I had met with Mr. D. many times, about many issues, but in this instant I came to know the fear of powerful men.

His outstretched hand beckoned to the bench next to him. Frick and Frack took the chairs on the outside of the booth. I sat.

“Vincenzo,” he looked warmly into my face, “what is the story about you and Maryanne?” He leaned into me like a father might advise his adult son. “I hear that she is out on the street. We don’t do this kind of thing. We are men, we take care of ours, you know.”

What could I say? I was cornered with no good answer possible. This approach was the worst imaginable – sympathy for her, nothing for me.

Think Vincenzo!

My mouth made the beginnings of several words, but no sound came forth. He waited, it was excruciating.

“Mr. D.-”

“Vincenzo, I know how it can get. Women are impossible at times and irreplaceable at others. We live with it. We shape the world, they live in it with us, right?’

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna fix this thing up right? Make it good?”

“Yes.”