“You and everybody else.”
“Heard about the kerfuffle you’ve got into with the Russians. Been real interesting watching from the sidelines.”
“Kerfuffle is one word for it,” I reply. “Interesting coincidence, you showing up here. Didn’t realize the Ferreras had say at Tony’s Pizza.”
Sal takes a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. “We have say at most Italian establishments around the city. But rest assured, I’m not here ’cuz of you. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. No offense.”
“That goes both ways. You’re not on our radar unless you want to be.”
He grunts in place of a laugh, more smoke swirling around him. “Nico’s preoccupied with other matters. Like the owners here.”
I glance in the direction where he’s gesturing. He’s motioned to the back of the restaurant where not only the kitchen is, but the office is located.
I’m no expert on Tony’s, but I do know Tony and his wife normally work from back there. They’re a nice couple; Tony’s stout with a bushy mustache and his wife is Black with kind eyes andshort hair.
“Tony?” I say. “What business do you have with them?”
“It’s not me who’s got business with ’em. It’s Nico. They go back. Way back. Almost before my time back.”
I’m not normally a nosy bastard, but my curiosity rises. What business could the don of the Ferrera family have with a middle-aged husband and wife who own and operate a small-time Brooklyn pizzeria?
The same the clan’s got with any of the small businesses we have under our thumb.
I give a nod and step back. “Alright. Don’t let me keep you.”
Sal grunts and motions to his soldiers. The four of them move past me, heading for the other half of the restaurant. It’s clear by the way his soldiers move in, it’s far from a friendly visit.
I’m halfway back to the booth when it starts.
A scream from the kitchen. The crash of pots and pans. Raised voices, one of them pleading. Then a thud that sounds distinctly like a body hitting the floor.
Jhene’s eyes go wide behind her glasses.
“C’mon.” I grab her arm and pull her toward the door. “Change of plans. We’ve got to go.”
“But what’s happening?—”
“None of our business. We’ll grab dinner somewhere else.”
We end up grabbing sandwiches from a deli around the block instead.
It’s not the dinner I had planned and it doesn’t give me and Jhene an opportunity to talk like I thought, but she decides to press the issue on our way back home.
“So what was this dinner outingreallyabout?” she asks.
“In case you haven’t noticed… food.”
“Right, and Idaho is a great place for a beach house. What was it really about? Don’t be shy now, Killer.”
Her lashes bat as she blinks up at me and distracts me enough I almost stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
We’ve made it onto the street where my studio’s located and don’t have far to walk. We should keep going, but it’s easier said than done.
My mind instantly flashes back to last night when we’d stood so close, then started leaning in toward each other and?—
A pained groan catches my ear and interrupts my train of thought. I turn my gaze toward the apartment building up ahead and spot the large heap crumpled by the front stairs.
It takes another second to click.
