In the darkness of the trunk Tony Tollini could only moan two words over and over again: "What now?"
The first thing that Tony Tollini saw when he was hauled out of the trunk was a rusty white sign affixed to a chain-link fence. It said "BARTILUCCI CONSTRUCTION COMPANY."
They walked him around to the back of a long shedlike building of rust-scabbed corrugated sheet steel.
Don Carmine Imbruglia was waiting for him. He sat up in the cab of a piece of construction equipment that Tony had never seen before. It resembled a backhoe, except that instead of a plow, a kind of articulated steel limb ending in a blunt square chisel hung in front of the cab like a praying-mantis foreleg.
"What did I do?" asked Tony, eyes widening into half-dollars.
"Lay him out for me," ordered Don Carmine harshly.
They laid Tony Tollini on the cold concrete amid rusty discarded gears and other machinery parts, which bit into his back and spine. His face looked up into the dimming sky, which was the color of burnished cobalt. A single star peeped out like a cold accusing eye.
Machinery whined and the articulated limb jerked and jiggled until the blunt hard chisel was poised over Tony Tollini's sweating face like a single spider's fang.
Don Carmine's raspy voice called over, "Hey, Tollini. You ever heard the expression 'nibbled to death by fuggin' baby ducks'?"
Tony Tollini didn't trust his voice. He nodded furiously.
"This baby here's a nibbler. They use 'em to bust up concrete. You know how hard concrete is?"
Tony kept nodding.
"You wanna bust up concrete," Don Carmine went on, "you need brute force. This baby has it. Watch."
Machinery toiled and the nibbler's blunt implement jerked leftward. It dropped, almost touching Tony's left ear. The Maggot was holding down Tony's head so he could not move.
Then a stuttering noise like a super jackhammer filled Tony Tollini's left ear. The hard ground under his head vibrated. The lone star in the cobalt sky above vibrated too.
When the noise stopped, Tony's left ear rang.
Don Carmine Imbruglia's voice penetrated the ringing like a sword slicing through a brass gong.
"You been holding out on me, Tollini!"
"No, honest. You have all my money. What more do you want?"
"I ain't talkin' money. I'm talkin' the hard-on disk."
"Which one?"
"The one the Jap stole, what do you think? You told me you hired him right off the fuggin' street. Never saw him before. Right?"
"It's the truth, I swear!"
The nibbler jerked up. It moved right, like a mechanical claw in a grab-the-prize carnival concession.
"I'm from Brooklyn, right?" Don Carmine was screaming. "I don't know my fuggin' ass from yesterday's paper."
"You do! You do! I know you do!"
The nibbler slashed to the right.
Tony screamed and tried to avert his face.
The hard nibbler point only brushed the tip of his nose, but it felt like the cartilage had been yanked off.
The point dropped. It started hammering again, this time in Tony Tollini's right ear. He was crying now, loud and without shame. He was asking for his mother.
When the sound stopped and Tony could hear a resonant ringing in both eardrums Don Carmine was saying, "Tell me about the guy Remo. You hire him off the street too?"
"It's true!" Tony swore, blubbering. "On my mother. It's true."
"Then how come he breaks my computer and three of my best guys end up dead? That's a fuggin' coincidence, right?"
"I don't know."
"So how come the Jap is trying to con me into buyin' my own hard-on disk back?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
The nibbler jumped up. It moved leftward again. Tony tracked it with his eyes. The concrete on either side of his head was shattered. The only place left for it to go was his head, which suddenly felt as fragile as an eggshell.
When the point was poised over Tony's mouth, he shut it. The nibbler's engine started up. He could smell the diesel-exhaust stink.
The nibbler point retreated a few inches until it was over Tony's sternum.
Then it dropped.
The weight was like the Washington Monument on Tony Tollini's fragile chest. He couldn't breathe. But he could yell.
"I didn't do nothing! Ask Uncle Fiavorante. I didn't do nothing. On my mother, Don Carmine."
"You watch what you say about your mother, weasel," Don Carmine warned. "She is Don Fiavorante's sister. I won't have you defamin' the sister of Don Fiavorante with your fuggin cogsugger lies."
"Please. Don't kill me."
"Show him the ad, somebody," ordered Don Carmine.
A newpaper was thrust into Tony Tollini's field of vision. He blinked the blurry tears from his beady frightened eyes and scanned the crumpled page.
Smack in the middle of the racing results was a blackbordered notice. It read:
LANSCII DISK FOUND
WILL RETURN FOR PROPER REWARD CALL CHIUN 555-522-9452
"Chiun was the name the Jap gave," Don Carmine growled. He glared at Tony. "Your Jap."
"He's not my Jap," Tony moaned.
"You sent him."
"I hired him off the street, Don Carmine. Please don't nibble me to death like a baby duck."
"I own you, Tollini. If I wanna nibble you into the ground, I can. And you know why. Because I'm the fuggin' Kingpin of Boston, that's why. Now, tell me where the hard-on disk is."
" I don't know. I swear to God!"
"Okay, if that's the way you want it," said Don Carmine, jerking levers. The nibbler sank an eighth of an inch, but it made Tony Tollini's tortured sternum creak like a loose shutter in the wind.
"Had enough?"
"I swear," Tony sobbed.
The nibbler dropped again.
Now Tony could not breathe because his cracking ribs were compressing his lungs. His heart felt like it was about to burst.
He clicked his heels together and thought: There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
Abruptly the nibbler lifted. The pressure went away. When Tony opened his eyes, he could inhale again. He filled his lungs greedily.
A shadow crossed his face. He looked up. Don Carmine's brutish face was looking down at him. "Scared you, didn't I?" he said.
"Yes. Don't shoot me."
"I ain't gonna fuggin' shoot you." Don Carmine made motions with his paws. "Let him up, boys. Let him up."
Tony Tollini's head, wrists, and ankles were released, and he was hauled to his feet.
"What are you going to do to me?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"Nothin'. You're tellin' the truth. You gotta be. A weasel like you ain't man enough to be stand-up in the face of a nibbler." He swept his hands around to indicate the rusting
construction yard with its idle equipment and piles of metal. "How'd you like my latest acquisition?"
"You bought a construction company?" asked Tony, prying a rusty gear off' the back of his dirty Izod shirt.
"Naw. I just stuck a gun in the owner's face and he said it was mine. That's what I love about this state. Nothin's worth nothin' no more. So people don't put up a fuss when you take it away from them. I figure when things bounce back, I'll be in the driver's seat."
Tony found a hearty arm around his shoulders. He looked. It was Don Carmine's arm.
" I like you, Tony. Did I ever tell you I liked you?"
"No. "
"You're sharp. You got brains. You also got what we call intesticle fortitude." He shook a lecturing finger in Tony's miserable face. "This is a good thing to have."
They were walking toward the Cadillac now. Bruno the Chef opened the rear door. Carmine stepped in. Tony meekly walked around to the trunk and waited for the lid to be opened.
"G'wan," said Don Carmine. "Get in here. From now on, you ride up front with me."