porkpie hat.
“Son of a bitch,” Nico said, looking into the garage. “I wish Sonny were with us.”
Cork rolled down his window and motioned for Vinnie and Angelo to get on the running board. “Let me talk,” he said to them once they were on the truck. He started the pickup and pulled it into the garage.
Two of Luca’s boys closed the warehouse door as Cork got out and joined Vinnie and Angelo. Nico came around the truck and stood beside them. The garage was brightly lit by a line of hanging lamps that cast a bright glare onto an oil-stained, cracked concrete floor. There were piles of crates and boxes here and there, but for the most part the place was empty. The gurgling sound of water running through pipes came from someplace above them. At the back of the garage a partition with a door next to a large window appeared to be an office space. Light bounced off white venetian blinds in the window. Luca Brasi went to the back of the truck while his men closed in around him. He dropped the tailgate, threw back the tarp, and found Stevie Dwyer wedged between liquor crates and pointing his tommy gun at him.
Luca didn’t flinch, but his men all went for their guns. Cork yelled, “For Christ’s sake, Stevie! Put that thing down!”
“Hell,” Stevie said. “There’s no room to put it down back here.”
Hooks Battaglia shouted, “Well, point it at the ground, you fuckin’ moron!”
Stevie hesitated a second, a smirk on his lips, and then pointed the muzzle at his feet.
“Get off the truck,” Luca said.
Stevie jumped from the bed of the truck, still grinning and holding the chopper, and a heartbeat after his feet hit the ground, Luca grabbed his shirt with one meaty paw and yanked the gun away from him with the other. While Stevie was still off balance, Luca switched the chopper from his right hand to his left, tossed it to JoJo, and threw a quick straight punch that landed Stevie in Cork’s arms. Stevie’s head wobbled as he tried to pull himself to his feet, but his legs went out from under him and Cork wound up catching him again.
Luca and his gang were quiet watching all this.
Cork handed Stevie to Nico, who had come up behind him withthe rest of the boys. To Luca he said, “I thought we had an agreement. Are we in for trouble now?”
“You’re not in for trouble,” Luca said, “ ’long as you don’t have any more half-wit micks pointin’ guns at me.”
“He wasn’t thinkin’, is all,” Cork said. “He didn’t mean no trouble.”
From behind him, Stevie yelled, “That fuckin’ dago knocked one of my teeth loose!”
Cork leaned over Stevie. He said softly, but loud enough to be heard by everyone, “Shut the fuck up. Or I’ll plug you myself.”
Stevie’s lip was split and already swollen fat and ugly. His chin was smeared with blood, and the collar of his shirt was bloodstained. “I don’t doubt you would,” he said to Cork, and in his tone there was an unstated and unmistakable meaning: They were both Irish and he was going against his own.
“Fuck you,” Cork whispered. “Just shaddup and let us get our business done.”
Cork turned around to find Luca watching him intently. He said, “We want three thousand. It’s all Canadian whiskey, the best.”
Luca looked at the truck and said, “I’ll give you a thousand.”
Cork said, “That’s not a fair price, Mr. Brasi.”
“Can the Mr. Brasi crap, kid, will ya? We’re doing business. I’m Luca. You’re Bobby, right?”
“That’s right,” Cork said.
“You got that good-lookin’ sister. Eileen. She runs a bakery over on Eleventh.”
Cork nodded.
“See,” Luca said. “This is the first time two words have passed between us, but I know all about you. You know why?” Luca said. “Because my guys know all about you. Hooks and the others, they vouched for you. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing business. You understand?”
“Sure,” Cork said.
Luca asked, “What do you know about me, Bobby?”
Cork
“Son of a bitch,” Nico said, looking into the garage. “I wish Sonny were with us.”
Cork rolled down his window and motioned for Vinnie and Angelo to get on the running board. “Let me talk,” he said to them once they were on the truck. He started the pickup and pulled it into the garage.
Two of Luca’s boys closed the warehouse door as Cork got out and joined Vinnie and Angelo. Nico came around the truck and stood beside them. The garage was brightly lit by a line of hanging lamps that cast a bright glare onto an oil-stained, cracked concrete floor. There were piles of crates and boxes here and there, but for the most part the place was empty. The gurgling sound of water running through pipes came from someplace above them. At the back of the garage a partition with a door next to a large window appeared to be an office space. Light bounced off white venetian blinds in the window. Luca Brasi went to the back of the truck while his men closed in around him. He dropped the tailgate, threw back the tarp, and found Stevie Dwyer wedged between liquor crates and pointing his tommy gun at him.
Luca didn’t flinch, but his men all went for their guns. Cork yelled, “For Christ’s sake, Stevie! Put that thing down!”
“Hell,” Stevie said. “There’s no room to put it down back here.”
Hooks Battaglia shouted, “Well, point it at the ground, you fuckin’ moron!”
Stevie hesitated a second, a smirk on his lips, and then pointed the muzzle at his feet.
“Get off the truck,” Luca said.
Stevie jumped from the bed of the truck, still grinning and holding the chopper, and a heartbeat after his feet hit the ground, Luca grabbed his shirt with one meaty paw and yanked the gun away from him with the other. While Stevie was still off balance, Luca switched the chopper from his right hand to his left, tossed it to JoJo, and threw a quick straight punch that landed Stevie in Cork’s arms. Stevie’s head wobbled as he tried to pull himself to his feet, but his legs went out from under him and Cork wound up catching him again.
Luca and his gang were quiet watching all this.
Cork handed Stevie to Nico, who had come up behind him withthe rest of the boys. To Luca he said, “I thought we had an agreement. Are we in for trouble now?”
“You’re not in for trouble,” Luca said, “ ’long as you don’t have any more half-wit micks pointin’ guns at me.”
“He wasn’t thinkin’, is all,” Cork said. “He didn’t mean no trouble.”
From behind him, Stevie yelled, “That fuckin’ dago knocked one of my teeth loose!”
Cork leaned over Stevie. He said softly, but loud enough to be heard by everyone, “Shut the fuck up. Or I’ll plug you myself.”
Stevie’s lip was split and already swollen fat and ugly. His chin was smeared with blood, and the collar of his shirt was bloodstained. “I don’t doubt you would,” he said to Cork, and in his tone there was an unstated and unmistakable meaning: They were both Irish and he was going against his own.
“Fuck you,” Cork whispered. “Just shaddup and let us get our business done.”
Cork turned around to find Luca watching him intently. He said, “We want three thousand. It’s all Canadian whiskey, the best.”
Luca looked at the truck and said, “I’ll give you a thousand.”
Cork said, “That’s not a fair price, Mr. Brasi.”
“Can the Mr. Brasi crap, kid, will ya? We’re doing business. I’m Luca. You’re Bobby, right?”
“That’s right,” Cork said.
“You got that good-lookin’ sister. Eileen. She runs a bakery over on Eleventh.”
Cork nodded.
“See,” Luca said. “This is the first time two words have passed between us, but I know all about you. You know why?” Luca said. “Because my guys know all about you. Hooks and the others, they vouched for you. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing business. You understand?”
“Sure,” Cork said.
Luca asked, “What do you know about me, Bobby?”
Cork
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