by

Stephen Smith

Sitting across the desk from T-Bone, Nick looked around the battered old apartment over Angelotti’s Deli that acted as a front for their bookie operation.  It served as command central, a little torn off scrap of an office from which T-Bone ruled his little kingdom.

Nick just sat there and took it.  He knew these moods, and this one was a no-win.  He could have spoke his mind right there, told T-Bone what he thought of this latest obsessive rage.  He could have said a lot of things.  Like, how one day T-Bone would fuck up but good, and he was next in line.  Like how his business concerns were suffering from neglect as he raked the entire borough, and for what? Go get another girl.  They rolled off the bus every goddamn day practically begging for a job spreading their legs for scumbags.

About how small minded people with power were still just fucking stupid small minded people… with power.  He almost smiled.  With an effort he killed that smile by conjuring an image of his sister being murdered.  Not that she had been, but it was a handy image to conjure, a real smile-killer.

“I’ve looked everywhere, boss.  There’s no sign of her.  It’s like she just disappeared,” Nick replied, as calmly as he could.

“Well, obviously not everywhere, right?  I’ll not be made a fool… that whore up and died before I could get my coke back, her fucking filly of a daughter is up and gone, and all you do is make excuses. Did you even look?”  

“Da night dat Amy went to the hospital, she never showed.  Not at school.  None of her friends have seen here… it’s a fuckin’ mystery.”  He said affecting a bored expression.  He knew was treading on thin ice, baiting T-Bone’s rage in this way.  Instinctively, he felt that this thing, with the girl, might just be his chance to give T-Bone that one little shove that would unbalance him.  The trick here, was not to be the one he fell on top of when it happened.  He wanted to be the last man standing.

Fists slammed into the desktop.  “Whadda I have to do, teach you how to look?  You ever fucking see cop shows?  How do they do it…. you tell me.  NYPD-Fucking-Blue style!”

“Um…  well, I could ask around.  See if anyone saw or heard anything.”

“Yeah, you could ask around.  Gotta fuckin’ think of everything?  Start with leaning on the bums.  Give ‘em booze if they give you a lead.  Put ears out there in her neighborhood… anyone who owes us money.  Start there.”

“What about doing the collection run?”

“Yeah, you gotta do that too.  Delegate, bitch!  That girl is mine, I own her ass.  Now get out of my sight.” T-Bone turned in his creaky 1950’s office chair, looking out the window down the boulevard.  

Dismissed. Without another word, Nick stood and left, glad to be out of there.  

On his way out of the deli, he motioned to Johnny B. to come with him.  

“So, what the fuck was that all about,” Johnny asked him when they were clear of the deli.

“Ready to roll some bums?  Don’t forget your gloves.  Never can take too many precautions, all the sickness out there in them alleys.”

Johnny grimaced in disgust.  “This things’ goin a little one step beyond, you ask me...”

Nick stopped him dead in his tracks.  “Whoa…. what?  Was someone asking you? Get something straight here.  The man is telling us to roust some vagabonds, so we do it, right?  Respect the position.”

“Yeah, yeah… alright, jeeze.  I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Nicky!” Johnny backpedaled.

“A’ight then.  We got our orders.  Lets go.  You find anything out on your own, lunch is on me.”  Nick threw him a wink, giving Johnny a little breathing room to let him know he was still in good company.  One never knew... he might need guys  like Johnny one day.  Nick intended for his people to respect the man AND the position, one day.  But open dissent in the ranks... no way.

On they marched.   If this thing is so obvious to even the likes of this mutt, I wonder how long it’ll be before word spreads.  Just a few more little shoves is all…