thumbs.
Mike smiled. “Must be nice having such generous friends.”
Everett noticed the poker game had stopped momentarily as the four men at the table watched the transaction.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Mike motioned to Everett.
“I don’t believe…” Eddie stammered. “I don’t think it’s necessary,”
“Oh, come on, Eddie!” Mike banged his chair to the floor. “Who do you think we are? Give your brother a proper introduction.”
Eddie sighed and shot a worried glance at Everett. “Gentlemen, this is Everett Lester.”
Everett nodded once. The men stared.
“If that takes care of everything,” Eddie turned toward the curtains, “we need to get going.”
“Hold on. Hold on.” Mike laughed and stood. “Let’s make sure we got this right before you go runnin’ off.” He smacked the envelope of bills against the palm of his hand. “We got twenty-four grand in all here, correct?”
Eddie nodded while Mike counted some of the money, then handed it to Scarface sitting on the desk. “Here’s four thousand to Shy Sal. That right, Sal?”
“One thousand for the vig he missed last week,” Sal said, counting the money as he spoke, “one thousand for this week’s vig, and we doubled it because of the miss. That’s right. Glad we could get all caught up, with everybody still in one piece.” He chuckled. “Unfortunately, Eddie, you found out what happens when you miss your vig payment. Not good.”
Sal hopped off the desk, approached Eddie, and examined his body, head to toe. “Although, it looks like you got off easy. At least you still got all your extremities. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”
Everett’s face flushed hot with rage. Not only had Eddie lied to him, but these goons were threatening to chop his brother into pieces. Everett knew what it was like to be sick with addiction, and he loathed the predators who preyed on his brother. But he had to keep his cool; this was not the time for discord. These dudes meant business.
“Okay, that leaves twenty grand for the Knicks loss.” Mike rolled up the remaining bills and held them toward Eddie. “Whaddya say, big spender? You want we let it ride—go double or nuttin’ again? Villanova plays Notre Dame tonight. Irish are favored by six, and it’s in South Bend.”
Eddie managed a smile and shook his head.
“That’s all right.” Mike waved. “I understand you can’t talk business around your saintly brother. You call me later and let me know what you wanna do. Personally, I like the Bears at home tomorrow versus Philly. You get eight points and the Soldier Field advantage. Let me know.”
“He won’t be bettin’ anymore,” Everett blurted out.
Several of the men chuckled, and Eddie glared at his brother. Then he took several steps in the direction of the exit and stopped next to Everett.
“Will that do it then?” Eddie said.
One of the men from the card game—a short, young guy with messy black hair and deranged eyes—rose from the table and walked toward the curtained door. As he did, he reached beneath his suit coat to tuck in his shirt, revealing a gun nestled in the waist of his pants. Once at the curtains, he turned, locked his feet shoulder width apart, and stood like a statue—glaring straight ahead with his arms crossed in front of him.
“There’s one more matter of business we need to address.” Mike got right up in Eddie’s face. “We’ve known each other a long time now, Eddie, and it dawned on us that you’ve never met the captain.”
Mike looked at his watch. “It’s almost time. You guys get dem plates and trash outta here before Mr. B gets here,” he barked at the three card players. “Move it!”
As the men scrambled to their feet, Everett’s stomach churned. These guys were all packing heat. He and Eddie were sitting ducks.
“Paulie, help clean this place up,” Mike said. “And make sure there’s plenty of good cigars and gin—Miller’s or Bombay. And
Mike smiled. “Must be nice having such generous friends.”
Everett noticed the poker game had stopped momentarily as the four men at the table watched the transaction.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Mike motioned to Everett.
“I don’t believe…” Eddie stammered. “I don’t think it’s necessary,”
“Oh, come on, Eddie!” Mike banged his chair to the floor. “Who do you think we are? Give your brother a proper introduction.”
Eddie sighed and shot a worried glance at Everett. “Gentlemen, this is Everett Lester.”
Everett nodded once. The men stared.
“If that takes care of everything,” Eddie turned toward the curtains, “we need to get going.”
“Hold on. Hold on.” Mike laughed and stood. “Let’s make sure we got this right before you go runnin’ off.” He smacked the envelope of bills against the palm of his hand. “We got twenty-four grand in all here, correct?”
Eddie nodded while Mike counted some of the money, then handed it to Scarface sitting on the desk. “Here’s four thousand to Shy Sal. That right, Sal?”
“One thousand for the vig he missed last week,” Sal said, counting the money as he spoke, “one thousand for this week’s vig, and we doubled it because of the miss. That’s right. Glad we could get all caught up, with everybody still in one piece.” He chuckled. “Unfortunately, Eddie, you found out what happens when you miss your vig payment. Not good.”
Sal hopped off the desk, approached Eddie, and examined his body, head to toe. “Although, it looks like you got off easy. At least you still got all your extremities. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”
Everett’s face flushed hot with rage. Not only had Eddie lied to him, but these goons were threatening to chop his brother into pieces. Everett knew what it was like to be sick with addiction, and he loathed the predators who preyed on his brother. But he had to keep his cool; this was not the time for discord. These dudes meant business.
“Okay, that leaves twenty grand for the Knicks loss.” Mike rolled up the remaining bills and held them toward Eddie. “Whaddya say, big spender? You want we let it ride—go double or nuttin’ again? Villanova plays Notre Dame tonight. Irish are favored by six, and it’s in South Bend.”
Eddie managed a smile and shook his head.
“That’s all right.” Mike waved. “I understand you can’t talk business around your saintly brother. You call me later and let me know what you wanna do. Personally, I like the Bears at home tomorrow versus Philly. You get eight points and the Soldier Field advantage. Let me know.”
“He won’t be bettin’ anymore,” Everett blurted out.
Several of the men chuckled, and Eddie glared at his brother. Then he took several steps in the direction of the exit and stopped next to Everett.
“Will that do it then?” Eddie said.
One of the men from the card game—a short, young guy with messy black hair and deranged eyes—rose from the table and walked toward the curtained door. As he did, he reached beneath his suit coat to tuck in his shirt, revealing a gun nestled in the waist of his pants. Once at the curtains, he turned, locked his feet shoulder width apart, and stood like a statue—glaring straight ahead with his arms crossed in front of him.
“There’s one more matter of business we need to address.” Mike got right up in Eddie’s face. “We’ve known each other a long time now, Eddie, and it dawned on us that you’ve never met the captain.”
Mike looked at his watch. “It’s almost time. You guys get dem plates and trash outta here before Mr. B gets here,” he barked at the three card players. “Move it!”
As the men scrambled to their feet, Everett’s stomach churned. These guys were all packing heat. He and Eddie were sitting ducks.
“Paulie, help clean this place up,” Mike said. “And make sure there’s plenty of good cigars and gin—Miller’s or Bombay. And
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