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He leaned close. I could smell Vitalis on his slicked-back hair and Sen-Sen on his breath. “If I said
‘possible mall site,’ would that be a bingo?”
I felt a gust of relief. The idea that I was in Derry looking for a place to put a shopping mall had
never crossed my mind, but it was a good one. I dropped Chaz Frati a wink. “Can’t say.”
“No, no, course you couldn’t. Business is as business does, I always say. We’ll drop the subject. But
if you’d ever consider letting one of the local yokels in on a good thing, I’d love to listen. And just to
show you that my heart is in the right place, I’ll give you a little tip. If you haven’t checked out the
old Kitchener Ironworks yet, you ought to. Perfect spot. And malls? Do you know what malls are, my
son?”
“The wave of the future,” I said.
He pointed a finger at me like a gun and winked. I laughed again, just couldn’t help it. Part of it
was the simple relief of finding out that not every grown-up in Derry had forgotten how to be friendly
to a stranger. “Hole in one.”
“And who owns the land the old Kitchener Ironworks sits on, Chaz? The Tracker brothers, I
suppose?”
“I said they own most of the land around here, not all of it.” He looked down at the mermaid.
“Milly, should I tell George who owns that prime business-zoned real estate only two miles from the
center of this metropolis?”
Milly wagged her scaly tail and jiggled her teacup breasts. Chaz Frati didn’t clench his hand into a
fist to make this happen; the muscles in his forearm seemed to move on their own. It was a good trick.
I wondered if he also pulled rabbits out of hats.
“All right, dear.” He looked up at me again. “Actually, that would be yours truly. I buy the best
and let the Tracker brothers have the rest. Business is as business does. May I give you my card,
George?”
“Absolutely.”
He did. The card simply said CHARLES “CHAZ” FRATI BUY SELL TRADE. I tucked it into my
shirt pocket.
“If you know all those people and they know you, why aren’t you over there instead of sitting at the
bar with the new kid on the block?” I asked.
He looked surprised, then amused all over again. “Was you born in a trunk and then threw off a
train, cuz?”
“Just new in town. Haven’t learned the ropes. Don’t hold it against me.”
“Never would. They do business with me because I own half this town’s motor courts, both
downtown movie theaters and the drive-in, one of the banks, and all of the pawnshops in eastern and
central Maine. But they don’t eat with me or drink with me or invite me into their homes or their
country club because I’m a member of the Tribe.”
“You lost me.”
“I’m a Jew, cuz.”
He saw my expression and grinned. “You didn’t know. Even when I wouldn’t eat any of your
lobster, you didn’t know. I’m touched.”
“I’m just trying to figure out why it should make a difference,” I said.
He laughed as though this were the best joke he’d heard all year. “Then you was born under a
cabbage leaf instead of in a trunk.”
In the mirror, Frank Dunning was talking. Tony Tracker and his friends were listening with big
grins on their faces. When they exploded into bull roars of laughter, I wondered if it had been the one
about the three jigs stuck in the elevator or maybe something even more amusing and satiric—three
Yids on a golf course, maybe.