when Mr. Matranga says 'offer,' he doesn't mean quite the same thing you and I might mean. You understand, Sal?"
"I can't give you money I don't have! For God's sake!"
"You ain't thinking it through, Sal." Antonio pushed right up against him, chest to chest. Sal's spine pressed hard against the shelves. The thug never stopped smiling. It was the smile of a simple man, and it filled Sal with terror. Brute violence was nothing to a man like that.
Someone, a potential customer, rattled the door, and Antonio put a stinking hand over Sal's face. The customer rapped on the glass. The thugs waited a long moment before the customer gave up and went away.
Antonio removed his hand and Sal breathed. He felt tears of frustration and shame rolling down his cheeks, and thought again of his guest in the stockroom, the boy his cousin had sent over to stay with him. What would happen if Antonio or Petey or Fredrico discovered him in the store? Would they beat him? Would they kill him?
Antonio said, "Where were we? Oh, yeah. I was saying, Sal, you ain't thinking it through."
A sharp, cold blade pressed into Sal's face, right below his left eye. Antonio grinned at him, so close their noses almost touched.
"There's always more money, even when you think there ain't. And you know, you can't put a price on your wellbeing. I mean, what if something ... bad happened to you? What if ..."
He pushed the blade harder against Sal's flesh.
"... someone came along ..."
The blade edged up Sal's face, toward his eye, and blood dribbled down his jaw and plopped on his apron.
"... and just gouged out your eyeball? Eh, Sal? Then where would you be?"
The one called Fredrico spoke for the first time, a throaty, sibilant voice that made Sal want to piss himself. "Do it," he said. "Slice out his eyeball. I wanna see it."
"Should I, Sal?" Antonio said, smiling.
"Please," Sal said.
"Do it," Petey said in his little boy voice.
Antonio shrugged. "Give the people what they want," he said, and started to push the blade into the soft spot under Sal's eye.
A loud clatter came from the stockroom in back, like a bunch of pots and pans had been knocked over. All three of Matranga's men jumped, and Antonio jerked the blade away from Sal's face.
"What the hell was that?"
"Nothing," Sal said. "It's nothing."
"Someone else here, Sal, you neglect to mention?"
"It's nothing, please!"
Antonio started to say something, when the relative silence of the store was shattered by the loud scratching of a needle on wax, and the cacophonous sound of a hot jazz record blasted their eardrums.
"What the hell!" Antonio said. "Who's here, Sal?"
"A guest, only a guest!"
"Petey, go get 'em. And turn that goddamn racket off before my goddamn skull explodes!"
Petey nodded and started off for the stockroom.
Antonio turned his attention back to Sal. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the caterwauling music. "You should'a told us you had a visitor, Sal. Is it a frail? Maybe we'll have a little party."
"It's just a young man ... my cousin sent him over to stay for a few days, that's all!"
From the back, the needle scratched harshly on the record and the music came to a halt. Something thudded hard against a wall. The pots and pans clattered again, followed by another thud.
Then silence.
Antonio and Fredrico looked at each other.
Antonio called, "Petey?"
No answer.
"Petey, what's going on back there, you
cafone
?"
Still nothing. In a quieter voice, Antonio said, "Fredrico. You packing?"
Fredrico shook his head.
Antonio grimaced. He turned back to Sal. "You stay right where you are, Sal. You understand me? You move one inch and I'll gut you. Got it?"
Sal nodded, blood dripping from his face.
* * *
The two thugs headed for the back, Antonio leading. He held his knife in front of him, low, ready to use.
"Whoever's back there," he said. "Come out right now. If I have to come back there and get you, it won't be pretty."
There was no answer.
"You hear me,
"I can't give you money I don't have! For God's sake!"
"You ain't thinking it through, Sal." Antonio pushed right up against him, chest to chest. Sal's spine pressed hard against the shelves. The thug never stopped smiling. It was the smile of a simple man, and it filled Sal with terror. Brute violence was nothing to a man like that.
Someone, a potential customer, rattled the door, and Antonio put a stinking hand over Sal's face. The customer rapped on the glass. The thugs waited a long moment before the customer gave up and went away.
Antonio removed his hand and Sal breathed. He felt tears of frustration and shame rolling down his cheeks, and thought again of his guest in the stockroom, the boy his cousin had sent over to stay with him. What would happen if Antonio or Petey or Fredrico discovered him in the store? Would they beat him? Would they kill him?
Antonio said, "Where were we? Oh, yeah. I was saying, Sal, you ain't thinking it through."
A sharp, cold blade pressed into Sal's face, right below his left eye. Antonio grinned at him, so close their noses almost touched.
"There's always more money, even when you think there ain't. And you know, you can't put a price on your wellbeing. I mean, what if something ... bad happened to you? What if ..."
He pushed the blade harder against Sal's flesh.
"... someone came along ..."
The blade edged up Sal's face, toward his eye, and blood dribbled down his jaw and plopped on his apron.
"... and just gouged out your eyeball? Eh, Sal? Then where would you be?"
The one called Fredrico spoke for the first time, a throaty, sibilant voice that made Sal want to piss himself. "Do it," he said. "Slice out his eyeball. I wanna see it."
"Should I, Sal?" Antonio said, smiling.
"Please," Sal said.
"Do it," Petey said in his little boy voice.
Antonio shrugged. "Give the people what they want," he said, and started to push the blade into the soft spot under Sal's eye.
A loud clatter came from the stockroom in back, like a bunch of pots and pans had been knocked over. All three of Matranga's men jumped, and Antonio jerked the blade away from Sal's face.
"What the hell was that?"
"Nothing," Sal said. "It's nothing."
"Someone else here, Sal, you neglect to mention?"
"It's nothing, please!"
Antonio started to say something, when the relative silence of the store was shattered by the loud scratching of a needle on wax, and the cacophonous sound of a hot jazz record blasted their eardrums.
"What the hell!" Antonio said. "Who's here, Sal?"
"A guest, only a guest!"
"Petey, go get 'em. And turn that goddamn racket off before my goddamn skull explodes!"
Petey nodded and started off for the stockroom.
Antonio turned his attention back to Sal. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the caterwauling music. "You should'a told us you had a visitor, Sal. Is it a frail? Maybe we'll have a little party."
"It's just a young man ... my cousin sent him over to stay for a few days, that's all!"
From the back, the needle scratched harshly on the record and the music came to a halt. Something thudded hard against a wall. The pots and pans clattered again, followed by another thud.
Then silence.
Antonio and Fredrico looked at each other.
Antonio called, "Petey?"
No answer.
"Petey, what's going on back there, you
cafone
?"
Still nothing. In a quieter voice, Antonio said, "Fredrico. You packing?"
Fredrico shook his head.
Antonio grimaced. He turned back to Sal. "You stay right where you are, Sal. You understand me? You move one inch and I'll gut you. Got it?"
Sal nodded, blood dripping from his face.
* * *
The two thugs headed for the back, Antonio leading. He held his knife in front of him, low, ready to use.
"Whoever's back there," he said. "Come out right now. If I have to come back there and get you, it won't be pretty."
There was no answer.
"You hear me,
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