I tipped my Bogart and gave her my most roguish smile. “Guess that means I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Oscar Greco was what’s referred to in Mafia circles as a Young Turk: a newcomer to the game. Inherited some assets from a family member, but not too keen on following the old ways. After the pat down and subsequent confiscation of our handguns we were led through an underground casino room and into Greco’s pinstripe wallpapered office, where he was engaged in snorting tardust off the glassy surface of his desk.
His head snapped up when we entered. His eyes were widened, the pupils dilated. Oscar was an underweight, weak-chinned, pinheaded bastard with a love for expensive suits that still looked cheap when draped on a frame like his.
“Heard youse boys was asking about me.” He shook his head as though to clear it of the drug-induced fog. “You ain’t Feds, and you ain’t no chopper squad, so I figure you might want some work or something.” He squinted at Ben the Bear. “You’re a big lug. Can always use more muscle.” His eyes went back to deer-in-the headlights wide when he looked my way. “And you. You look like you know your way around a tough spot or two. You boys looking for a gig?”
“The big one is Ben the Bear. Moe Flacco’s nephew.” The dame that spoke was almost too dreamy to exist. Flawless almond complexion, heart-shaped face, full rosebud lips, and dark, mysterious eyes that pulled me in like a whirlpool does a ship in a storm. Her dark hair was cut in a wavy spill to her shoulders and her sleeveless red velvet dress matched her stilettos. Her jewelry of choice was oyster fruit: ropes hung from her neck with earrings and bracelets to match.
She sat behind Greco in a corner desk facing a console, but even in the background she didn’t fit in the seedy vice den. It wasn’t because she was obviously out of Greco’s league. That was noticeable at first glance. No, it was because she’d be out of place anywhere. Her looks were too flawless, her eyes too knowing, her persona too self-assured. The only reason I didn’t peg her for a synoid was because of what lay behind her mystery eyes: the human combination of strength with fragility, intelligence with emotion.
She smiled demurely as though reading my thoughts. It wouldn’t have surprised me. All the best dames can.
She nodded toward me. “The shorter one is Michael Trudo, aka Mick Trubble. Former SS agent, now moonlighting as the resident Troubleshooter. He’s the man responsible for the takedown of some of New Haven’s more colorful characters, the latest being Tommy Tsunami. Tread carefully, Mr. Greco.”
“Yeah?” Greco rubbed his dilated eyes and smoothed back his sweat-dampened hair before fumbling for a pack of Lucky Strikes. He seemed to gather some focus after taking a hard drag and exhaling a cloud of smoke our direction.
“You former Service, eh? Didn’t know they let your type off the lease. Alive, anyhow.”
The trouble boys took a few wary steps back, hands reaching for the heat inside their jackets. Greco’s laughter was near delirious when he cut them off with a gesture. “Calm down, boys. Mr. Trubble ain’t here to raise any ruckus, or youse guys wouldn’t be walking right now. Why doncha duck out so we can chitchat for a bit. Make sure no chump is trying to count cards or something.”
“Ok, boss.” The lead lug sounded relieved.
I turned his way. “Our bean shooters. You can leave those here.”
The goon looked questioningly at Greco, who nodded impatiently. “Leave ‘em here on the desk and scram, will ya?”
After the trouble boys set the heaters down and exited, Greco turned back to me. “So, Mr. Troubleshooter. What is it I can do you fer?”
I planted a fist on his desk. “You can tell me what your beef with Moe Flacco is. And I in turn can keep him from ripping your heart out and making you eat it.”
Greco paused in the act of lighting another gasper. “Moe Flacco? What is this, some kinda joke?”
Ben the Bear sideswiped Greco’s desk with one hand, flinging it so forcefully it splintered against the wall. His other hand seized Greco by the collar and hauled him off his feet. Greco stared in drug-addled stupefaction, but that changed real quick when the force of Benny’s brawny fingers cut off his breathing. The discarded tardust sprinkled down around them like winter’s first snow.
“Does it look like we’re joking to you?” Benny’s face was a clenched muscle of rage, his neck riddled with distended veins. “You wanna take me out, bastard? Why wait ‘till I’m up the air? I’m right here — take your best shot.”
Greco gagged until his face turned scarlet. I bent down and retrieved his deck of Lucky Strikes. “You might wanna cool down, Benny.” I lit a gasper and nodded to the corner.
The dame had a Beretta in her gloved hand, expertly aimed at Benny’s forehead.
“Maybe we should hit the restart button.” I took a drag of cool menthol. “Slow things down a bit.”
Benny swallowed, gently setting Greco back on his feet. Oscar rubbed his throat, coughing while trying to salvage his damaged ego. “I should let Sinn decorate the wall with your brains for that move.”
“You should, but you won’t.” I exhaled a stream of smoke. “So let’s not get all outta sorts here, Mack. I asked a question earlier. You might wanna think about answering it, especially if the thought of swallowing your dinner without a tube sounds attractive to you.”
Greco massaged his throat with a wary glance at Ben the Bear. “You’re tooting the wrong ringer here, boys. I don’t know nothing about a beef with Flacco. You see my operation? Small fries. I ain’t got the manpower or connections to tussle in the big league. And you think I wanna cross Moe Flacco? What kind of a suicidal mark do you take me for?”
“The kind that doesn’t show up at important events.” I gave him my most disapproving stare. “Moe’s daughter was buried today. You weren’t there, were you? Seems like a pretty disrespectful move for someone who claims they don’t want any unwanted notice by New Haven’s most powerful kingpin.”
Greco’s eye twitched. He cut a glance at Ms. Sinn before answering. “I had some issues to take care of, see? Important business.” He turned to Ben the Bear. “You’ll tell your uncle, won’t you? No disrespect was intended. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
Benny stared hard at him. “So you weren’t the one that tried to ram us off the skylanes tonight? That what you’re saying?”
Greco’s frown of confusion practically distorted his face. “Whaddya talking about? You were hit tonight? I swear I didn’t have nothin’ to do with that.”
I sighed. “Ok, Oscar. We believe you. Sorry to disturb your evening. Just the normal shakedown, you know how it goes. You don’t mind if I pick up my bean shooter, do you?”
“Go right ahead, Mr. Trubble.” Greco sounded immensely relieved. “You will give Moe Flacco my regards, won’t you? I’ll send him some flowers or something. You know, to make up for my absence.”
I slipped the Mean Ol’ Broad in the holster under my arm and handed Benny his Mauser. “Yeah, we’ll tell him something, Oscar.”
“Seriously? You do that for me and I’m in your debt. Come by anytime and I’ll set up a line for you, free of charge.”
“That’d be great, Oscar.” I spoke to Greco, but my eyes were on Ms. Sinn, who gazed back with just a hint of amusement. I tipped my Bogart as we made our way to the door. “See you around.”
I patted Ben the Bear on the back as we strode down the hall. “Nice move back there, Ace. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
He paused, then gave a wry grin. “I didn’t have time to think about it, Mr. Trubble. I just got angry, was all.”
“We’ll make a bruiser outta you yet, kid.”
He took a backward glance. “So why are we hightailing it out of here, Mick? You had him on the ropes back there. He’d have given you anything you wanted.”