Gangster by Lorenzo Carcaterra

pocket and pulled out a damp sheet of paper and some tobacco and hand-rolled a cigarette. He lit the wet end and took a deep drag, swallowing most of the smoke.
        This is as good a place as any we'll find tonight, he said.
        To do what? Pudge asked, casting a concerned glance toward Angelo, who was shivering in his thin jacket and slacks.
        To go over some business, Angus said, trying to protect the cigarette from the wind and rain. You two been getting by pretty well with the scores I been giving out. Every job comes in clean and with a nice payoff.
        That's a good thing, right? Pudge said, moving closer to the doorway.
        It's a very good thing, Angus said. But now it's time to make a good thing even better.
        Angelo stared at him as he finished off his cigarette and tossed the remains into a large puddle. He liked Angus McQueen and respected him as a boss. But he also knew, from his many talks with Josephina and Ida the Goose, not to grant him his total trust. So long as he and Pudge maintained their value and kept up their profit flow, they would be held in high regard. The minute they slipped, Angus would toss them aside as casually as he flipped that last cigarette.
        I'm taking over one of the downtown piers, Angus said. Curran and Eastman are givin' up their end for a small piece of my numbers action. In return, I take my cuts from the workers' checks and whatever swag we can lift off the ships.
        Which pier? Angelo asked, moving closer to Angus.
        It's one you know pretty well, he said. Pier sixty-two. The one your old man works on.
        Carl Banyon runs that pier, Angelo said, remembering the name as easily as he remembered the cut above his eye. You going to keep him on?
        That's up to you two, Angus said. Your job is to watch that pier. Make sure the money's flowing in the direction it should be, meaning toward me. Pick up the collection from the workers on payday and bring it down to me at the Maryland.
        My father's, too?
        Why should I cut him any favors? He's nothing to me. You want to take it out of your end, then that's your business. So long as the cash in my hand is the cash I'm expecting, you'll get no beef.
        When do we start? Pudge asked.
        Angus pulled his pocket watch from his vest and peered down at it in the darkness. The pier opens in about three hours. Make sure both of you are there. It don't look good if the boss is late on the first day. He put the watch back in its slot and lifted the collar of his tweed coat. You get any trouble, I'm expectin' you to handle it, he said. You might still be boys to those that look at you. But you're my boys, and that should give you all the edge you'll need.
        Angus turned and walked back into the storm, leaving Angelo and Pudge standing under the awning, watching him disappear.
        Looks like we got ourselves a pier to play with, Pudge said.
        Angelo looked straight ahead and nodded, his right hand inside the side pocket of his jacket, his fingers wrapped around the hard barrel of a revolver.
       
         *     *     *
    CARL BANYON STOOD in the center of a circle of forty men, a thick wad of chewing tobacco rammed inside the corner of his mouth. The doors to the pier behind them were closed and padlocked. An extra-tonnage cargo ship, The Tunisia, was docked by the side, waiting to be loaded with crates of fresh-cut lumber and sent on its way.
        Angus McQueen's taken over this pier, Banyon said to the men. That don't mean a damn thing to me and it sure as shit don't mean much to any of you. You still wanna work, you still gotta pay. And the person you pay is always gonna be me.
        Banyon saw the men's eyes shift away from him and over his shoulder. He turned and saw Angelo and Pudge, dressed in clean dry clothes, walk around scattered puddles and toward the circle. The rain had turned to early morning mist, the heat causing thin lines of