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“His door’s got a steel core,” Connie said.
Zaretsky put her gun back into her bag. “You tell that weasel we want our money.”
Connie gathered up the desk lamp pieces. “I’ll pass it along.”
“C’mon, girls,” Zaretsky said. “We have better things to do than to hang here all day.”
Zaretsky motioned for no one to say anything, and the women flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the door.
After a couple minutes, Vinnie opened the door a crack. “Are they gone?” he asked.
The women pushed the door open and stormed into the inner office. Vinnie shrieked and tried to scramble around his desk, but the bookie grabbed him.
“I haven’t got any money,” Vinnie said. “I swear to God, I’ll pay you when I get some money.”
In a very ladylike fashion, the bookie wrapped her hands around Vinnie’s ankles and effortlessly held him upside down about a foot off the floor.
Vinnie is five foot nine and slim. His black hair is slicked back and wouldn’t move in hurricane-force winds. His pants are narrow-legged and tight across his butt. His shirts are shiny and fit like skin. His complexion is Mediterranean. His dick has an adventuresome spirit and is most likely hideously diseased.
The bookie shook Vinnie up and down as if he was trying to empty Vinnie’s pockets, but Vinnie’s pants were too tight for anything to fall out.
“Tell Connie to give you the petty cash,” Vinnie said. “It’s all I’ve got.”
The bookie dropped Vinnie, and the three women went to Connie.
“I’ve got two hundred and twenty dollars here,” Connie said. “Sign this receipt.”
Zaretsky signed the receipt and took the cash. “This isn’t nearly enough,” she shouted to Vinnie. “We expect payment in full by the end of the week, or we’re going to your wife. And until you pay up you’re cut off from services.”
The women turned, huffed out of the office, got into the little car, and sped off.
“How old do you think Madam Zaretsky is?” Lula asked.
“She’s in her sixties,” Connie said. “Vinnie’s been with her for a long time.”
“She’s in good shape,” Lula said. “She’s got excellent biceps. Must be from all that whipping she does.”
Vinnie was on his feet. “What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled at Lula. “Why did you tell them I was in my office?”
“You need to pay the ladies,” Lula said. “It’s not good to stiff service providers. And you better shape up, because Madam Zaretsky said she was going to your wife next.”
“Maybe if you two loser enforcers would actually make a capture I could pay the ladies,” Vinnie said. “It’s like I’m running a charity bailout here. How about if you stop snarfing those donuts on Connie’s desk and make a feeble attempt to haul in Victor Waggle. Is that too much to ask?”
“How about if I rearrange your face so your nose is in the back of your head?” Lula said.
Vinnie closed his door and slid the bolt.
“Who’s Victor Waggle?” Lula asked Connie.
“Failed to appear for court on Friday. High bond. Nutcase. Stabbed two people on State Street and urinated on their dog.”
“That’s a terrible thing to do,” Lula said. “It’s not nice to urinate on a dog. I hope that dog’s okay. What kind of dog was it?”
“Shih tzu,” Connie said.
“What about the people?” I asked.
“They’ll live,” Connie said.
