CAPRIATI'S BLOOD (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

kids played basketball on 20 courts and mostly stayed out of trouble. Until recently it had stood on a pier jutting into the harbor. It had suffered years of neglect from politicians while receiving the undivided attention of thousands of wormlike salt-water wood borers that gorged themselves on the pier’s pilings. Only the fact that it began listing slowly, giving people a chance to run for it, prevented a tragedy when it fell into the harbor.
    “So, you’ve heard about that,” Rahm said. “The new Yankee Stadium cost a billion dollars, and the city is falling apart.” He tossed some bills on the bar. “And they say I’m a crook. Well, I’ve got to go.” He put out his hand and I took it. “By the way, my great-grandfather was a Czarist officer. A Rahmanov. He shortened the name when the Bolsheviks won. Sounded too much like everyone Lenin and Stalin were shooting.”
    Half the restaurant watched them leave. As Rahm passed the blonde’s table they nodded imperceptibly to each other. I swiveled back to the bar to settle up my bill.
    “I didn’t know you and the Red Menace were such pals,” Roscoe said as he gave me my change.
    I thought that over. Just what were Rahm and I? I hadn’t seen him in almost two years. But we were certainly more than acquaintances. Our paths crossed frequently in high school and during college breaks, usually during pickup basketball games at Cromwell. After a game, we’d almost always wind up in the same gin mill.
    “He supplied me and my buddies with fake proof after they raised the drinking age to 21. Always had a stack of them handy.”
    “Somebody in Albany musta owned a factory turning out fake proofs,” Roscoe said. “Always changing the age on us. Couldn’t ever keep up.”
    “Who you kidding, Roscoe,” a guy next to us said, “You’d serve a fetus.”
    “Why not,” Roscoe replied. “I serve abortions like you, don’t I?”
    It is impossible to get the better of Roscoe in the insult department. The guy didn’t even try and Roscoe turned back to me.
    “So? You and the Russkie still close?”   
    “Hardly.”
    “Could have fooled me. Rahm’s been asking about you for weeks.”
    ***
    The rain had picked up when I left the Red, so I hugged the buildings. I could never figure out why that worked. Halfway to my car, someone behind me said, “Hey, pal.”
    It was the two Carlucci guys. Both were sensibly wearing raincoats but their hair was already plastered to their heads. Both had mean, jowly faces.
    “If you stand near the buildings, you’ll get less rain on you,” I said.
    “What’s your business with Rahm,” the bigger of the two said. I had maybe an inch on him but he was well ahead of me in the Italian food department. I could have told him the truth: I had no business with Rahm. But maybe they knew something I didn’t. The world is discouragingly full of people like that.
    “Who wants to know?”
    It was lame but it was raining harder and the food was getting cold.
    “Me, asshole.”
    They both moved in on me.
    “You, asshole, me Tarzan.”
    That was marginally better.
    “He’s a fucking riot, Benny,” the other guy said.
    “I asked you a question, fuckwad. What did Rahm want?”
    “I thought your name was Asshole. Well, if you must know, Rahm wants to hire me to find ugly, stupid, overweight thugs for his organization. You meatballs interested?”
    “I’m through fucking with you,” Benny said, pushing me up against a door. “You think you got a limp now, I’ll tear your fucking leg off.”
    “Wait,” I said, in what I hoped was a frightened voice. “I was just kidding. I’ll tell. Here, hold this.”
    I handed him the bag. He probably never turned down a hero sandwich in his life. That was perhaps unkind. He was just taken aback. No matter, when he held the bag I hit him in the throat with the bent fingers of my right hand. I caught the bag with my left before it hit the ground. He staggered back, gurgling. His partner came