Bad Luck by Anthony Bruno Page B

drink.
    Gibbons sipped his beer. Tozzi was moodier than usual. Either it was the strain of being undercover, or he really had it bad for this Valerie. Whatever it was, Gibbons didn’t like his attitude. It wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it. His voice had that cocky, wiseguy edge to it. He also seemed a little too quick-tempered. Was Tozzi that stressed out trying to keep his personalities straight? Gibbons reconsidered his original assessment. Maybe Tozzi was wavering on the edge, trying to figure out which Mike was the better one to be, Tozzi or Tomasso.
    â€œHey, listen, I’m glad you’re here,” Tozzi said then, a bit conciliatory but not a whole lot.
    â€œOh, yeah? Why?”
    â€œThis bodyguard gig is crazy. I’m supposed to be on a regular schedule, but Nashe is always changing his plans at the last minute and I end up having to put in a lot of overtime. So between guarding Nashe and playing spin the bottle with Sydney, I don’t have time for anything. I’ve got a few leads I’ve been wanting to run down, but I just can’t get away. Let me fill you in and you can do the legwork. First, go over to city hall and find out whose name is on the deed to this land, then—”
    â€œHold it, hold it, hold it. You know, you do this to me all the time. You make up your mind that you’re gonna do things your way, then you drag me into it to hold your hand. Well, you can go fuck yourself this time—”
    â€œHey, don’t yell. You’re making a scene here.” Tozzi scanned the lounge nervously. “I’m not asking you for a big favor. All I want you to do is go to city hall.”
    Gibbons rubbed his mouth and looked at the rows of bottles behind the bar. “The last time I did a favor for you, I wound up in the hospital. You remember that?”
    Tozzi bit his bottom lip. “I have never in my life met a guy who can hold a grudge like you. We’re supposed to be partners. At least we used to be. I’m just trying to make a case here. Why don’t you want to help me?”
    Gibbons growled under his breath. “Because for one thing your idea of making a case usually involves swinging from the chandeliers, jumping through windows, acting like a cowboy—”
    Tozzi made a face. “Come on, will ya?”
    â€œAnd for another thing, you don’t have enough time to make a case like this. There’s too much ground to cover, and so far you’ve got zilch.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, I don’t have enough time?”
    â€œJust what I said—you don’t have enough time. Ivers is getting itchy. He’s giving you till the end of next week to come up with something concrete on Nashe, or he’s shutting you down. That gives you—what?—ten, eleven days? You and I both know that you can’t make this kind of case in that much time.”
    â€œBullshit. We can.”
    â€œNo, don’t give me this we shit. I don’t want to hear it.”
    Tozzi clapped Gibbons’s shoulder. “Come on. We should at least try.”
    Gibbons removed his hand. “Forget it.”
    Tozzi leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Gib, this is your last chance to score a big one before you get married. You know Lorraine’s not gonna let you go out on the street once she becomes Mrs. Cuthbert Gibbons.”
    The muscles in Gibbons’s jaw were working. Bastard. He hated it when people used his real name, and he hated it when Tozzi was right. Lorraine was already busting his balls about retiring or at least staying with a desk job at the field office. Fuck that.
    Tozzi flashed his big baby browns. “Gib? Am I asking for a lot?”
    Fucking snake-oil salesman. “Look, Tozzi, I told you—”
    â€œIs this man harassing you, sir?” Valerie was suddenly standing behind the bar right in front of them. “I’ll have him thrown out if he’s causing