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key in the front seat.”
    Tony followed directions with Nico pasted to his side. Once in the car Nico turned his back to the door, pointed the gun at Tony’s abdomen and asked, “Why’d Chip send you?”
    Tony recognized the eyes. He’d read the Martin-Schultz scale and black irises weren’t common, in fact he didn’t see black eye color on the human scale  at all. The deepest color was dark brown pigmentation, but Mohawk’s irises in broad daylight appeared black as night. The Mohawk was gone, but this was the same guy, a human chameleon with eyes of a hunter, a stone cold killer.
    Tony put his hands on his knees, letting Nico know he wasn’t a threat. “Chip wanted your contact info. He has a job offer for you.”
    Nico snort. “Really?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Tell your boss I’m gainfully employed.”
    Tony nodded. He was curious about something, though. “What are you, Sergio’s personal bodyguard?”
    “Sort of.”
    “Sergio must have some cash to hire somebody like you full-time.”
    “His finances aren’t your business,” Nico replied. His thumb flicked the safety on. Tony wasn’t stupid or a threat or lying. Nico studied Tony’s body language. He hadn’t fidgeted, got edgy or defensive. His pupils didn’t dilate nor did he detect a rise in his vocal pitch. Either he was a master liar or telling the truth. He didn’t take any chances and pushed the gun to Tony’s flank to quickly pat his torso. He tapped the waist where he found a firearm. “I’ll hold this until we’re done,” Nico commented and leaned on the door again. He removed the magazine clip and placed the weapon on his lap. “You were saying your boss had a job for me. What kind of job, I’m curious?”
    “In his camp. Collections.”
    “That’s bottom rung work. He wants a gopher, no thanks!”
    Tony scoffed. Mohawk certainly had that right. “The pay’s good.”
    Nico watched the cars passing and the pedestrians. Two men in the backseat of car might be suspicious except, they could be members of the cricket team, talking game strategy or gearing up in the privacy of their vehicle. Besides, he doubted if anybody cared.  The conversation lasted longer than he wanted. Tony seemed like a loyal soldier, somewhat green. He’d done his homework on ‘ole Chip and discovered some interesting stuff. Chip’s real name was Ellis Lazlo. His father was from Catania and owned a citrus grove. He had two other siblings, both married and living in the same town where they’d grown-up.
    Not every Sicilian had connections in organized crime. There were honest hardworking people throughout Italy. Ellis or Chip as he liked to be called came from such a family. Chip came to America ten years ago, stayed with a relative in Bensonhurst, worked in the family’s pizzeria and at some point got it in his head the mob life was a better future than rolling dough. A few run-ins with law enforcement for minor infractions were the only thing Nico found. How he hooked up with the Caminello’s is anybody’s guess. Anyway, Chip had ambition. Those kinds of guys are the ones you watch out for because they’re the impatient people who don’t like waiting in line. They’re the types who try to impress the boss. They’ll steal a co-worker’s idea and shop it as their own for promotion. There are plenty of Chip’s in the world and when you meet them you’ll know.
    Nico passed Tony his gun and stuck the clip in his pocket for safekeeping. He didn’t want to get shot in the back when he left the car. He offered parting advice to the affable guy. No sense in letting him return empty handed to his boss. “Tell Chip Sergio’s acquaintance isn’t interested. Let him know you spoke to me directly. My name’s Mr. Undertaker, that’s what he’ll need if he sends anybody else sniffing in Sergio’s backyard.” Nico backed out the door and paused. “By the way, that envelope in your pocket, I assume it’s a pay-off to get Sergio to talk names. If I were