Bad Apple by Anthony Bruno Page A

Not bad, I guess.” He left it on the console between the seats.
    â€œHere. You want mine.” Tozzi held out his slip of paper.
    Bells shook his head. “Keep it. Secondhand fortunes are like used rubbers. They only work for the first guy.”
    Tozzi stared down at Bells’s fortune. Great happiness in bed. With Gina maybe? He wondered if Bells was thinking about her right now; then he remembered her answering machine. “Gina, it’s me. Gimme a call.”
    Freshy wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, balled it up, and dropped it in his empty coffee cup. “So what’s the deal, Bells? You gonna take us home now or what?”
    Bells sipped his tea. “One more stop.” He looked over the seat at Tozzi. “You don’t mind, do you, Mikey?”
    â€œNo. No problem.” As if he had a choice.
    â€œGood. ’Cause like I was telling you guys before, when I make a loan, I want everybody to go into it with their eyes open. That’s why I’m taking you around today, to open your eyes. Now, I’m not saying any of this will ever happen to you. As God is my witness, I hope to Christ with all my heart that you guys have success beyond your wildest dreams and your vig never becomes a problem for you. But you should still be aware of what can happen if success doesn’t come right up and bite you in the ass in the beginning. Just so you know what you’re getting into. Okay?”
    Freshy nodded and looked at Tozzi. “Yeah, sure. We understand. You just want us to know what could happen.”
    Tozzi nodded in agreement, looking at Freshy to make sure his stupid face didn’t give them away. Of course that Woody Allen, high-anxiety wince was his normal expression. Tozzi had no idea what kind of face would be abnormal for Freshy. He hoped Bells didn’t know either.
    â€œOkay. Let’s go see my friend Mr. Blake. C’mon.” Bells got out of the BMW and headed for one of the stores, Park Avenue Fine Jewelers. He walked alone while Stanley hung back and waited for Tozzi and Freshy to follow.
    Tozzi got out of the car and closed his door, staring at Bells’s walk. It was so weird the way he moved. Purpose without intention. Like that old tai chi master. Like a friggin’ ghost.
    By the time Tozzi walked through the door, the old guy behind the counter was looking at Bells as if he were seeing a ghost. Tozzi assumed this was Mr. Blake. The man must’ve been in his early seventies, but he was tall and fit, good-looking with a forceful jaw and a pretty respectable head of white hair. Mr. Blake wasn’t trembling, and his eyes weren’t popping out of his head—he seemed to have too much dignity for that—but he was frozen, staring at Bells as if he were the Grim Reaper.
    Tozzi could see that Bells had something in his hand, and he was startled when Bells suddenly unraveled a length of thin green string. His first thought was that Bells intended to strangle the guy with fishing tackle, but when Bells started to wrap the ends around his index fingers, he realized that this wasn’t fishing tackle. It was dental floss. Mint-flavored dental floss. Tozzi was only slightly relieved.
    Bells started to saw the floss through his bottom front teeth. “So?”
    Mr. Blake didn’t say a thing. He just stared at Bells, a condemned man ready for the firing squad. Stanley was leaning on the glass case closest to Mr. Blake, looking to Bells, waiting for the go-ahead. His tongue wasn’t hanging out, and he wasn’t slavering, but he definitely had that Tazmanian Devil look.
    Tozzi and Freshy stayed out of the way. Freshy’s head was bouncing, and he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, but nothing seemed to make him comfortable. Tozzi wasn’t very comfortable either. He glanced around the store, hoping the old guy had a cat.
    â€œSo what’s it gonna be?” Bells sawed the floss between his eye