Setup on Front Street by Mike Dennis Page A

Another player stepped in to challenge the winner,
throwing down a twenty of his own.
    Milton went over to the wall to rack his
cue. He grabbed his half-full bottle of beer, then swigged from it, hoping I
would go away. I didn't.
    "Now, we can move over to the corner
here and speak privately, like gentlemen," I told him softly, "or I
can reopen that gash on your healing head. What's it gonna be?"
    Without comment, he walked toward the
corner of the bar. I was right on his tail.
    We took two stools at the far end. He was
about my size, but as I'd learned from our previous meeting, not nearly as
tough as he should've been.
    Apprehension crept into his eyes.
"What do you want, Doyle? Why you bothering me?"
    "Let's just say I don't appreciate
being grabbed off the street. Especially not by the likes of you."
    "Yeah, well … you already made that
point." His hand gestured toward the bandage on his head. "So now
what do you want."
    "I want to know how Frankie Sullivan
wound up down on Front Street the other night with his throat cut."
    "Hey! That wasn't me. I had no part of
that."
    He pulled nervously from his beer, nearly
draining it.
    "Oh, I know you didn't do it, Milton.
You don't have what it takes for a job like that. But I just bet you have a
good idea who the old man sent out to do it."
    "I don't know nothing about it."
    His eyes darted up and down the beer
bottle, over to the pool table, and anywhere else he could think of so he
wouldn't have to look at me.
    "Who was it, Milton? Was it your
playmate Bradley?"
    "I told you I don't know nothing! Bradley
works hand-in-glove with Mr Whitney. They don't tell me shit."
    He finished his beer and signaled for
another. Moments later, it was there.
    "Well, why don't you get him to tell
you?"
    "Hmph! Yeah, right."
    I kept my
voice down in the polite zone. "Yes, Milton. Really. You can find out what
happened. You and Bradley are tight, aren't you?"
    "Yeah, we're tight, Doyle. And that
means I'm not snitchin' him to you ." He started in on his fresh
beer.
    "Milton, I just want to know who did
it. After all, I'm not a cop. For all I know, Bradley didn't do it."
    "He didn't. So leave it alone!"
    "I thought you said you didn't know.
That they never tell you anything. And now you say he didn't do it."
    He went for his beer again, but I grabbed
it, slamming it down on the bar, hard.
    "Hey, fuck you, Doyle! That's all I
know. Bradley didn't have —"
    I wrapped my hand around his index finger
and   bent it back, way back. He winced. I
bent it back a little farther, raising his pain level.
    "Listen, asshole," I whispered.
"I want to know who clipped Sullivan. If you don't want to tell me, this
finger goes, right now. If you make a peep in here or draw any attention to us,
I'll crack your fucking arm in two, I swear to God. Sullivan's dead and my
money's gone, so I've got nothing to lose, Milton. You understand me?"
    He nodded while trying not to scream.
    I kept up the pressure.
    " Tell me! "
    His free hand went palm down, telling me he
had enough. He tried to say "okay" but it wouldn't come out.
    I loosened my grip on his finger, but
didn't let go entirely. He exhaled out all of the sharp pain, but the heavy
soreness stayed with him.
    He finally caught his breath, speaking
between gasps, "Bradley didn't do it. But he farmed it out to two guys
from Lauderdale."
    That would figure. No direct connection to
the old man.
    "Who were they?"
    "Hey, what's the dif —"
    I grabbed the finger again, bending it to
the point of snapping. Milton's upper body wrenched in pain.
    But I had to hand it to him, he kept quiet.
    "Awright, awright! "
    I let go. He massaged his finger but it
didn't do him much good.
    "Yuri. Yuri Vasiliev. That's the only
name I know, but he's Bradley's contact up there."
    "Vasiliev? Is he Russian?"
    "Yeah."
    "Who is he?"
    "How the fuck should I know?" he
replied.
    I went for the finger, but he pulled his
hand back fast.
    "Hey!" he said. "That's all
I know. You want the guy's life