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His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? What, then?”
“I deliver.” Then, because I can’t leave well enough alone, I added, “Just like my pops did before me.”
To his credit, Sal didn’t frown or otherwise react. He just nodded slowly. “That’s right. You deliver. Like the Federal fucking Express.”
We were quiet again for a few moments. Then I asked, “Is this about a job, then?”
Sal never gave me my assignments directly. Usually, I met with Max at some diner somewhere and he gave me a packet with everything I needed to know. The money came after. I paid my own expenses.
Sal sighed, and glanced over at Max, giving him a little nod. Max stood and motioned for me to do the same.
Confused, I stood up.
Max held his arms straight out to the side, miming me to follow suit. “If you please.”
Then I understood. “Christ, you think I’m wired?”
“Just a precaution,” Max said.
I shook my head in disbelief. “In a million years, I wouldn’t even think to do something like that.” I looked over at Sal. “I’m my father’s daughter, Sal, just like you are your father’s son.”
“I know,” he said. “But what’s the old saying? Trust, but verify.”
“You’re quoting Russian proverbs now?”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought Reagan said that.”
I turned back to Max, holding my arms out to the side. “Go ahead,” I said. “I don’t even have my pistola. Your guy at the front door took it.”
Max stepped forward. He ran his hands over my body, searching me with a light but firm touch. He was efficient and thorough, checking everywhere. Still, I was glad it was him doing the search instead of Bruno. That was something, at least.
When he’d finished, he gave me a curt, almost kindly nod, but there was no hint of apology in it. Then he motioned toward my chair, and returned to his own.
I sat down, took a huge breath, and let it out. Sal sat, watching me. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
Sal reached out for a gold colored pen on his desk, toying with it while he considered my question. Finally, he said, “I’ll cut right to it, Bricks. Times are tough.”
I knew that. It’d been four months since my last assignment and six months since the one before that. I guess it was a good thing I lived cheap and knew how to budget.
“You know, with the economy and all that?” Sal continued. “Well, it affects our business, too. We’re like a corporation, just like GM or Ford or IBM. We deal in what they call fiscal realities.”
Slow and steady on the last two words again, like I was a moron. I suppressed the frustration, not wanting to let it show on my face. This guy might have his doctorate in Mafioso 101 but I’ll bet he didn’t know that in between doing jobs for him, I managed to get a real degree from a real college.
And he didn’t need to know, either, I reminded myself. Just like he didn’t need to see how much his condescension pissed me off.
I sat stoically, and waited.
“These fiscal realities are forcing me to make some hard decisions. Decisions my old man never would have imagined possible in his time.”
“You declaring bankruptcy?” I blurted.
Oops.
Sal scowled. “Don’t be a wise ass, Bricks. It ain’t attractive.”
Like I gave two shakes about what he found attractive or not. But I did care about leaving this office alive and staying that way afterward, so I buttoned up.
Sal sighed, and let the scowl diminish. “Actually, it ain’t that far from the truth. We’re gonna have to downsize our operation.”
