Driving Heat Read Online Free PDF Page B

CDC-strength disinfectant, already conspicuous from the street, prickled the backs of their throats as
Heat and Rook entered the dim nightclub with an unwelcome blast of light.
    As Rook had predicted, heads ducked low and back doors slammed as half of the dozen morning rummies in the place caught sight of Nikki’s captain’s uniform and scrammed. “Help
you?” said the bartender, a big woman with an eyepatch. She didn’t sound like she meant it.
    “I’m here to see Tomasso Nicolosi,” said Heat.
    Just to be a smartass, Rook jerked a thumb toward Nikki in her uniform and added, “NYPD.”
    After an exchange of whispered intercom chatter, a busboy opened a door for them hidden behind some heavy velvet curtains and they descended a winding oak staircase to the secret gaming parlor,
which amounted to an unoccupied craps setup and seven poker tables, also not in use. The dusky lighting in the windowless basement put everything in shadow, but there was just enough to make out
Fat Tommy sitting at a back booth in his signature circa-1979 tracksuit and oversized shades. The closer they got, though, it was apparent things had changed since they last saw him.
“I’ve been sick,” he explained without being asked, even before a hello. Fat Tommy had slimmed down years before at his wife’s behest, but now he had gone beyond thin. Not
only was Fat Tommy no longer fat, he’d become so emaciated he could hide behind a stack of poker chips. Instead of a mobster, he looked like ET in Jackie O’s sunglasses.
    They took seats facing him. “Sorry to hear,” said Rook with genuine sadness. He had met Tommy years before while researching an article on the mid-level New York crime families, and
the two had struck up an arms-length friendship. Subsequently, Rook had set Nikki up with confidential meetings to get information on cases from time to time, with nothing even close to a
relationship developing between the detective and the hood.
    “Yeah, well I’m gonna beat this.” Tommy slapped the table and laughed. “The fuck I will. Look at me. Say your good-byes.” In the awkward pause that followed, sounds
of men and women laughing bled through a closed door behind him. “Friendly card game among friends. Nothing you need to worry about, right?”
    Nikki took that as her opening. “We’re not here to hassle your little enterprise, Mr. Nicolosi.”
    “Good. And
Tommy
would be nice.”
    “I want to know if you recognize this man.” She held out her iPhone with the shrink’s ID photo on it. Fat Tommy lifted his sunglasses to give the pic a once-over and leaned
back. “His name is Lon King. I have reason to believe he may have had a connection here. Perhaps as a customer.
    “See, here’s the thing. This little enterprise, as you call it, is confidential. You know, discreet. Just like you.” He chuckled. “What are you dressed up for, the St.
Paddy’s parade?”
    When Heat gave him a stone face, Rook jumped in. “Tommy. The captain is here about a homicide.”
    “Uh-huh. And you want to know if I had him whacked? The answer is no.”
    Heat opened her notebook and uncapped her pen. “Then you did know him.”
    “Now that I’m getting the drift that he’s dead, I’m not feeling the need to be so, um, circumspect.” He turned to Rook. “How’s that for vocab, writer
boy?”
    Nikki kept to her all-business tack. “And I can take that as your statement? You did indeed know him?”
    Fat Tommy waved his hands in front of himself as if to warn off an oncoming car. “Let’s just get to it, all right? Yes, I knew him. Yes, he was a regular. No, I did not have anything
to do with his death. It’s generally considered bad business to kill someone who owes you money.”
    “How much did he owe you?” She held her pen poised.
    “Thirty-two thousand, one hundred. I staked him for his losses.”
    Rook said, “That’s a mighty big stake.”
    The mobster shrugged. “Is it? Keeps them in the game’s another