Chapter 8
Jonny sat across from Eddie at their regular table at Vincent’s on 86th Street. Their early Saturday night dinners were usually the calm before a crazy night at the club, but not tonight. “Where were you all morning and afternoon?”
“I slept in with some rich chick at the Towers.” Eddie pushed a basket of garlic knots toward him. “Her husband’s a lousy lay, always away on business. You know, the usual.” Eddie smiled with satisfaction. “Anyway, her bedroom had a great view of the Hudson.”
“How many women were you with last night?”
“What?” Eddie furrowed his brow.
Jonny leaned in. “Are you screwin’ Cheryl?”
“Fuck, no.”
She said you were there last night.” It pissed him off that he cared.
“Yeah, and we talked, that’s all.”
“Did she hit you up for the money Nicky owes Frank?”
“Nah, said she broke up with Nicky and wants to get outta Brooklyn.”
Huh. Could he have been wrong about her? “She has a real attitude though.”
“Funny, she said the same about you.”
She must’ve talked about him to Eddie. Great. Now she had him thinking like a teenager in heat.
Eddie watched as Jonny rearranged the silverware for the hundredth time. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing, I was just . . .” Then it pissed him off that Eddie noticed.
“I don’t get you. You got Angela all over your dick. You got the dancers giving you head, and yet you’re thinking about a girl you don’t even know.”
“Fucked up, right?”
“Yeah. Be smart for once and leave it alone. Let me handle her.”
Jonny tore into another garlic knot and mashed the dough between his fingers. “While you were enjoying the view at the Towers, Frank hauled me out of bed at eight this morning.”
The hovering waiter clinking ice against the glasses didn't help Jonny’s nerves.
The waiter left, and Jonny leaned in. “He wants us to set up a meet with Carl on the docks.”
“What the fuck?” Eddie’s voice vibrated with anger. “We don’t do that kinda work anymore.”
“Lower your voice.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder. “We don’t need the whole damn place knowing our business.”
The waiter returned to recite the specials. Sensing Jonny's mood, Eddie ordered veal parmigiana for both of them, a Chianti for Jonny, and a beer for himself.
“According to him, we’re still a couple of dumb thugs from Bensonhurst,” Jonny continued when the waiter left. “He started on all this loyalty shit, and how he hopes he still has our respect.”
“Fuck him and his respect,” Eddie growled out. “He still treats us like we’re running numbers over on 86th Street.”
“Consider it our last job for Frank ‘cause everything went down today. Contracts signed, money exchanged. Looks like that midtown space is ours.” When the waiter returned with the wine, Jonny drank a generous amount while Eddie sipped his beer.
“Nice,” Eddie said.
“Already started the renovations we talked about.” He sighed. “I’m thinking four to six weeks, and we’re open.”
Their dream of having a club in midtown and breaking away from Frank finally materialized. He had the money, and the space, but he also had Frank breathing down his neck and dogging his every move.
“Have you said anything to him about it?” Eddie asked.
“I’ve told him, but he blows it off because it’s not what he wants to hear.”
When the food came, Eddie dove in, but Jonny picked at it with his fork, then pushed it aside, and sipped at the wine.
Over coffee, Eddie continued to rage about Frank being an asshole, but he only half listened. His brain stalled on Cheryl. Nicky was a fuck up, and he sure wouldn’t let his meal ticket go that easy. Plus, she looked like she ran out in the middle of the night.
His gut told him something didn’t add up. And his gut was seldom wrong.
As they waited for the check to come, Jonny’s cell phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket, checked the caller ID, and showed the screen to Eddie.
They exchanged a look before he put the phone to his ear.
“Yeah.”
“Is the meet with Carl all set for tonight?” Frank didn’t waste words.
“Yeah,” Jonny answered.
“Make sure everything goes our way.”
“Don’t I always,” he said into a dead phone.
His ears hummed, and his heart rate shot up. Amazing what a thirty-second conversation with Frank could do.
~ ~ ~
Later that night, the foggy mist over the harbor hovered around Jonny like a sweaty hand. It coated his throat and filled his lungs as murky water lapped against the pilings.
He used to love coming down to the docks as a kid. Even shivering with the icy wind howling off the East River, he would dream about living in one of those luxury Manhattan penthouses. He’d watch the comings and goings outside of Frank’s office. The guys wearing custom suits and zipping around in flashy cars.
Now he wore the designer clothes and drove a luxury SUV. But taking Frank’s shit and meeting with a crooked union boss on a misty waterside dock fucked with the dream. Like a rat trapped in a burning building with hot flames licking at his back while he ran higher and higher until the only way to go was down.
The full moon and the warehouse security lights cast eerie shadows over the men as they assembled. He would’ve rather had a root canal without Novocain than stand on this splintered pier. They eyed each other while Eddie and Max stood to the side. Jonny faced off with Carl, the union negotiator, and another guy who twitched and rocked on the balls of his feet.
What a joke. Carl was just another guy on the take who didn’t give a shit about his men or the union as long as his BMW and Hampton’s beach house were paid up. And thanks to Frank, he had to do business on a deserted pier with this hothead and a tweaker.
“Hey, Jonny, haven’t seen you down here in a while,” Carl goaded. “Taking time off from your cushy job at the Paradise?”
“It’s real simple.” Jonny ignored his sarcasm. “We don’t want a strike, and that means everybody stays on the job tomorrow.”
“And what do we get in return?”
“Nothing.”
“You know the rules, Jonny.” Carl waved his arms around. “You gotta give us something.”
“I don’t gotta give you anything.”
“You think you can come here and tell us what to do, and we’re gonna roll over without any incentive?”
“Your incentive will be walking away from here tonight.” Jonny moved close enough to smell whatever garlic laced food Carl ate for dinner.
“You’re a crazy motherfucker,” Carl spit out.
“I know.” Jonny sensed Eddie and Max closing in behind him.
“Are you gonna let this pretty boy club owner tell us what to do?” Carl’s edgy companion challenged.
“You better tell your boy to calm down,” Jonny warned.
“Who the fuck is he calling a boy?” The tweaker yelled seconds before silver flashed in the dim lighting. The knife slashed through Jonny’s shirt and across his bicep so quick and sharp he didn’t feel it until he saw blood seep through the material.
A second later, Max spun around, grunted, and smashed his fist into the slasher’s nose. His hands flew to the pulpy, bloody mess, sending the knife skidding across the cement pilings. Max swung again, and the guy staggered to the side before he hit the pier with a thud. Fisting his bloody shirt, Max hovered over him with his arm cocked.
“He’s not worth it,” Jonny spat out.
Max released him and straightened, but Jonny saw the tic in Max’s jaw. The slasher slumped to a relaxed position, and Max drove his size fourteen shoe into the guy’s balls. The ear-splitting scream pierced the desolate pier.
Eddie glared at him. “Stupid fucker.”
Jonny turned to Carl. “You were told weeks ago no strike, and now you come here and start shit with people you can’t control.”
“But, Jonny.” He held his hands up and backed away. “Listen . . .”
“We’re done listening.” Eddie turned to Max. “Take him into the warehouse, and make sure he knows how fuckin’ pissed off we are.”
Max pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket, flipped it in the air and caught it with a smirk. Carl’s cries of protest mixed with his partner’s moaning, as Max pulled him up the pier.
The wooden planks creaked under their feet as Jonny and Eddie approached the SUV. Eddie motioned to his bloody sleeve. “You better get that looked at.”
Jonny mumbled a curse at the amount of blood already staining his shirt. “Just take me to the club.”
Inside the SUV, he released the glove compartment and grabbed a handful of napkins. The Pizza Hut logo was immediately saturated with his blood. So much for Eddie’s advice on eating healthy. Pizza Hut kept him from bleeding out all over the interior of the Escalade. Fifteen minutes later, they eased into the lot behind the club. In that short time, his arm developed a heartbeat of its own, making every movement painful.
Eddie heaved open the heavy fire door. “Go upstairs and clean up. I’ll take care of everything down here.”
He contemplated walking the fifty feet to the elevator or taking the stairs right in front of him. Not wanting to run into anyone, he opted for the stairs. At the third-floor landing, he regretted his decision. Wrestling with the metal stairwell door, he arrived in the small hall leading to the apartment. He unlocked the door and saw one light was on in the living room. Then he remembered he wasn’t alone.