Forced Out Read Online Free Page B

real member of the family, wished you could have been a made man someday. You deserve it more than most of the jerks we make." He hesitated. "But...
    well, you know."
    Johnny nodded. "I know, I know, I'm a quarter Russian. It can't happen." His expression turned grim. "My granddaddy couldn't keep his snake in his pants, so I pay."
    "But I've always taken care of you," Marconi spoke up quickly. "Always thought of you as one of my guys. You know that."
    There was something odd about this conversation. Like it was forced, Johnny realized. Like Goliath might bust in here any second and start shooting. Amazing how he could make the leap from a forced conversation to a hit so fast, but that's how it was with these people. You picked up on subtle signals, or you died. He'd never heard of a hit going down in Marconi's house, and didn't know what he could have done to deserve it. But you never knew with the Lucchesi family. There was very little predicting. Which was the insidious part about getting into bed with them, and why you always had to be on guard. Well, if that was tonight's plan, he wasn't going down without a fight.
    "You agree with that, Deuce, don't you?" Marconi pushed. "That I've always taken care of you? Always made sure you got paid good for what you do?"
    "Yeah, sure. Of course."
    Johnny made more than a million bucks a year working for Marconi. Thanks to the old man he owned a house in a quiet town out on Long Island's north fork and a condo down in Tampa overlooking the bay. In addition to the apartment he kept here in Queens. He'd never had to kill more than three people a year, and they'd all had it coming. All been scum of the earth.
    Johnny always made certain of that before he pulled the trigger. Always made absolutely certain the men Marconi contracted with him to kill were lowlifes. It was important to Johnny that he never execute anyone who didn't clearly deserve it, because that allowed him to accept what he did for a living with a clear conscience. Allowed him to sleep soundly every night. It was his code of honor. And it could never be compromised. Not if he wanted his self-respect.
    Everyone thought he'd offed the owner of the liquor store down the block, but he hadn't. You didn't kill a man for calling you a name. Of course, he'd never denied responsibility for what had happened to the guy, either. Never admitted or denied it when he was asked. Just ignored the question the same way he did when somebody asked him about the two of hearts. After all, he had a reputation to maintain. The cops had hauled him into a precinct out near LaGuardia Airport to interrogate him about the deal because people on the street could never keep their mouths shut. But he'd just laughed at the NYPD boys when they got tough. They'd released him an hour later.
    "You know I appreciate your generosity, Angelo." Johnny hated being so gracious, so respectful. It didn't come naturally. But he'd learned that it was the right thing to do if he wanted to keep making a million bucks a year. He'd never let his pride get in the way of that. "No question."
    "Good, good." Marconi gazed at the TV for a few moments. "I'm going to ask you to do something, Deuce."
    Now Johnny felt better, breathed a semisigh of relief. This was how it usually went, how Marconi usually carried on the conversation. And the old man's tone suddenly seemed more normal, too. The tension in Johnny's body eased, but he still kept an eye on the door. Of course, he always kept one eye on the door wherever he was. "What is it?" Marconi gestured toward the window. "You remember that thing that happened in front my house a couple a years ago?"
    Johnny's eyes raced to Marconi's.
    "When my grandson was run over," Marconi continued, "when my daughter's only son was...when he was murdered."
    "I remember," Johnny murmured, aware that Marconi's voice had cracked. It was the first time he'd ever heard the old man come close to choking up.
    The boy had been the victim of a