21

SLADE

A collection gone wrong.

Those four words neatly summarized the shit that had gone down yesterday.

Roscano’s customers hated to pay the huge fees he charged for “protection.” Most did it anyway, but a few had the guts to stand up to us when we came to collect. That was when things got ugly.

Yesterday was a classic case in point. Phil Thomson, a bar owner in Manhattan, didn’t like it at all when Jumaine said he still owed twelve grand. He believed the amount was closer to six. When we cornered him, Jumaine was closest to him, and the bar owner sucker punched my friend when he tried to escape.

Of course, when we caught up to him, we made him regret trying to play tough. Three broken fingers, two black eyes and a ruined pride was the price he had to pay for his stubbornness. It wasn’t a task we enjoyed, but it was what we did. Roscano made the rules, and we enforced them.

Roscano was quite happy with us when we delivered the money. Typical Nick. I half believed that he had a hard-on for money. The more he got, the bigger the boner. To be honest, if anyone brought me a bag of three hundred-and-twenty thousand dollars, there was a good chance I’d have an erection, too. He demanded to meet with us again tonight, in order to tell us about “something big.”

I didn’t bother with what that was. More often than not, my definition of “big” was different from his. To Roscano, any deal that would make him more than ten grand was considered big. Most mob bosses would laugh if they heard about that. It was amazing to think that this guy was, in fact, a Don. He just didn’t function as one. Every time I heard him blabber on about fifteen or twenty thousand bucks, I missed his father. If Emilio had been still around, he would have slapped some sense into his asshole son and passed along his title to someone worth carrying it.

Rocello, Jumaine, and I met up outside Roscano’s mansion, under the cover of darkness. From his driveway, I could hear girly screams and giggles, along with the occasional splash of water. I groaned. It wasn’t that difficult to anticipate the scene we were walking in on. Roscano was in the water with three beauties. There was a lot of splashing and groping going on, and no swimming suits as far as I could tell.

That was good in the case of the woman, and really, really bad in the case of Roscano.

“Think anyone would notice if we shot his tiny dick off?” Jumaine muttered.

“Shut up,” Rocello ordered, stepping ahead of us.

Roscano looked up when we approached, his weasel-like face showing mild interest. “Girls, the party’s over,” he announced, heading for the stairs out of the pool. “Get the fuck out.” He had such a way with the ladies.

His housekeeper hurried toward him, a thick white robe in his hands. She handed it over and went back inside as the three of us gathered around him.

“I’m still getting heat from Gambini about Baxter,” Roscano remarked. “Anything new about him?”

“Not really,” I spoke first. “We’ve been asking around on the street. No one’s heard anything.”

“Keep me posted,” he added, toweling water off his face. “Gambini’s been busting my balls about him.” An asshole like Baxter wasn’t much of a loss, but Don Gambini didn’t get to where he was today by letting something like this go.

“I’m curious about that big thing you mentioned last night, boss,” Rocello said, deftly changing the subject. “Is there a big shipment coming in?”

“Not for about three weeks,” Roscano answered. “It’s something else. That barmaid at The Rusty Bucket.”

“What about her?” Rocello’s eyes narrowed.

“I want you to take care of her.”

For the first time in at least a decade, I jumped at the benign meaning of that phrase. Maybe because I’d been thinking of Margo a lot lately, along with exactly the kind of care I’d like to apply to her body.

But then his meaning hit me. It was like someone stabbed me in the gut and twisted the blade in the wound. None of us said anything, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see my buddies freeze in shock.

Roscano wanted Margo out of the picture? No mafia boss would ever use the actual words “kill him” or “kill her.” They preferred more subtle phrases like the one Roscano had used.

“Why her, Don Roscano?” Rocello saved me from the trouble to pose that question myself, plus, he managed to keep his voice neutral. “We’ve been going to her bar for months, and she seems pretty decent.”

“You mean you think she’s hot.”

Rocello shrugged, not denying it.

“Does she represent a threat of some kind?” Jumaine asked. I was glad they were here, keeping things calm, not escalating the situation and making it worse.

Which is exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to pull my knife and sink it deep into Roscano’s stomach.

“You’re not here to question my decisions,” Rocello grunted. “You’re here to carry out my orders.”

“Does she owe you money?” I broke my silence.

Roscano turned his anger on me. “What part of that’s an order didn’t you get?”

Rocello stepped in. “It’s just that you usually tell us why we’re doing things. I’m confused, too. If she’s a threat, let us know what kind so that we can do the job right.”

Rock’s words were measured and respectful, but they just seemed to rile Roscano up more.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, his squeaky voice and his angry expression tempting me to throw that son of a bitch in the pool. “I told you to take care of her! Stop second-guessing me and fucking do it already! Get out of here and don’t forget to collect from Myers Saturday.”

Fuck this shit.

It was hard to turn away from the man who’d just ordered a hit on Margo. I had half a mind to go back there and gut him, like my first instinct had been. Jumaine put his hand on my arm, urging me forward.

Shit.

The only thing that helped me keep my anger in check was confusion.

For Roscano to be dodging our questions was strange to say the least. For him to not provide a reason for us doing something this permanent was even more unusual.

We strode away from him in silence, the gloom in our faces saying everything we couldn’t in his presence. Reaching the driveway, I threw a glance back over my shoulder. The pool was empty. There was no sitting at the gazebo beside it, either.

“Fuck that,” I snapped, and took a deep breath. “What the fuck do we do now?”

“I’m not touching a hair on her head,” Rocello stated, and Jumaine nodded his agreement.

“There’s the fact that Margo’s never hurt a fly. And Thomas likes her.” He hesitated. “Me, too.”

“We all like her,” Jumaine added.

Rocello shook his head. “I mean, I really like her. The, uh, first time she was at my apartment, things got pretty hot between us.”

The shock of his confession hit me like a bucket full of ice cubes. “How hot?”

“Things got a little out of hand,” Rocello said. “Like my hand. Under her skirt.”

Shit.

“I’ve had an encounter with her, too,” Jumaine said as Rocello stared at him, and my shock intensified. He looked at me. “I suspect we all have.”

I nodded, not willing to confess the exact nature of my experience with Margo. “So she’s three-timing us?” That wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it certainly wasn’t a reason to take her out.

Jumaine shook his head as we gathered next to Rocello’s SUV. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Then what is it?” Rocello grunted.

Jumaine looked off in the distance, seeming to gather her thoughts. “I think maybe she likes each of us, in spite of herself. In spite of what she knows about us. When I relieved her from babysitting the other night, things got a little hot and heavy, but then she stopped. Out of respect for you, Rock.”

“Maybe she doesn’t really know what she wants,” I said.

Jumaine nodded. “We’ve each spent some time with her during some intense situations. She’s not part of this world, so it’s probably been a lot for her.”

“Doesn’t mean she has to make out with three guys, though,” Rock said.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t not mean that, either. Who are we to question her coping methods?”

“You really think she likes each of us?” My question made me sound like a shy middle-school boy, but I wanted to know.

“Yeah, I think so,” Jumaine answered. Then we both looked at Rock. Eventually, he nodded.

“All right, this is definitely something we need to think about, but there are bigger issues,” Rocello said. “Can either of you think of any reason Roscano wants us to take out Margo?”

“Beats me,” I said, at the same time Jumaine said, “No clue.”

“We need to find out,” Rocello concluded. “I bet Conners knows.”

I nodded in agreement. As Roscano’s consigliere, he would definitely know more. “But what if he doesn’t want to give up Roscano’s secret? Let’s face it. If Connors betrays the Don, he’s as good as dead. Roscano will have him taken out by midnight.”

“And he’ll probably have one of us do it,” Jumaine added.

“One problem at a time, boys,” Rocello attempted a deeper tone, his gaze darting back to me. “Of course Roscano will want us to put a bullet in Connors’ head. That doesn’t mean we’re going to do it. When that day comes, we just won’t be able to find him. Catch my drift?”

“That could buy us a little time,” I admitted. “We can’t take any chances, though. If anybody sees the consigliere somewhere in New York, Roscano will have us hunt him down ‘til he’s dead. We’ll have to put that fool on a plane.”

“To where?” Jumaine’s question irritated me. He was supposed to be the ideas man—where the fuck were his ideas?

I scowled, eyeing him with frustration. “Who cares? He just has to leave the city. Where he chooses to go is his own problem.”

“We pay a visit to Connors. Tonight,” Rocello said, his expression tight. “Now, let’s talk about Margo.” He sucked in a long breath. “I can’t say that it wasn’t a shock, hearing that she’s done something with each of us, but that doesn’t mean I want her dead. We can’t let that happen. No way I’m unloading my gun in her just because that fucker said I should.”

“We won’t let that happen either.” I was glad that Jumaine had said ‘we.’ Sometimes, these guys acted like I was a loose cannon with no morals, and that just wasn’t true. Usually.

“Obviously, Roscano’s expecting us to finish the job,” I pointed out. “I don’t think it’s likely he’s told anyone else.”

Jumaine nodded. “He knows we like her bar. He asked us because she knows us and trusts us.”

“And because it’s our job,” Rocello grunted.

“I’m with you, but, again, we shouldn’t take any chances,” I advised, lowering my tone. “One of us will have to watch over her, while the other two pay a visit to Connors. And whoever tails her has to promise he won’t go near her. That kind of distraction could get her killed.”
To my surprise, neither Rocello nor Jumaine would make that promise.

“Seriously? I’m the voice of fucking reason here?” I let out a long exhale. “All right. Since you two can’t trust yourself to keep your dicks in your pants, I’ll do it. I promise you, I won’t touch her.”

Not touching Margo was a fucking shame. But losing Margo altogether was downright tragic.

“Sounds like a plan.” Rocello unlocked his car. “I’ll call you after we’ve had a chat with Connors.”

“Okay.”

Heading back to my car, I was half tempted to go back and switch with one of them. Beating information out of Connors sounded like a lot more fun than watching over Margo without her knowing. That meant spending endless hours in my car, drinking about half a gallon of coffee to stay awake.

Still, it had to be done. It was the only way to make sure Margo was safe.

For now, that was. Long term, I had a feeling that was going to be a difficult job.