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Authors: Mark Rubinstein
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fatherless. Roddy can’t bear the thought of going to the funeral. Even trying to picture Walt’s family crying over the coffin sends Roddy into a dreary tailspin. And seeing hundreds of hospital colleagues at the requiem Mass would be absolutely intolerable; a swell of nausea rises from his guts.
But before he even thinks of any funeral, he must take care of certain things.
He’s got to get to St. Joseph’s and talk with Danny. They’ve gotta make sure they’re on the same page for this bloodhound Morgan. Otherwise, it’ll be all over. They’ll end up rotting away at Attica, Sing Sing, or some other upstate shithole.
For the rest of their worthless lives.
Chapter 8
D anny’s been transferred to the medical floor, where he’s been assigned a single-bed room. When Roddy arrives, he finds Dan sitting in a bedside easy chair, wearing a hospital johnny coat covered by a matching hospital-issue robe. Gone are the IVs and tubes protruding from everywhere. His color is back to normal.
“You look great,” Roddy says, bending down toward him. Dan stretches his arms out. It’s comforting to feel Dan near him. They embrace and clap each other’s back with Dan sitting in the chair. “How do you feel?”
“I gotta get outta this place. I can’t stand being here.”
“Jesus, Dan. It’s only three nights ago you were at death’s door. Don’t rush it.”
“I feel good to go.” He leans toward Roddy and whispers, “Frankly, kemosabe, I don’t feel safe here.”
Roddy nods. “Look, Dan, I know you’ve been through a lot, but I gotta bring you up to speed with what’s happened.”
“I hope you have some good news.”
“Afraid not.” Roddy sits on the edge of the bed, leans toward Danny, and tells him—in a very low voice—about Walt McKay. He relates every detail of what happened and tells him about the interview with Morgan. “Actually, the guy was interrogating me—and he was focused on the restaurant and Kenny. Hesuspects we’re hiding something.”
“You’re sure the bullet was meant for you?” Dan half whispers, with widened eyes. His pupils look dilated, and a sheen forms on his forehead.
“Not a shred of doubt, Danny. We’re
both
in someone’s cross-hairs. That’s the bottom line, plain and simple.”
“Now I really wanna get the fuck outta here.” Dan’s eyes flit about the room. He rubs his mop of red hair. “Doc says I’ll get outta here in a few days. The only trouble I’ll have is with this.” He lifts up his casted right hand and grimaces.
“Dan, if it’s some mob—especially the Russians—Tracy, Angela, and the kids aren’t safe. We gotta get them the hell away.”
“Oh, shit. What the fuck am I gonna tell Angela?” Dan’s lower lip quivers as the sheen on his forehead glistens brightly in the light slanting in through the window.
“The same thing I’ll tell Tracy.”
“Yeah … what’s that gonna be?”
“Let’s lay it out together, right now, so we’re on the same page. But before we do that, I have to ask you, what the fuck’ve you been telling this dick, Morgan?”
“He’s been all over me like shit on a pig.”
“So what’d you tell him? We gotta get this straight.”
“I told him the basics.”
“Meaning what?”
“Like we agreed the night it all went down. I told him about Kenny and his three hundred K and the restaurant and our getting out.”
“Did you tell him we know Kenny got two fifty from someone else?”
“No. I made out like he put in the whole three hundred.”
“Morgan knows about Kenny only putting in fifty. He knows the other two fifty came from an unknown source, from the Cayman Islands. He told me it’s part of the record from MissingPersons in New York.”
“So that’s where he learned it, Roddy—not from me. It’s obvious NYPD did a lot more investigating than we knew about when we went to see that guy Greene at Missing Persons.”
“What about Kenny going missing? Why’d you even mention
But before he even thinks of any funeral, he must take care of certain things.
He’s got to get to St. Joseph’s and talk with Danny. They’ve gotta make sure they’re on the same page for this bloodhound Morgan. Otherwise, it’ll be all over. They’ll end up rotting away at Attica, Sing Sing, or some other upstate shithole.
For the rest of their worthless lives.
Chapter 8
D anny’s been transferred to the medical floor, where he’s been assigned a single-bed room. When Roddy arrives, he finds Dan sitting in a bedside easy chair, wearing a hospital johnny coat covered by a matching hospital-issue robe. Gone are the IVs and tubes protruding from everywhere. His color is back to normal.
“You look great,” Roddy says, bending down toward him. Dan stretches his arms out. It’s comforting to feel Dan near him. They embrace and clap each other’s back with Dan sitting in the chair. “How do you feel?”
“I gotta get outta this place. I can’t stand being here.”
“Jesus, Dan. It’s only three nights ago you were at death’s door. Don’t rush it.”
“I feel good to go.” He leans toward Roddy and whispers, “Frankly, kemosabe, I don’t feel safe here.”
Roddy nods. “Look, Dan, I know you’ve been through a lot, but I gotta bring you up to speed with what’s happened.”
“I hope you have some good news.”
“Afraid not.” Roddy sits on the edge of the bed, leans toward Danny, and tells him—in a very low voice—about Walt McKay. He relates every detail of what happened and tells him about the interview with Morgan. “Actually, the guy was interrogating me—and he was focused on the restaurant and Kenny. Hesuspects we’re hiding something.”
“You’re sure the bullet was meant for you?” Dan half whispers, with widened eyes. His pupils look dilated, and a sheen forms on his forehead.
“Not a shred of doubt, Danny. We’re
both
in someone’s cross-hairs. That’s the bottom line, plain and simple.”
“Now I really wanna get the fuck outta here.” Dan’s eyes flit about the room. He rubs his mop of red hair. “Doc says I’ll get outta here in a few days. The only trouble I’ll have is with this.” He lifts up his casted right hand and grimaces.
“Dan, if it’s some mob—especially the Russians—Tracy, Angela, and the kids aren’t safe. We gotta get them the hell away.”
“Oh, shit. What the fuck am I gonna tell Angela?” Dan’s lower lip quivers as the sheen on his forehead glistens brightly in the light slanting in through the window.
“The same thing I’ll tell Tracy.”
“Yeah … what’s that gonna be?”
“Let’s lay it out together, right now, so we’re on the same page. But before we do that, I have to ask you, what the fuck’ve you been telling this dick, Morgan?”
“He’s been all over me like shit on a pig.”
“So what’d you tell him? We gotta get this straight.”
“I told him the basics.”
“Meaning what?”
“Like we agreed the night it all went down. I told him about Kenny and his three hundred K and the restaurant and our getting out.”
“Did you tell him we know Kenny got two fifty from someone else?”
“No. I made out like he put in the whole three hundred.”
“Morgan knows about Kenny only putting in fifty. He knows the other two fifty came from an unknown source, from the Cayman Islands. He told me it’s part of the record from MissingPersons in New York.”
“So that’s where he learned it, Roddy—not from me. It’s obvious NYPD did a lot more investigating than we knew about when we went to see that guy Greene at Missing Persons.”
“What about Kenny going missing? Why’d you even mention
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