Bad Business by Anthony Bruno

gradually curled into himself and fell out of the chair. Augustine took note of how remarkably ungraceful dead bodies are when they fall. There were two ragged holes in the back of the chair, one right on top of the other.
    Giordano hissed, “You fuck.”
    Augustine was blinking and breathing fast, but he felt like he was soaring. “Some people are expendable, Vincent,” he said, gulping his breath. “I told Zucchetti that at the farm, but he didn’t want to hear it.”
    â€œYou fuck, you. You were supposed to fix things. This wasn’t supposed to—”
    â€œI am fixing things, Vincent.” He nodded toward Bloom on the floor. “The defense attorneys will be up in arms.They’ll fear for their safety. They’ll be trembling like mice. Their collective outcry for a mistrial will be so loud and so profound not even I will be able to combat it. It’s all but guaranteed.”
    Giordano tried to grin. “Great. Then it’s done, right? The trial, I mean. It’s over.”
    Augustine nodded. “Just about.”
    â€œSo I should just disappear, right? Take off and don’t come back.”
    Augustine nodded.
    Giordano stepped awkwardly over Bloom’s body on his way to the door.
    â€œJust one thing, Vincent.”
    The scared monkey turned back. “What?”
    â€œThat cologne you wear. I’ve always been curious about it. What’s it called?”
    â€œHuh? Oh, it’s, ah . . . it’s called Singapore.”
    Bam-bam! Bam! . . . Bam!
    â€œIt’s revolting.”
    Giordano’s head hit the floor between the bed and the wall. Augustine stood there, staring at him for several minutes. Giordano’s body did not move.
    I’m sorry, Vincent, but I couldn’t trust you to be quiet. You were out of control. You’d panicked. You could have told them about me, about the meeting at the farm. I couldn’t trust you, Vincent. Zucchetti was right. You were a weak link. Besides, a dead defendant will simply ice the cake for Morgenroth as far as the mistrial is concerned .
    Augustine’s pulse slowed as he took a deep breath and collected himself. He set down the pistols and opened his briefcase on the bed. He packed them inside, then took the newspaper out of the shopping bag and dropped it on the bed. Folding the bag so he could stow it, he glanced down at the headline on the metropolitan section of the Tribune . FIGARO LAWYERS DEMAND MISTRIAL. The byline was MarkMoscowitz’s. He put the folded bag in his briefcase, then picked up the paper and grinned. He was thinking of Tozzi.
    Thank you for the inspiration, Michael. And the opportunity .

— 7 —
    They got a table at the restaurant next to the front window, which was good because nobody was talking. Gibbons figured at least they could look out the window if they weren’t going to talk. He and Lorraine had had another fight this morning because he didn’t want any part of paint colors that were named after fruits. It made his skin crawl every time he heard her say she wanted the bathroom to be “honeydew with raspberry accents.” Christ. He told her, if he’d wanted to live in a goddamn fruit stand, he would’ve married a Korean. She didn’t like that. Then he made the mistake of saying her uncle Pete would never have wasted his money on designer paint, and she accused him of bringing up Uncle Pete because all he was interested in was the inheritance, which wasn’t true. He could give a shit if she was left any of that crap at the house. They did all their yelling in the car coming in, and now she was in the frosty stage, going out of her way to ignore him.
    Ms. Halloran was doing what all women do in these situations, keeping her eyes down and her mouth shut in a showof support, even though this lunch date thing was her idea, so by rights she should’ve been the master of ceremonies here. Instead, she made herself busy