“King Dolce,” I say.
“No kiddin’,” he says. “Any relation to Donny?”
“He’s my uncle.”
“No shit,” he says, flashing a smile and slapping his thigh. “Donny’s been cuttin’ my hair since I got too big for Ma to put a bowl on my head and embarrass the shit out of me.”
I smile. “Sounds about right.”
“Well, I know you know who I am,” he says. “My tombstone will say Alfred De Luca, but everybody just calls me Little Al.”
Of course they do. He’s Al’s grandson, next in line for the Valenti throne unless one of Uncle Al’s cousins steps in and snatches it out from under him. I don’t know if it’s a good thing that Uncle Al is keeping me close, or if it means he doesn’t trust me and wants to keep an eye on me.
“How does this work?” I ask. “You going to train me or something?”
“Listen, don’t take it personal,” Little Al says, dropping his voice and leaning forward so as not to be heard by the booth behind him. “My grandpa is paranoid as fuck, and with good reason. You know half the city wants him dead. Everybody gets a partner. Keeps us in check, right?”
“So I’ve heard.”
The waitress stops to check on the blonde, looking somewhat annoyed.
Little Al twists around toward her. “Hey, sweetheart,” he calls, raising a finger to get her attention and pointing to our table. “Get me a beer, would you?”
He turns back to me. “You read the Bible, King?”
“Sure,” I say.
“You know who the most hated man in the Bible is?”
“The devil.”
“Well, yeah, you’ll meetIl Diavolosoon,” he says. “We aren’t him. But we’re the most hated profession.”
“Tax collectors?”
“That’s the one,” he says, sitting back in his chair with a grin and pointing a finger at me. “You’re gonna be fine, kid. I can tell already.”
“Because I know the Bible?”
The waitress sets a beer down in front of Little Al, and he waves her off before she can ask if we want food.
“Look, mynonnifilled me in on what you been livin’ like,” he says to me. “You’re new to this, so I’m gonna spell it out for you. Don’t come in here with any big ideas about ascending through the ranks too quick. You’re a soldier, just like me. And you know who my grampa is.”
I nod.
“He don’t do any favors to any of us, even family. We all start at the bottom. And everybody who works for us, for our family, they hate us. Just the way it is, kid.”
“Because we come to collect,” I say, realizing what my job will be. Beyond marrying a Pomponio, that is.
Little Al downs half his beer in a few swallows. “We’re like two cops on the beat, right? Except if we meet cops, they get beat.” He laughs and finishes off his beer.
“My uncle’s a cop.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “There is a Dolce on the force and in our pocket, isn’t there? Don’t worry, I’m joking. We don’t beat cops. We just avoid ‘em. Don’t need ‘em. We make our own laws, and we enforce them ourselves. You eating, kid?”
“I already ate,” I lie. I wasn’t sure what kind of work we’d be doing, and the last thing I wanted to do was look like a little pussy by losing my lunch on my first day.
“That’ll cover us both,” Little Al says, nodding to the cash I threw down. “Let’s go, kid.”