to the inevitable, Max sat down in the nearest chair. "I appreciate that, sir, I guess. So what is this assignment?"
"Pack your bags. You're taking a trip."
"Today? Where?"
Gus pulled up a kitchen chair and lowered himself into it. "Here's the story. One of my sources was down in Little Italy last night, and it's a good thing he was. He was hanging around a back window of Cirillo's Funeral Parlor and just happened to catch part of a conversation between none other than Frankie Galbotto and some poor fish he had dangling from his hook."
Gus interrupted his own story with a chuckle of pure pleasure. "You're gonna love this, Max. It seems Mr. Galbotto has decided to invest in a silver mine in Colorado. Can you believe that?"
All the tiredness was shocked from Max's body. He sat up straight, suddenly alert and anxious to hear more. Any news about Frankie Galbotto interested Max. "A silver mine?" he repeated.
"Yeah, that's rich, isn't it? Galbotto gave this dumb cluck three thousand dollars to go digging around some mountain. Now you and I both know, Max, that those mountains are played out. The chances of finding silver are pretty slim, so it makes you wonder why a guy like Frankie would do such a stupid thing. Frankie’s a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of them."
"No, sir,” Max said. “Frankie isn’t stupid. “Do you know who he gave the money to?”
Gus laughed out loud. “You’re going to love this, Cassidy.”
“So tell me, Mr. Kritsky.”
"Winnie Sheridan's no-account son!" Gus stood and paced in Max’s small room. "I tell you, Max, I feel like this story just fell from heaven into my lap. If I were twenty years younger I'd follow this one myself, but I'm not, so you're the next best guy to do it. We get to catch Frankie Galbotto putting money into a sucker's bet, and I get a little personal revenge on Winston Sheridan at the same time. His son following a fool's trail that'll land him nothing but a crock of cow patties. I love it!"
Max felt sick again, but this time it had nothing to do with the Irish stout he'd consumed the night before. "Why do you suppose Frankie gave Sheridan the money, Mr. Kritsky?"
"Who the hell cares?” Kritsky hollered. “All I know is that if you put one wily fox in a room with a dumb bunny, there's no doubt which one's gonna come out on top. Galbotto's going to get his pound of flesh from the Sheridans somehow, and I can't wait to see how he'll do it. And I’m happy to watch Winnie Sheridan, that fat upper cruster who’s looked down on me for years, eat a big slice of humble pie."
Max put his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. At this moment all he could think about was Betsy and how it was her brother about to stick his neck out again. "I can't do this assignment, Mr. Kritsky," he said into his lap.
"What? Why the hell not?"
He raised his head and looked into his boss's eyes, hoping for sympathy. "I know something about the Sheridan family. It's hard to explain, but I'm connected to them in a small way. I can't be impartial."
"Even better!" Gus shouted. "Who wants you to be impartial anyway? It's a feature article, for crissake, Max. All I want is a bang-up story written in your perspective." He passed his hand in front of his eyes, creating an imaginary headline. "The Thug and the Chump... got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
Gus poked his finger at Max's face. "This could be the story that makes Max Cassidy. The whole city'll be talking about this one."
"But Mr. Kritsky..."
"I won't take no for an answer. You're the best man I've got and the guy I want to go. Now pack your bags."
Max searched his foggy brain for another way to get out of this mess and came up empty.
Gus took a long envelope out of his pocket. "Here's your ticket and some extra cash. Your train leaves in one hour. Just promise me you'll watch your back, son. Galbotto can play a rough game."
Max
"Pack your bags. You're taking a trip."
"Today? Where?"
Gus pulled up a kitchen chair and lowered himself into it. "Here's the story. One of my sources was down in Little Italy last night, and it's a good thing he was. He was hanging around a back window of Cirillo's Funeral Parlor and just happened to catch part of a conversation between none other than Frankie Galbotto and some poor fish he had dangling from his hook."
Gus interrupted his own story with a chuckle of pure pleasure. "You're gonna love this, Max. It seems Mr. Galbotto has decided to invest in a silver mine in Colorado. Can you believe that?"
All the tiredness was shocked from Max's body. He sat up straight, suddenly alert and anxious to hear more. Any news about Frankie Galbotto interested Max. "A silver mine?" he repeated.
"Yeah, that's rich, isn't it? Galbotto gave this dumb cluck three thousand dollars to go digging around some mountain. Now you and I both know, Max, that those mountains are played out. The chances of finding silver are pretty slim, so it makes you wonder why a guy like Frankie would do such a stupid thing. Frankie’s a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of them."
"No, sir,” Max said. “Frankie isn’t stupid. “Do you know who he gave the money to?”
Gus laughed out loud. “You’re going to love this, Cassidy.”
“So tell me, Mr. Kritsky.”
"Winnie Sheridan's no-account son!" Gus stood and paced in Max’s small room. "I tell you, Max, I feel like this story just fell from heaven into my lap. If I were twenty years younger I'd follow this one myself, but I'm not, so you're the next best guy to do it. We get to catch Frankie Galbotto putting money into a sucker's bet, and I get a little personal revenge on Winston Sheridan at the same time. His son following a fool's trail that'll land him nothing but a crock of cow patties. I love it!"
Max felt sick again, but this time it had nothing to do with the Irish stout he'd consumed the night before. "Why do you suppose Frankie gave Sheridan the money, Mr. Kritsky?"
"Who the hell cares?” Kritsky hollered. “All I know is that if you put one wily fox in a room with a dumb bunny, there's no doubt which one's gonna come out on top. Galbotto's going to get his pound of flesh from the Sheridans somehow, and I can't wait to see how he'll do it. And I’m happy to watch Winnie Sheridan, that fat upper cruster who’s looked down on me for years, eat a big slice of humble pie."
Max put his elbows on his knees and bowed his head. At this moment all he could think about was Betsy and how it was her brother about to stick his neck out again. "I can't do this assignment, Mr. Kritsky," he said into his lap.
"What? Why the hell not?"
He raised his head and looked into his boss's eyes, hoping for sympathy. "I know something about the Sheridan family. It's hard to explain, but I'm connected to them in a small way. I can't be impartial."
"Even better!" Gus shouted. "Who wants you to be impartial anyway? It's a feature article, for crissake, Max. All I want is a bang-up story written in your perspective." He passed his hand in front of his eyes, creating an imaginary headline. "The Thug and the Chump... got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
Gus poked his finger at Max's face. "This could be the story that makes Max Cassidy. The whole city'll be talking about this one."
"But Mr. Kritsky..."
"I won't take no for an answer. You're the best man I've got and the guy I want to go. Now pack your bags."
Max searched his foggy brain for another way to get out of this mess and came up empty.
Gus took a long envelope out of his pocket. "Here's your ticket and some extra cash. Your train leaves in one hour. Just promise me you'll watch your back, son. Galbotto can play a rough game."
Max
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