One for My Baby (Phoenix Noir Book 4) Read Online Free Page B

right to silence and you want a lawyer. Especially if you’re innocent, which, let me say for the benefit of any recording devices, I am.”
    She surprised him by laughing. Then she said, “I don’t think you’re in the clear yet.”
    “I can’t say I haven’t been worrying about that.”
    “That cop, Rankin? He’s into something with the owner of Green Life. And the owner’s scary.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “What, that Rankin’s in with him, or that he’s scary?”
    “Both.”
    “I know both because of what I saw last night.”
    ––––––––
    R ankin had mouthed “Hello” to her when they made eye contact, and she nodded in response, but after that he didn’t look at her, and neither did Casci. She occasionally glanced at them as she went about her work, and each time saw them sitting at the bar, drinking and talking.
    There was another man sitting at the bar, on his own, waiting for a table. The host had asked him if he’d like to eat at the bar, since it was so busy and the other customers were in groups, but he insisted that he wanted a table. It had been close to an hour, and he’d started complaining loudly that since he’d had to wait so long then his drinks should be comped. Joel, who was tending bar, said, “That’s not possible, sir. I’m sorry.”
    “If you were important enough to decide what’s not possible, you wouldn’t be slinging drinks,” the man said. “Who’s the manager?”
    “I am, sir,” Joel said.
    Casci got off his stool, and, as Rankin watched, walked toward the man. “Joel, what’s this fat bastard’s bar tab?”
    “Let me check... eighteen dollars and forty cents, Mr. Casci.”
    “It’s on me,” Casci said.
    “I don’t want you to buy my drinks,” the man said. “I want them comped.”
    “That’s what you’re getting,” Casci said. “This is my place.”
    “You mean you own it, or you just drink here?”
    “I own it. Your drinks are on me. Let me get you another.” Casci nodded to Joel, who began pouring the drink. When it was poured, Casci held out his hand for it. Joel gave it to him.
    Casci turned to the customer. “Here.” He offered the glass. When the man reached for it, Casci punched him in the face with his other hand. Before the man had registered the shock of the punch, Casci also threw the contents of the glass in his face, broke the glass against the bar, and pressed the jagged base of it against the man’s throat.
    “Hey, I don’t want to fight!” Casci yelled at the top of his lungs. Quietly, he said to the man, “Do you want me to cut your fucking throat? Then get out of here.”
    ––––––––
    M ark looked worried. “That means he’s a pro,” he said. “Those are classic tricks—do something to distract the guy before you attack him, and shout that you don’t want to fight, so people remember it, and it seems like you were only defending yourself even if the guy you hurt didn’t do a thing...”
    “The guy didn’t even try to touch him,” Linda said. “I mean, like I said, he was mouthing off, but he wasn’t being physical, or threatening to.”
    “What happened? What did Rankin do?”
    “Nothing. He just sat there. He didn’t get involved. He didn’t say anything. The guy left—he was shaking and nearly crying—and Casci and Rankin just kept on hanging out together.”
    “Do you know anything about Casci? Even though he’s obviously a pro, he’s obviously crazy too, or he wouldn’t have flipped out on the guy like that right there in the restaurant.”
    “I don’t know anything about him, and I don’t want to. I’m looking for another job.”
    “How long have you worked for him?”
    “Just a few weeks, but he’s hardly talked to me.”
    “From the Italian name, I wonder if he’s retired mafioso.”
    “Like Sammy the Bull?”
    “Kind of. Sammy Gravano wasn’t retired, though. He was moved here by the Witness Protection Program, but he couldn’t keep his mouth