Page 31 of Married with Mayhem

However, now’s not a good time to dwell on how badly I want to fuck my houseguest. I’m waiting in a room full of gutter-mouthed mobsters and trying to keep my impatience from showing.

This place used to be a pool hall and then a strip club and now it’s an ordinary bar. It goes through a new renaissance every time Silvio needs a local project to pillage.

“There you are,” says Mike Silvio when he finally shuffles in here to act like I’m the one who kept him waiting and not the other way around.

He raises a dismissive hand to the employee who has been taking inventory behind the bar. Since I sat down ten minutes ago, I’ve watched the guy sneak stealth shots three times. I’m betting he picks the expensive shit and I’d bet even more that he does this all the time. That’s the thing about bad habits; they tend to multiply.

The bartender flees after a nervous glance at Silvio. A trio of Silvio’s captains had been enjoying a rowdy game of darts but after a nod from him, they also clear out.

I stand up as a show of respect and Silvio slaps my back with affection before plopping down in a wooden chair.

“Thought you’d make it out here yesterday,” he says.

“Something came up.” That’s all he needs to know. There’s no way I’m bringing Sabrina’s name into the conversation.

Luckily, Silvio isn’t interested in the details of my life. He winks as he passes a fat envelope across the table. “You did good. You’re now the best enforcer around. My Florida people were impressed.”

That’s funny, since it was their mess I was cleaning up.

I toss the envelope into a nylon drawstring bag. “I enjoyed the trip. Even got to feed some gators.”

Silvio gets the joke and grins. His gold tooth catches a string of sunlight coming in through the window overlooking the water. “Those swamp gators have a good appetite for rats.”

“They do,” I agree. “And with the rat problem handled in Florida, I don’t expect there will be a need to hire another exterminator anytime soon.”

“You never know.” Silvio’s chair creaks when he shifts his bulk. He shakes a fat finger. “Your uncle would be proud of you. Me and Vinny came up in the world at the same time so we were often partners in crime. He’s missed. I heard Kiki moved to Seattle.”

“Yeah, she took the loss hard and wanted a fresh start. And my mother is her only sister. Nico says they’re living right next door to each other now.”

Silvio folds his hands over his belly. “Speaking of your brother, he’s doing a hell of a job helping you run the bets at the track. I think he’s ready for something more prime time.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Giving nothing away, I play it cool with a thoughtful pause.

“Maybe soon,” I say with a shrug. “For now he could use some more toughening up.”

Nico would go fucking ballistic if he heard these words coming out of my mouth. I’m not even telling the truth. My kid brother is plenty tough. I just can’t stop flashing back to that bullet hole in his arm the day of the Valentine’s Massacre. I’ll keep him out of the fray for as long as I can.

Silvio grunts but his head bobs with a nod so I guess I’ve convinced him. One of his boys hovers in the doorway looking all eager and twitchy. I’ll take this as a signal to wrap up the meeting.

Before leaving, I could do Silvio a favor and drop a comment about watching the liquor stash. But what the fuck do I care if he can’t keep tabs on his own guys?

We’re all thieves, every one of us. A cardinal rule of mafia life is to take what you can when you can. Just be aware of who you can fuck over and who you can’t. And don’t get caught.

Outside, the breeze rolling off the ocean gives the air a salty taste. Today is perfect beach weather. I’m hit with the crazy thought that what I ought to do is go collect Sabrina in the city and drive her out to the Jones Beach boardwalk for some fresh air. She’d enjoy the field trip and I’d enjoy taking her there.

But the weight of the contents of my drawstring bag reminds me that I’ve got some errands to run.

When it comes to shuffling money around in a way that won’t alert the government watchdogs, it’s better to hand over the task to experts.

First, I pay a visit to my old Queens neighborhood and seek out Jimmy Sox, a former loan shark who has graduated to international money laundering. His take is ten percent but this is a decent price for a clean transfer.

“Sending to the same place?” Jimmy asks and sucks on an asthma inhaler.

“Yup.” I wait while he squints at a laptop and clicks some keys. “Should we wait until all this cyberattack bullshit is over?”

“Nah, I haven’t had any issues with these Caribbean banks.” He hits one more key and closes the lid. “Looks like the transfer is going through neatly. Give it a few hours to show up in the account.”

“Thanks.” No need to shake his hand because Jimmy’s a germophobe.

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