the day off me.
    When I emerged, Michael’s books were spread out all over my coffee table. He had poured himself a glass of apple juice, and he was watching some hockey game on ESPN at the same time. I went to my kitchen table, deciding to work out there instead of in my office to keep him company, and we sat in companionable silence except for the game. It was in the third period when the doorbell rang.
    Answering it, I found Dreo there in the hall, brows furrowed, looking upset and concerned at the same time.
    “Come in,” I offered, stepping aside.
    He wasn’t alone, and when he didn’t move, I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.
    “Did your friends want to come in too?”
    “Just for a minute.”
    “Sure.”
    Five men, not counting Dreo, walked into my living room, but when I moved to shut the door, he stopped me.
    “They’re not gonna stay. I just wanted them to meet you.”
    It was strange, but I plastered on a smile and offered the first man my hand. “Nate Qells.”
    They all shook my hand, and I met an Anthony and a Gianni and a Frank and a Paul and a Sal.
    “I always wanted to meet a Sal.” I grinned and was surprised