Read Online For Nothing by Nicholas Denmon - Free Book Online Page B

bet they made prior to the game was two dol ars a bal or five.
    “Fuck you Jimmy, I’m tel ing you I ain’t gonna pay you no more than two a bal and that’s that,” said a smal man no more than five feet seven inches tal .
    He weighed maybe a hundred forty and had brown hair that fel over one side of his forehead in a nasty cowlick. The other half slicked back paral el with his cheek bones that seemed sunken along with his green eyes. He held the pool cue with his right hand and planted in the floor at his side. His feet were set apart and his bluster was almost laughable against the other fel ow who Garducci recognized as Jimmy ‘Jacks’.
    He got his name from a haul in Vegas where he took the house for almost thirty grand with four jacks. He kept the cards and ever since that time in Vegas has carried them around in his back pocket for luck.
    He was a big man. Jacks stood over six feet tal and two hundred pounds. His dark hair was cropped short and his eyes were brown and hard but not mean looking. He spent a few years in the pen and his muscles showed it as he flexed them, more from habit than from threat, at the smal er man’s rant.
    The smal er man was Tom Coughlin. He wasn’t even a WOP, but the Italians kept him around because he helped bring them the Irish in the numbers racket, that and he was a scrapper.
    Garducci once witnessed the smal fel ow beat down two men that owed him twenty bucks for a late payment. Twenty bucks and he came away with two bruised fists and two hundred dol ars richer.
    “I’m tel ing you Tom, it was five dol ars a bal , and if you....”
    Victor decided now was as good a time as any. He walked further in and as the door slammed shut behind him he announced his arrival, demanding attention.
    “Hey you two grease bal s, you see Sal around here anywhere?”
    “Holy Shit, if it ain’t Vic back from New Mexico! We heard you was coming back. You better be debt free though, we don’t want some filthy Mexican crew breathing down our necks for your spendthrift ass!”

    spendthrift ass!”
    Jimmy Jacks gave a warm smile and greeted Vic, but Garducci saw that Tom was annoyed. The conversation about who owed whom what was now at an end, and that meant one of them got away with three dol ars a bal . Jacks took a quick look at Tom as he hurried toward Victor and smiled at him when he noticed that Tom wasn’t talking economics anymore. He came forward and gave him a firm shake of the hand.
    “How you doing Jimmy?” Garducci needed to make smal talk, seem as calm as possible. Soon enough the questions would come.
    “I’m alright, you know how it goes, winning some, losing some.”
    “Tom.” Victor leaned over and clasped the man on the hand.
    “Fuck Vic, you better talk to Sal when he gets back. He was happy you was coming home. Shit has been edgy here you know.”
    Tom looked troubled and Victor figured that he would hear an earful from Sal when he got back.
    “Sal pissed I had to leave so quick?” Garducci needed to know from what viewpoint to assess the situation in which he thrust himself.
    “Nah,” Jimmy interrupted as he rubbed a blue block of chalk along the tip of his cue. “Other things are about to happen. Some shit going on upstairs.
    It’s between the higher ups and no one knows what crews are siding where. We know where mine and Sal’s crews stand and we know where the Ciancetta’s stand and they ain’t on the same side of the aisle if you get my drift. We stand with Old Man Falzone. “
    “Fuck Jimmy, quit talking so much. Vic, the other guys wil fil you in over there. Sal should be back soon and then we wil know what’s what.” Tom shot a glance at Jimmy; he was more guarded then his counterpart. He always was the more intel igent of the two.
    “Who’s sitting over there?” Garducci didn’t want to go into any situation without realizing what awaited him.
    “Just Aldo and Muro,” Tom said with a mischievous grin as he threw his cue on the table and