Dead Dog in the Still of the Night by Archimede Fusillo Page A

slacking off in here?’
    Primo blinked.
    ‘Just because I don’t live here anymore doesn’t mean I’m any less interested in what goes on,’ Santo said. ‘And that especially includes anything to do with this car. You got that, Primo? Dad promised me this car when he dies, and I intend to make sure it stays safe and sound.’
    Primo blinked again. Of course Santo believed the Fiat was his. How convenient, Primo thought.
    Santo was tall and imposing. He’d been a karate junkie as a younger man and his physique, though not pristine, still showed signs of the black belt athlete he’d once been. Santo could still look after himself.
    When his eldest brother threaded an arm through his, Primo didn’t resist.
    Santo turned him toward the house. ‘I came to tell Mum some news,’ he announced, walking Primo with the confidence of a guard leading a shackled prisoner. ‘It’s the big four-o for me this year. Time for me to make some changes in my life. Forty, Primo. Can you believe that? I can’t.’
    Primo made a move to dislodge Santo’s arm but his brother pulled him closer and leaned in.
    ‘Only reason I found you was I wanted to pay my respects to Bambino. That little car and me go back a long way. Further than anyone in this house, except Dad. Did you know I was the first person Dad told about buying the car? Said it was his special treat for all the hard work he’d done. He was going to take it around Australia with Mum.’
    Primo stiffened and Santo let him go. Primo knew what was coming.
    ‘But then things changed, you know,’ Santo said with a light-hearted punch to Primo’s jaw. ‘Things got complicated again, and he never took the trip. Three little people started appearing in his life. Suddenly everything the old man had hoped to do with the car was over. I wasn’t surprised really, when the old man told me the Fiat would someday be mine. I mean, like I said, I was there from the start.’
    They were at the back door and about to walk into the house when Adrian appeared around the corner of the driveway.
    ‘Santo?’ Adrian said with unease.
    ‘All we need is Kathleen and the family’s all together again,’ Santo said. ‘Save for Papa, eh?’ he added and pushed Primo ahead, holding the door open to allow Adrian to pass through.
    Once inside, Santo pulled up the armchair their father used to sit on and crossed his legs comfortably at the ankles.
    ‘You boys are looking good,’ he muttered. ‘This is one comfortable chair, eh?’ Then to Adrian, ‘Why don’t you sit? We should talk about all this ...’ He waved a hand over his head. ‘This unhappiness that’s going on in your life.’
    Primo saw Adrian bite his bottom lip, but he sat nonetheless, leaning slightly forward, hands clasped.
    ‘Primo,’ Santo said, ‘grab two glasses and the scotch, will you.’
    Primo glanced at Adrian. Adrian nodded faintly, and Primo retrieved the glasses and the scotch, handing them to Santo who measured out two nips.
    ‘Primo? Want some?’ Santo asked.
    ‘I’m right,’ he replied.
    Santo grinned and just as Primo made to leave he said, ‘Mum tells me you and the old man had a bit of a disagreement, Primo.’
    Primo tensed. He almost reached up and touched his bruised cheek, but pulled back in time.
    ‘It was nothing,’ he said.
    Santo’s eyes met Primo’s, only breaking contact to turn his attention to Adrian.
    ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘How you going with Stella and the kid? Her brothers aren’t giving you grief, I hope. ’Cause if they are, you know, I’m always happy to help out. They need to mind their own business is what they need to do, so …’
    ‘No, no grief,’ Adrian said softly. He was talking to Santo but looking at Primo.
    Santo pressed his mouth into a tight line and raised his glass. ‘Salute to that!’ he said.
    Adrian followed suit gingerly. ‘Yeah, salute to that, eh.’
    Primo again made to move and again Santo stopped him, lifting a hand and splaying his