Paying respects

Johnny D's gravely voice practically shatters my cellphone.

"You know who died last week, kid, don't you?" he asks.

Ten thousand people probably died last week, but since it's Johnny D asking, I know who he's talking about: Sal "Bill" Bonanno*, son and former consiglieri of the crime family of the same name.

"Yeah," I say.

"I wasn't even invited to the funeral."

"It was in Arizona. Not to mention - "

"I woulda gotten there. I woulda paid my respects." Johnny takes a breath. He's an old guy now, and when he takes a breath, you can hear it miles away. "Were you there?"

"I wasn't exactly tight with the Bonannos."

"You weren't there, were you, kid? Go without calling me? You wouldn't pull Johnny D's pud like that, right?"

"Johnny, the mental image of that metaphor is excruciating."

"We'll have a drink at the club the next time you come in," he says, just before hanging up.

*If you don't know who he was, read "Honor Thy Father," by Gay Talese. Or come down to the club some time and look up Johnny.