The Steel Kiss

“I got to know people there, I was saying. People like to talk to me. I got the gift of gab. Got that from my father. So, I asked around, put two and two together. About what Freddy was asking. And put together this list, might be the guy you’re looking for. A bunch of guys named J. Nothing about a Nanci. But they all got bitches they’re married to or’re fucking. Ha, or both. Here.” He dug into his pocket to retrieve a slip of paper, pulling his jacket aside.

Oh, Jesus Lord. Nick actually gasped.

Von was carrying.

Nick saw the wood grip of something small. Probably a little.38.

Man, this was bad. Freddy’d said there was no way he’d have a gun on him.

Maybe Von’d forgotten. Or lied.

Nick took the grimy sheet of limp paper.

“You okay, son-o?”

Nick couldn’t say anything. He looked around. Nobody else had seen the piece.

“Yeah. Haven’t eaten all day. I’m starving.”

“Ah, well, here we go.” The salads arrived, both drenched in dressing. No appetite whatsoever.

Von peered at Nick and said in a loud voice, real loud: “What’s a four-letter word that ends in K and means intercourse?”

Carmella had heard; Nick knew the joke was for her benefit.

Nick said, “I don’t know.”

“How ‘bout you, Lucy?” Von asked the waitress, who blushed. He roared, “Ha! The answer’s ‘talk’! Get it?”

She nodded and gave a polite laugh.

Nick started to chow down fast. Breathless.

“Easy, son-o. You’ll choke to death.…  You see that? She didn’t get it. She didn’t know ‘intercourse’ also means ‘talk.’ That’s what I’m talking about, with them.”

Lord, I’m sitting across from a man with a gun. No, an idiot with a gun.

Nothing to do but hope for the best.

Nick ate a few disgusting forkfuls as he scanned the names Von had brought him. Jackie, Jon, Jonny. There were ten altogether.

“Not much of a shortlist,” Von said, chewing. A bit of dressing launched itself tableward.

“No, man. It’s good. Appreciate it.” Names and some addresses, some businesses. Nothing jumped out. He would have to do more homework but he’d pretty much figured he’d have to.

Von continued, “According to my boys—and girls—these dudes hang at Flannigan’s some. Or used to. They’re all kinda quiet about what they do. You get what I’m saying. Quiet. Get it?”

“Great. Sure.”

More salad, wolfed down.

Von said, “You are one hungry son of a bitch.” That eerie giggle.

“Yeah, like I said.” Chewing, swallowing, trying not to puke. And a goddamn hamburger on its way.

Nick eased the list into his jeans pocket.

And that was when he saw the figure outside.

A guy, in a suit, one that didn’t fit so well. Gray. Blue shirt, button-down collar and a tie. Crew cut. He was walking past the restaurant, looking in, a neutral expression on his face. He stopped, squinted and leaned forward, peering through the window.

No…  oh, no…  Please.

Nick stared down at his salad.

Another plea.

Another prayer.

It wasn’t answered.

The door to the restaurant opened and closed and he felt, as much as heard, the big man make his way to the booth. Coming straight for them.

Shit.

Didn’t matter if Nick glanced at the newcomer or not; he was making a beeline for the two men. He decided it was probably better to glance his way—it’d look less guilty. He did this now and studied the face, keeping his own as emotionless as possible. He couldn’t summon the name. Not that it mattered. He knew what the guy did for a living.

“Well, if it ain’t my old buddy, Nick Carelli.”

He nodded.

Von looked him over.

“The hell you up to, Nick? They let your ass outa the system, did they? What happened? You stopped giving guards blow jobs with those pretty little lips of yours.”

Von swallowed his immense chew of salad and said, “Fuck off, asshole. We’re—”

The gold NYPD shield stopped about a foot from Von’s face. “Do what?”

Von, who would face a mandatory year in prison for the gun, even if he had no priors, shut up and looked back to his salad. “Sorry, man, I didn’t know. You’re just busting his chops. Whataya mean, let him outa the system?”

Von would know, of course. He just wanted to inflate his innocence preserver.

But Detective Vince Kall—Nick got the name—turned away from Von to his prey of choice. “So you didn’t answer me. What’re you doing here, Nicky Boy?”

“Come on, Detective. Give me a break—”

“Or I could give you a third chance to answer the question.”

“Having dinner with a friend.”

“Your PO know about it?”

Nick shrugged. “If he asks I’ll tell him whatever he wants to know. I always do. It’s just dinner. Why’re you busting my ass?”

“You reconnecting with your friends?”

“Look, I’m not hassling anybody. I did my time. I’m legit now.”

“No, bad cops’re never legit. Once bad, always bad. Like a whore. She may give up the business but she’ll always be somebody who got dicks up her ass for money. Am I right?”

“I just want to get a job, something going, get on with my life.”

“How’s the guy you beat the crap out of, Nick, you got busted for? I heard he had brain damage or something.”