Hot-Wired in Brooklyn Read Online Free Page A

his father, like I said.”
    “So, what ya want?”
    “Well, one thing puzzles me. Why’d he
give your
name to the cops?”
    “Like
I
should know?”
    “Oh, come on now, Joe. Why you? Why not somebody else?”
    Shork’s voice turned whiney. “He’s always bustin’ my balls, ya know? Him and his pals, they think they’re hot shit wiseguys.
     Little Johnny Dillingers, every one of ’em. Like they’re workin’ here just for kicks. They act like I’m nobody,so I ride em, ride ’em hard, every day. I show ’em who’s fuckin’ boss here.”
    “How many pals we talkin’ about?”
    “The three of ’em. All wiseasses.”
    “Names, Joe.”
    “Chick Gunderson, Teddy Mitchell, that’s the other two.”
    “They around?”
    “They didn’t come to work the next day, and I ain’t seen ’em since. Good riddance. Let ’em
all
go up the river.”
    “Ever have ’em steal cars for you, Joe? Strictly on orders from Big Dom, of course, you bein’ an honest and upright guy.”
    Shork’s pasty, pock-marked face turned nasty. “Who
are
ya?”
    “Name’s Lombardi, like I said. Don’t have a heart attack over this, Joe. I don’t care if you steal ’em first or wreck ’em
     first, as long as they don’t belong to me or anybody I know. I just wanna find out why the kid picked you, that’s all.”
    Shork poured himself another drink and downed it. He didn’t offer. “I could have yer mouth shut, talkin’ like that.”
    I grinned. “You could sure try, Joe.”
    “Ya saw those two guys.”
    “Uh huh. And I’ll bet they do whatever you tell ’em.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Whenever they tell you to tell ’em.”
    Shork put his empty glass down and challenged me with a testy look.
    “Relax, Joe,” I said. “I’m tryin’ to be on your side.”
    The hardness in his eyes softened suddenly, and a little admiration crept into his voice. “Lombardi… Now I rememberyer name. You was in that Santini business a while back.”
    Jimmy Santini was a
capo
who lived in Gravesend. I’d done him a service and been in his good graces ever since. Everybody in the Mob knew it, including
     his two homicidal sons, the Barracuda Brothers.
    Shork poured himself another double. I put my hand over my empty glass when he tried to pour me one. “Gotta be at a dance
     recital at four,” I explained. “Little girls in tutus. One of ’em’s my godchild.”
    Shork nodded approvingly, bumped back the double shot, and I got up to leave.
    “Gonna smash the little prick’s face in when he comes back,” Shork volunteered as I headed for the door.
    “What makes you think he’s gonna come back, Joe?”
    Shork pointed a wobbly finger at a small, rectangular red metal box beside the door. “The little prick’s tools. When he comes
     back to get ’em, gonna shove ’em up his skinny Polack ass, one at a time.”
    “Remember to get his pants down first, Joe.”
    “Fuckin’ little greasy-haired son-of-a-bitchin’ prick!” he snarled as I closed the door behind me.
    A symphony to my ears.

CHAPTER
6
    T he Marcus Garvey Elementary School was on Lenox Avenue, a block away from the two-bedroom apartment that Watusi rented on
     128th Street. Going into Harlem could be a fatal misadventure for a white man, but I was protected there, too. My patron was
     an eccentric gang lord known as the King of Africa. I’d solved a problem for him, uncovered a traitor in the process, and
     had enjoyed the King’s blessing ever since. I could now park my yellow Chevy convertible safely, day or night, on any street
     within the King’s domain. Even the pigeons left it alone.
    The King wasn’t entirely a criminal. Some of the money from his pimping and numbers operations had started the school that
     Desiree attended. Watusi and I had no problem with that. It was as good as any Catholic school, and there were no catechism
     classes.
    Watusi met me outside. At six-foot-seven, he stands outlike a stilt walker at a midgets’ convention. He’s