Page 73 of Straightened Out

“I’ll take my chances,” I grind out, point a finger at her. “Stay out of my way, Flora, or I’ll make Mitch’s threats to your livelihood look like a walk in the park.”

Those words wipe the smug expression off her face, and I watch as her brows pull together. I don’t elaborate, though.

Let the miserable bitch draw her own fucking conclusions.

~*~

My altercation with Flora left me in a bad mood and I decided to push back the visit with my sister. I didn’t have it in me to go ten rounds with another disgruntled woman. I left the restaurant and went straight to Uncle Vic’s realtor. The ball to get Violet a place of her own was in motion and with any luck I’d have a bid in by the end of the week.

Stepping outside the realtor’s office, my gaze darts toward the street to where Johnny and Richie are cluelessly bickering over the Yankees and the Mets. I’m about to make my way over to them when I an odd feeling washes over me. Ever since the shit in Miami, I’ve been making a conscious effort to rely on my senses and be aware of my surroundings. A man can have a whole fucking roster of bodyguards and still catch a bullet.

Feeling as if someone is watching me, I stop in my tracks. My eyes sweep up and down the block, pausing at every storefront and each car. I watch a mother push a carriage down the street. An old man feeds the meter. A man and woman chat as they wait for the bus. Nothing out of the norm. I take another step forward, but I can’t shake the nagging in the pit of my gut. I lift my head and reposition my sunglasses on my face. That’s when I see the man in the coffee shop across the street, with his camera focused on me.

My jaw clenches as I start for the street.

“Yo, boss, we’re over here,” Johnny calls.

Ignoring him, I continue to stalk toward the coffee shop, stopping traffic along the way. I reach the sidewalk and stand in front of the window. Pulling my sunglasses off, I watch the man lower his camera. Our eyes lock and for a split second I see the fear in his eyes and my adrenaline spikes. I crook my finger, silently commanding him to join me outside the coffee shop. He hesitates for a moment, but the second I reach into my suit pocket he jumps from his chair. Biting back a smirk, I pull out a pack of smokes and wave them in his face. I flip open the pack of Parliaments, pulling out a single cigarette with my teeth. As I shove it between my lips, I mutter a curse. Uncle Vic liked the attention, he basked in every headline and I bet somewhere in his house there’s a fucking shrine with all the clippings through the years. I’m not that guy. I don’t like people watching me and I sure as fuck don’t like having a camera on me.

The guy emerges from the coffee shop and comes to stand in front of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Richie and Johnny make their way to us, but I don’t peel my gaze away from the creep with the camera.

I pat my tailored slacks in search of a lighter and pause a few feet away from the gate to light the cigarette dangling between my lips. Taking a long pull, I pop the two top two buttons of my dress shirt and roll my neck.

“You make it a habit of invading people’s privacy?” I ask, taking another drag of my cigarette. This time I imagine it’s a fat joint I’m smoking, it’s been too long since I indulged in mindless recreation of any kind and with the day I’m having even a dose of Violet won’t release the tension coiling through my body.

“I’m just doing my job,” the guy sputters and I sigh. Everyone’s gotta make that paper.

“Who do you work for?” I ask.

“The Daily News.”

I nod.

I suppose that’s better than the F.B.I. Tossing the cigarette into the street, I reach for my cash and pull out a couple of bills. I fold them and take a step closer to him.

“Next time your camera is in my face, I’m breaking it,” I say, pressing the cash to his chest. “Now, get the fuck out of here and see to it my mug isn’t on the front page of your newspaper tomorrow.” He stares at me for a moment before taking the bills and shoving them into his pocket, but he doesn’t leave.

“You hard of hearing or something? I said get the fuck out of here.”

“Right,” he mutters. “I’m sorry Mr. Spinelli.” With that he turns and jets down the block, leaving me standing on the sidewalk shaking my head.

“What was that?” Johnny asks as he comes to stand beside me.

“A dose of reality,” I answer, turning my attention to him. “Let’s get out of here. I need a break from this shit.”

He shakes his head.

“No can do, Rienzi called a meeting,” he reveals.

Since it was too early to call in Joaquin, I needed someone to pose as my underboss and at Uncle Vic’s suggestion, the former foreman became my guy. However, he should be down at the docks, waiting to highjack a container for the guns we’re sending to Sicily as per Uncle Vic’s orders, not requesting a meeting.

Swiping a hand over my face, I peer back at Johnny. I may be the new kid on the block, but I know enough to know when your underboss calls in the middle of a job, he ain’t calling to share good news. A true leader would be in the car already. But I’m not mentally fit for another fucking blow.

“Call him back and tell him it’s gonna have to wait,” I say, shoving my hand into my pocket. I turn for the car, but Johnny steps in front of me.

“I don’t know that it can wait,” Johnny replies.

I fix him with a look.

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