Big Money (Austin Carr Mystery) by Jack Getze Page B

Talbot turning up dead? Tony? What the hell happened?”
    The Farascios exchange a long look .
    “Wait until you taste the baked mac,” Gina says.
     
     
    Hanging twine-covered wine bottles camouflage three short walls of the narrow, one room restaurant. A single glass window faces Mulberry Street. Fourteen white linen tables fill the boxcar sized space. The Farascios and I take up two, Tony needing a table all by himself.
    Green , bell pepper-shaped wall lamps provide the only light. Sinatra is singing in here, too, some sappy 1950s love song I don’t even want to remember the name of. Truth is I’m a bit dizzy. Can’t shake this time-warp feeling about my current whereabouts and the Farascio’s company. It’s either a Sinatra overload or maybe it’s because Tony just told me to “forget about it” concerning Bluefish’s threats and money.
    “Bluefis h will back off me and Luis because you tell him to?” I say.
    “Ab-so-fucking-lutely,” Tony says. “And he’ll eat the one hundred gees I took from him, too. The war is over. Trust me, this has already been explained to Bluefish.”
    I’m far from expert on mob organizational matters, but I suppose it’s logical that a New York mafia family would hold sway over a bookie from Branchtown, New Jersey. Maybe Tony can have Bluefish and the Creeper called off. Mr. Vic certainly gave me Tony’s number for a reason.
    “But what about Talbot? ” I say. “Did you go to her room? Did you see her?”
    “Sure,” Tony says. “She’s an old friend. I gave her a taste of Bluefish’s cash, explained about me and Vic, and now everything’s cool. No more co-mingling. She was okay when I left her.”
    Gina’s open hand launches for her husband’s face like a tiger. But Tony’s quicker. He catches her wrist six inches from contact.
    “ I bet you gave her a taste,” Gina says. “Asshole.”
    Tony’s fingers turn white around Gina’s wrist. She winces from the pain.
    So glad I came to d inner with the Farascios.
     
     

 
    TWENTY-THREE
     
    “What are you looking at?” Tony says to me one minute later.
    “Nothing.”
    Not a lie actually because Tony Farascio’s question should have been, what’s looking at us . Gina in particular. Not that I’m about to tell Tony that two rough-looking gentlemen are ogling his wife. This joint being Tony’s turf, I figure Gina’s husband would exhibit few qualms initiating combat over her honor. I’m afraid on Mulberry Street this means we could all die in a haze of armor piercing bullets.
    Personally, I’d rather get back to New Jersey.
    “Don’t brush me off,” Tony says. “Somebody checking us out?”
    Damn. Here it is again, that special Austin Carr moment when I know I am about to speak words that will produce inevitable, disastrous repercussions. Nevertheless, I will make my little speech...because...and here’s the unvarnished truth for a change...I’m a blabbermouth who craves the sound of his own voice.
    “Two guys came in through the kitchen a minute ago, sat behind you,” I say. “In the corner. Seems like they might know you ... and Gina.”
    Boy, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Regret always starts at the sound of my first words. When am I going to learn? This dysfunctional, self-destructive Gift of Gab is becoming a major and serious handicap. Wonder if I could get one of those special license plates with the embossed wheelchair?
    No offense to those with missing limbs.
    Tony spins to check out the new customers.
    Gina’s gaze has been avoiding mine all night, but now her dark eyes fix on me, a hard angry glare. A chunk of bread she was about to dip into a dish of green olive oil leaves her hand and flies in my direction.
    Guess she know s I’m a blabbermouth, too.
    Tony’s German Shepherd eyes drift back to me and Gina. “Wise guys,” he says. “The one with the shrimp lips is named Jimmy something . I know the other one, too.” Tony focuses on Gina. “They’re both part of Nunzio’s