Read Online Codes of Betrayal by Dorothy Uhnak - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy Uhnak
Tags: USA
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Peter was slurping his second lemon ice cup and was ready for a third. His cousin took him by the arm and led him away from the crowd.
“Look, kid, I gotta meet a guy over in Chinatown for a coupla minutes.”
“Chinatown? Where’s that?”
Sonny jerked his chin. “Not far, a coupla blocks away. You wanna pick a spot, I’ll be back here, ten, fifteen minutes tops, okay? Get yourself a cannoli, something, ya got money?”
“I’ve never been to Chinatown, Sonny. I’ll go with you, okay?”
The older boy narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. “Yeah, okay. But listen up. I gotta meet a coupla chinks, we got a little business to take care of. Now, here’s the thing, Petey boy. This is strictly between us, right? Can I trust you to keep quiet, this never happened? Like, we never left the Gennaro until we headed home, right?”
For a minute, Sonny thought his cousin was going to hold up his hand in the Boy Scout pledge. He ruffled his hair; he was a good kid, if a little dumb.
They hadn’t gone more than four or five blocks. The noise and music from the San Gennaro could still be heard, but it was as though they had entered another world. On all the stores and shops, signs and legends were written in Chinese. Peter was amazed that anyone could actually make sense of the beautiful symbols. It was like an ancient world. There were restaurants one next to the other; open food stalls; real estate offices; travel agencies; bail bondsmen; pool halls; meeting rooms. There were people of all ages, single and in groups, moving along the sidewalks, spilling into the gutter, stopping to look into a window, to handle merchandise. There were medicinal shops displaying charms and dried vegetables, roots, animal parts. There were modern bookstores and video shops.
Sonny suddenly brought him to a stop. Then he jerked his chin toward a narrow alley.
“You stay right here, outside. I gotta see these kids for a minute.”
Sonny entered the alley, then came back out. He looked tense, angry. “They want you to come with me. Lousy chink bastards, they don’t trust nobody. You keep your mouth shut, ya don’t see nothin’, hear nothin’, capice?”
Peter started to ask a question, but his cousin stopped him. “Hey, dummy up. We’ll be two minutes, then we are outta here. And it never happened, right?”
There were four rail-thin Chinese boys, in their teens. Everything about them was tense. Peter glanced at them, surprised by their hostility.
Sonny reached into his pocket and took out a few bills. He put his hand out and the tallest of the Chinese snapped his fingers. More. Much more.
Sonny smiled, a tight, unpleasant expression.
“Hey, you gimme what I’m buyin’, I pay for the whole thing, right? No games, you little weasels, ya not gonna screw around with me. You know who I am?”
The shortest, but obviously the leader of the Chinese, moved closer. “Fuck you and fuck who you are. You try to stiff me like you done with other guys, you don’t be around to talk about it to no one no more.”
Sonny put his money back in his pocket. He reached inside his jacket for a moment. The boy who had spoken pushed his hand against Sonny’s chest. In a single moment, guns appeared, and were fired at Sonny, who had instinctively pulled back. He was hit in the stomach.
Peter O’Hara, who hadn’t moved, was hit in the center of his forehead.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER 9
A T THE END OF the 8:00 to 4:00 p.m. tour Monday, Nick and Eddie planned to spend at least an hour catching up on the paperwork that had accumulated since they had been stuck on the surveillance assignment. They handled the papers mechanically and without interest. Four or five squad guys were checking out the roster, catching up with telephone messages or just shooting the breeze.
A uniformed patrolman, young guy with a shiny new look, stepped into the squad room as though
Peter was slurping his second lemon ice cup and was ready for a third. His cousin took him by the arm and led him away from the crowd.
“Look, kid, I gotta meet a guy over in Chinatown for a coupla minutes.”
“Chinatown? Where’s that?”
Sonny jerked his chin. “Not far, a coupla blocks away. You wanna pick a spot, I’ll be back here, ten, fifteen minutes tops, okay? Get yourself a cannoli, something, ya got money?”
“I’ve never been to Chinatown, Sonny. I’ll go with you, okay?”
The older boy narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. “Yeah, okay. But listen up. I gotta meet a coupla chinks, we got a little business to take care of. Now, here’s the thing, Petey boy. This is strictly between us, right? Can I trust you to keep quiet, this never happened? Like, we never left the Gennaro until we headed home, right?”
For a minute, Sonny thought his cousin was going to hold up his hand in the Boy Scout pledge. He ruffled his hair; he was a good kid, if a little dumb.
They hadn’t gone more than four or five blocks. The noise and music from the San Gennaro could still be heard, but it was as though they had entered another world. On all the stores and shops, signs and legends were written in Chinese. Peter was amazed that anyone could actually make sense of the beautiful symbols. It was like an ancient world. There were restaurants one next to the other; open food stalls; real estate offices; travel agencies; bail bondsmen; pool halls; meeting rooms. There were people of all ages, single and in groups, moving along the sidewalks, spilling into the gutter, stopping to look into a window, to handle merchandise. There were medicinal shops displaying charms and dried vegetables, roots, animal parts. There were modern bookstores and video shops.
Sonny suddenly brought him to a stop. Then he jerked his chin toward a narrow alley.
“You stay right here, outside. I gotta see these kids for a minute.”
Sonny entered the alley, then came back out. He looked tense, angry. “They want you to come with me. Lousy chink bastards, they don’t trust nobody. You keep your mouth shut, ya don’t see nothin’, hear nothin’, capice?”
Peter started to ask a question, but his cousin stopped him. “Hey, dummy up. We’ll be two minutes, then we are outta here. And it never happened, right?”
There were four rail-thin Chinese boys, in their teens. Everything about them was tense. Peter glanced at them, surprised by their hostility.
Sonny reached into his pocket and took out a few bills. He put his hand out and the tallest of the Chinese snapped his fingers. More. Much more.
Sonny smiled, a tight, unpleasant expression.
“Hey, you gimme what I’m buyin’, I pay for the whole thing, right? No games, you little weasels, ya not gonna screw around with me. You know who I am?”
The shortest, but obviously the leader of the Chinese, moved closer. “Fuck you and fuck who you are. You try to stiff me like you done with other guys, you don’t be around to talk about it to no one no more.”
Sonny put his money back in his pocket. He reached inside his jacket for a moment. The boy who had spoken pushed his hand against Sonny’s chest. In a single moment, guns appeared, and were fired at Sonny, who had instinctively pulled back. He was hit in the stomach.
Peter O’Hara, who hadn’t moved, was hit in the center of his forehead.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER 9
A T THE END OF the 8:00 to 4:00 p.m. tour Monday, Nick and Eddie planned to spend at least an hour catching up on the paperwork that had accumulated since they had been stuck on the surveillance assignment. They handled the papers mechanically and without interest. Four or five squad guys were checking out the roster, catching up with telephone messages or just shooting the breeze.
A uniformed patrolman, young guy with a shiny new look, stepped into the squad room as though
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