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“Yes, sir,” they both say.
With a smile, I tip my head and make for Sammie’s room like I don’t have a care in the world. Unfortunately, I’ve got a shitload of them. I just have to figure out how to minimize and work around them. The clock is ticking. It works to my advantage that Sal and Rudy will have pissed off somewhere for a while to sulk after I humiliated them. Paulie isn’t a night owl. He’s probably gone home for the evening. And Donzelli? I’m betting he found a “temporary companion” for the evening and retired to his room with her, poor girl.
Once around the corner and out of the not-so-dynamic duo’s eyesight, I sprint down the hall to the stairs, rushing all the way to the bottom floor. Panting like a motherfucker, I trek near the kitchen, slipping into where the food and bar staff store everything. Thankfully, I know the passcode, so when no one is looking, I sneak inside.
The boxes holding the bottles of booze are organized and marked. I grab one of the priciest bottles of scotch. Yeah, someone will notice it’s missing, but hopefully not until anyone who will give a shit is either dead or in jail. Then I let myself out, hit up the small-time drug dealer who thinks he’s flying under Donzelli’s radar hanging out near the quarter slot machines, buy a few “relaxation” supplements, then slip them into the bottle with a smile.
It doesn’t take long to find Sal and Rudy. Every Saturday night they’re able, they plant at a table close to the stage where a barely average lounge singer warbles through a few sets. She might not be the most talented singer, but she gets those two drooling, especially when she wears her spangly blue dress the size of a postage stamp that barely covers her tits and almost flashes cooch. When I round the corner, sure enough. They’re fixated on her as she belts out a rendition of “New York, New York.”
“Hey, guys.” I slide into the booth beside Rudy.
I don’t trust Sal not to stab me in the ribs now and apologize to Donzelli about it later.
“What the fuck do you want?” Sal demands.
“I’m sorry about earlier. You had the redhead under control, and I was just eager to prove to Marco that I could handle the situation, so I took her out of your hands. Sorry.”
Rudy scowls. “You took her to bed, too. But that seemed like a whole lot of talking beforehand…”
So he saw. Damn it. Clearly, he needs to die first. Not that I actually intended to spare him. “She amused me for a minute. Then I got bored listening and just fucked her.”
That makes Rudy chortle. “Good and hard, too. She didn’t fight too much.”
Yep. He’s definitely dying first.
“Nice tits,” Sal says in passing.
And he’ll be next. Yes, Kristi has a great pair, but anyone else who remembers them won’t be walking this earth for long.
“Figured I was giving you two a show.” I shrug like it’s funny and I don’t give a shit that anyone saw me violate the woman I plan to spend my life with.
“A good one until she ran from the bed and puked. Then we had to turn off the monitor.” He grimaces. “But before then? Man, you gave it to her good. Paulie tried to horn in on the show, too. We told him to get lost.”
“Yeah?”
Rudy nods. “He got pissed and went home.”
Excellent. That means, unless Donzelli is done banging whoever he’s tied to his bed tonight, no one is minding the candy store.
Like I suspected, now is my best chance to take this fucking place down.
Sal whirls on me. “In case you haven’t figured it out, we’re really the brains and heart of this organization.”
Oh, legends in their own minds, for sure. “I didn’t see it until tonight, but I got it now. That’s why I came to say I’m sorry.” I plunk the bottle of pricy scotch in the middle of the table and motion to a cocktail waitress for two glasses. “This is my way of saying it.”
Rudy’s beady eyes go wide. “This is a fucking expensive bottle of booze.”
I nod. “On me.”
Sal is more cynical. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Tomorrow afternoon, the three of us should sit down and discuss the side-hustle operation. Paulie got it off the ground, but it needs more finesse. You’re smart enough to know that, and I think you can help me.”
Sal cocks his head. “What’s in it for us?”
“Cash and pussy. What else is there in life?”
Rudy laughs again, sounding an awful lot like Beavis and Butt-Head. “Exactly.”
The other mobster scowls.
Damn, I hate a guy with short man’s disease.
“Upward mobility,” Sal finally says. “That’s what we want.”
“Absolutely. I totally get that. Someday, Donzelli is going to retire, you know?” If I don’t plant a bullet in him first. “Paulie…he’s been around a long time, but he’s not young. What this organization needs is someone with new ideas. Vision, right? Along with the brawn”—I gesture to Rudy—“and the balls”—I nod Sal’s way—“to implement them. You’ve been hitching your wagon to Paulie’s. I know you three go back a long way. But Donzelli has basically picked me to run the show after he’s gone. It would be smarter if you hitched your wagon to mine.”
