Read Online With a Twist by Deirdre Martin - Free Book Online Page B

scowled. “What, that’s not enough for you?”
    Quinn extended a hand. “Thanks for talking to me, Carmine.”
    “No prob. I hear anything else, I swear I’ll let you know.”
    Quinn packed up his things. He had a feeling he knew who was fronting Shields Brothers. Knowing that it was risky, possibly even fruitless, he was going to see if Liam had any info, since Liam tended to know more about what was going on in the neighborhood than he did. It was worth a shot.
    Quinn asked Liam to meet him at Longo’s coffee shop early the next morning. Though Liam initially hesitated, he eventually agreed.
    Longo’s was as much a Hell’s Kitchen institution as the Wild Hart. Grandpa Longo opened it in the 1950s as a soda shop, and in the past couple of years his grandson Michael had morphed it into a coffee shop.
    Quinn was a regular, pretty much popping in every morning for a cup of coffee and a sticky bun, which he wolfed down at the counter before heading over to the Sent . He loved that for the most part, the place hadn’t changed since his childhood. The tiled floors were still a tiny bit sticky, the red Naughahyde seats of the booths worn and even torn in places. Behind the long lunch counter there were still soda fountains, but the back wall now had espresso machines next to the grill and fryer. The aroma of the place in the morning—eggs cooking and strong coffee—always comforted Quinn.
    He pushed through the door, smiling at Grandpa Longo, who still liked to work there.
    “There he is. Clark Kent.”
    Quinn pointed to the nearest booth. “I’m going to sit here today. I’m meeting Liam for breakfast.”
    Longo looked surprised, then headed off to get Quinn his coffee. Quinn slid into the booth, wondering if Liam would indeed show. He remembered an incident from years ago, when Liam was a kid and he and his juvenile delinquent of a best friend, Tommy Dolan, ran into Longo’s, stole some after dinner mints from the bowl beside the cash register, and ran back out. Old Longo thought it was funnier than anything else, though it bothered Quinn. Tommy Dolan had been a punk then, and he was still a punk. Everyone knew Tommy was in the mob, because he drove for Whitey Connors, whose crew ran Hell’s Kitchen. The fact that Tommy was still Liam’s best friend bugged the shit out of Quinn. Yes, they’d known each other since second grade and were still tight, but when Liam and Tommy hit adolescence, they embraced their role of bad boys with abandon, committing petty thievery and mischief all over Manhattan. It still amazed Quinn that Liam and Tommy had managed to avoid doing time.
    Liam breezed through the door five minutes past their appointed time. Quinn already had his coffee and paper.
    “Hey,” said Liam, sliding into the booth opposite him. There were only two other people there: an older man at the counter drinking coffee and spearing a football-sized piece of lemon meringue pie, and an earnest young guy tapping away at a laptop three booths back.
    Grandpa Longo waddled over, surprising Quinn by giving Liam an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Long time, no see. You want some dinner mints?”
    Liam laughed, but he looked sheepish. “God, are you ever going to let me forget that?”
    “No. Just kidding. I’m just busting your balls. You were just a little boy. You and that Tommy Dolan.” Grandpa’s expression darkened. “You still friends with him?”
    “Yeah.”
    “He’s trouble, that one,” Grandpa groused under his breath. “You need to look at a menu?”
    “Nah,” said Liam. “Coffee will be fine.”
    Grandpa nodded and headed back to the counter.
    “It’s pretty early, Quinn,” said Liam with a yawn.
    “Yeah, well, I have a lot to do.”
    “Yeah, well, I was out late last night,” Liam returned.
    “Date?” Quinn asked mischievously. Quinn was the one in the family always accused of being the inveterate bachelor, but Liam was no better. According to their sister Maggie, he was king of