I had to give you something, did
you hear me say that?”
No.
Like I said, a mouth on her, she put the chain
around my neck, said,
” ‘Twas blessed by the pope.”
When I’m confused, which is rarely, I get flip,
protect meself, and nearly said,
“The pope of Greenwich Village?” Thank Christ I
didn’t. With a grave expression she said,
“Our Lady will keep you safe out there on the
streets.” I hoped the Lady was paying attention.
Much as I loved Nora’s neck, and Jesus, I did,
somewhere in me, I thought… no … not her, she
might be me salvation.
She wasn’t.
LONNIE WAS HURTING, BAD.
Morronni’s crew had picked him up outside his
favorite OTB, bundled him into a car, and taken
him to a warehouse in the Bronx.
He was tied to a chair and Morronni was sitting
opposite, a smile on his face. Dressed in an
Armani suit, polished Italian brogues, and a deep
blue silk tie, he looked like he belonged anywhere
but this rat-infested place.
Two of his crew were standing behind Lonnie.
Morronni said,
“We heard you took a little ride with Kebar and
it’s no secret that you supply information to the
cops. Hey, I’m not criticizing you, Lon, we all
have to survive.”
He snapped his fingers and one of the crew brought
over a glass of red wine, and he took a delicate
sip, made a gurgle of appreciation, continued,
“But when you fink on me, my boys, then it’s …
personal, you get my drift.”
Sweat was rolling in waves down Lonnie’s body,
getting in his eyes, blinding him, and Morronni
asked,
“Fuck, I’m forgetting my manners, would you like
some vino? … In vino Veritas, or so my priest
used to say.”
Lonnie croaked that he would, even his voice was
shaking, and Morronni threw the wine in his face,
said,
“There you go, enjoy, it’s a ‘79 vintage, a
particularly good year, smell that bouquet?”
Morronni clicked his fingers again and was handed
a blowtorch, said,
“I can never quite get the hang of these things, so
bear with me if I screw it up a bit.”
He turned it on. Whoosh.
A jet of flame shot into Lonnie’s hair, it burned for
a moment, then one of the guys doused him with a
bucket of cold water. Morronni said,
“Jesus, sorry, man, I was aiming for your face.”
Lonnie screamed, said,
“Tell me what you want, anything, I’ll tell you
whatever you need!”
Morronni was concentrating on the torch, as if he
was really interested in the mechanics of the thing,
said,
“Course you will, what did the cop want?”
Lonnie spilled the lot, the whole deal. When he
was done, Morronni leaned over, tapped his
shoulder, said,
“You did good.”
Then he abruptly stood up, got a can of gas, poured
it all over Lonnie, got the torch, said,
“Lemme try this one more time, you okay with
that?”
As they left, one of the crew sneaked a look at the
burning figure in the chair, engulfed in flame.
Morronni said,
“He’s only warming up.”
MCCARTHY AND HIS PARTNER,
RODRIGUEZ, WERE HAVING coffee as they
waited for Kebar to show. They’d summoned him
and he was late, fucking with them already, but that
was okay, they’d some serious fucking to do with
him.
Rodriguez was contemplating another jelly
doughnut, those suckers were good but he was
piling on the pounds and had to watch it. He
looked at McCarthy, who, per usual, seemed on the
verge of a coronary, the guy was always so … het
up. He pushed the doughnut aside, got a match in
his mouth, asked,
“Ray, ask you something?”
McCarthy was surprised, Rodriguez was Mr.
Cool, hardly ever spoke, especially in
interrogations, just leaned against the wall,
chewing on a match, watching. McCarthy said,
“Sure.”
Rodriguez took his time, nothing was ever rushed
with this guy, he asked,
“Why are you so stuck on this case, Kebar, the kid?
I mean, we have a shitpile of backlog stuff yet you
seem to think these are the only ones that matter,
like it’s personal.”
McCarthy
you hear me say that?”
No.
Like I said, a mouth on her, she put the chain
around my neck, said,
” ‘Twas blessed by the pope.”
When I’m confused, which is rarely, I get flip,
protect meself, and nearly said,
“The pope of Greenwich Village?” Thank Christ I
didn’t. With a grave expression she said,
“Our Lady will keep you safe out there on the
streets.” I hoped the Lady was paying attention.
Much as I loved Nora’s neck, and Jesus, I did,
somewhere in me, I thought… no … not her, she
might be me salvation.
She wasn’t.
LONNIE WAS HURTING, BAD.
Morronni’s crew had picked him up outside his
favorite OTB, bundled him into a car, and taken
him to a warehouse in the Bronx.
He was tied to a chair and Morronni was sitting
opposite, a smile on his face. Dressed in an
Armani suit, polished Italian brogues, and a deep
blue silk tie, he looked like he belonged anywhere
but this rat-infested place.
Two of his crew were standing behind Lonnie.
Morronni said,
“We heard you took a little ride with Kebar and
it’s no secret that you supply information to the
cops. Hey, I’m not criticizing you, Lon, we all
have to survive.”
He snapped his fingers and one of the crew brought
over a glass of red wine, and he took a delicate
sip, made a gurgle of appreciation, continued,
“But when you fink on me, my boys, then it’s …
personal, you get my drift.”
Sweat was rolling in waves down Lonnie’s body,
getting in his eyes, blinding him, and Morronni
asked,
“Fuck, I’m forgetting my manners, would you like
some vino? … In vino Veritas, or so my priest
used to say.”
Lonnie croaked that he would, even his voice was
shaking, and Morronni threw the wine in his face,
said,
“There you go, enjoy, it’s a ‘79 vintage, a
particularly good year, smell that bouquet?”
Morronni clicked his fingers again and was handed
a blowtorch, said,
“I can never quite get the hang of these things, so
bear with me if I screw it up a bit.”
He turned it on. Whoosh.
A jet of flame shot into Lonnie’s hair, it burned for
a moment, then one of the guys doused him with a
bucket of cold water. Morronni said,
“Jesus, sorry, man, I was aiming for your face.”
Lonnie screamed, said,
“Tell me what you want, anything, I’ll tell you
whatever you need!”
Morronni was concentrating on the torch, as if he
was really interested in the mechanics of the thing,
said,
“Course you will, what did the cop want?”
Lonnie spilled the lot, the whole deal. When he
was done, Morronni leaned over, tapped his
shoulder, said,
“You did good.”
Then he abruptly stood up, got a can of gas, poured
it all over Lonnie, got the torch, said,
“Lemme try this one more time, you okay with
that?”
As they left, one of the crew sneaked a look at the
burning figure in the chair, engulfed in flame.
Morronni said,
“He’s only warming up.”
MCCARTHY AND HIS PARTNER,
RODRIGUEZ, WERE HAVING coffee as they
waited for Kebar to show. They’d summoned him
and he was late, fucking with them already, but that
was okay, they’d some serious fucking to do with
him.
Rodriguez was contemplating another jelly
doughnut, those suckers were good but he was
piling on the pounds and had to watch it. He
looked at McCarthy, who, per usual, seemed on the
verge of a coronary, the guy was always so … het
up. He pushed the doughnut aside, got a match in
his mouth, asked,
“Ray, ask you something?”
McCarthy was surprised, Rodriguez was Mr.
Cool, hardly ever spoke, especially in
interrogations, just leaned against the wall,
chewing on a match, watching. McCarthy said,
“Sure.”
Rodriguez took his time, nothing was ever rushed
with this guy, he asked,
“Why are you so stuck on this case, Kebar, the kid?
I mean, we have a shitpile of backlog stuff yet you
seem to think these are the only ones that matter,
like it’s personal.”
McCarthy
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