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"That going to pose any problems for you, Vito?"
"What kind of problems?"
"You're not going to write that down, or anything?"
"I can remember Eastern 4302 at nine forty-five."
"From San Juan."
"Eastern 4302 is always from San Juan," Vito said. "Every day but Sunday."
He's a wiseass. He's an asshole who gambles with money he doesn't have, a fucking cop too dumb to know he's being set up, or that the only reason he's fucking Tony is because I told her to fuck him, and he's a wiseass.
"I'm going to ask you again, Vito. Is that going to pose any problems?"
"What kind of problems?"
"Money does funny things to people. Nothing personal, you understand. But you understand why I have to-ask."
"I understand."
"I'm sure you're not that kind of a guy. Mr. Rosselli speaks very well of you, but there are some people, when they get around that kind of money, they do foolish things. Foolish things that could get them killed."
"I'm not that kind of guy," Vito said evenly.
"I'm sure you're not," Ricco said.
"But I do have a couple of questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"Two questions. What do I do with the suitcase once I get it out of the airport?"
Jesus Christ, I don't know. Didn't they tell him, for Christ's sake?
"Didn't Mr. Rosselli tell you what to do with it?"
"If he had told me, I wouldn't be asking," Vito said calmly.
"Then I guess we'll have to ask him, won't we?" Ricco replied. " What was the other question?"
"When and where do I get my money?"
You're a greedy sonofabitch too, aren't you? Well, I guess if I was into Oaks and Pines for four grand worth of markers, four grand that I didn't have, I'd be a little greedy myself.
"You don't worry about that, Vito. You carry out your end of the deal, Mr. Rosselli will carry out his."
"Yeah."
Ricco walked to the telephone and dialed Gian-Carlo Rosselli's number.
"Yeah?"
"Ricco. I'm with our friend."
"How's things going?"
"He wants to know what he
