Read Online Tough Luck by Jason Starr - Free Book Online Page B

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    “It don’t matter,” Angelo said. “I’m gonna take it easy this week. Just put in two dollars on the Seahawks, will ya?”
    “Two dollars” meant two hundred times, or another eleven hundred real dollars with the vig.
    “I’m sorry,” Mickey said, “but I can’t do that. Not can’t — it’s just my bookie says I need the money from your other bets first.”
    “I know my figure,” Angelo said, “and if you want to know the truth, that’s pocket change for me. I take a junket to Vegas, I drop ten g’s in a weekend. I never heard of a bookie don’t give a guy a chance to get even on a thousand bucks.”
    “I know what you’re saying,” Mickey said. “I really do. Maybe if you just paid off your debt this one time, I could talk to my bookie and—”
    “How come you didn’t tell me this before I made my first bet?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Why didn’t you tell me your bookie makes you keep a low number?”
    “I don’t know,” Mickey said. “I mean I—”
    “Maybe if you told me, I wouldn’t’ve wasted my time. I would’ve known if I bet any serious money, I wouldn’t be able to get even. The way I look at this, this is your fault. So what do you think we should do about that?”
    “I don’t think it’s my fault,” Mickey said.
    “So what’re you saying? You saying you think it’s my fault?”
    “No,” Mickey said, his face burning up. “I don’t think it’s anybody’s fault. I think—”
    “Call your bookie,” Angelo said.
    “I’d like to, Angelo, but—”
    “Will you let me finish? Call your fuckin’ bookie. If the bet loses, I’ll be here tomorrow at noon to pay off my whole figure, clean the slate. If the bet wins, we’ll roll it over to next week. Tell your bookie I want the line in the paper today—Seattle minus three and a half. He has a problem, tell him to call Angelo Santoro from the Colombo family. You think he’ll have a problem with that?”
    “I’m not putting your bet in,” Mickey said.
    Angelo stared at Mickey for a long time, maybe five seconds.
    “Excuse me?” Angelo said.
    “I said I’m not putting your bet in,” Mickey said. “I shouldn’t’ve put in your other bets, either.”
    “You know who the fuck you’re talking to?” Angelo said.
    “Yeah, I know who I’m talking to,” Mickey said.
    Angelo grinned. He looked both ways, seeing no one was around, then he punched Mickey in the gut. Mickey keeled over, wheezing, trying to breathe.
    “Sorry, did that hurt?” Angelo said, then he punched Mickey again, harder. Angelo said something in Italian Mickey didn’t understand, then he grabbed Mickey by his neck, under his chin, and lifted him up.
    “You better watch what you say and who you say it to, unless you wanna wind up in pieces. You disrespect me, you disrespect my whole family, you got that? I said, you got that?”
    Mickey couldn’t get the breath to speak, so he just nodded.
    “Good,” Angelo said. He looked at his watch then said in a suddenly friendly voice, “I gotta run, kid. Root for the Seahawks tonight, will ya? Hey, and I didn’t forget about those Jets-Giants tickets, neither—I’ll bring ’em for you tomorrow afternoon. You take it easy now.”
    Angelo walked calmly up the block and turned the corner.
    Mickey straightened up slowly. He felt nauseous and the pain in his stomach wouldn’t stop. Gradually, he could breathe again, but he wasn’t ready to walk. He stood there, holding his stomach, for about a minute, then he went back into the fish store, cursing.
    “What’s wrong?” Charlie asked.
    “Nothing,” Mickey said. He went behind the counter and tried to get busy cleaning up with a wet rag, but his stomach hurt with every movement.
    “Second ago you was all smiles,” Charlie said, “now you actin’ like somebody died. Who is that dude Angelo, anyway?”
    “Nobody,” Mickey mumbled.
    “What’s that?” Charlie asked.
    “Just a guy I know,” Mickey said louder.
    “So