Bad Business Read Free Page B

He looked at Giordano. “I’m ready.”
    Giordano was still doing his Lou Costello impression, looking lost and scared. He was holding on to his end of the rope, but just barely.
    Augustine blinked against the pain in his head. “Wrap it around your right hand,” he ordered under his breath. “As if this were a tug-of-war, one on one. You did play tug-of-war when you were a little boy, didn’t you, Giordano?”
    â€œYeah . . . sure.” His voice was a vague murmur.
    â€œAll right, then do it.”
    â€œHuh?”
    Augustine’s face was drenched. “You do want this, don’t you? I think they’ve made their conditions pretty clear, Giordano. They want us to prove ourselves before they’ll sanction us.”
    â€œYeah, yeah . . . I know . . .”
    The drill was spinning fast, the pain becoming unbearable. “Now, you listen to me, Giordano. Just hold on to your end and don’t let go. I’ll take care of the rest.”
    Fighting the pain, Augustine gripped the rope and took up the slack, bending his knees and leaning back, bracing himself for the chore. The magistrate was mumbling wildly, screaming behind his gag. This had to be done fast, no hesitation, just do it. Augustine looked to Nemo, ready for the go-ahead.
    â€œAspett’.” The old man pointed to the magistrate. “Does he have children?” he asked Salamandra.
    The fat man shook his head. “Not even a wife. Just the fiancée.”
    The old man nodded. “Continue.”
    â€œGo ’head, do it,” Nemo said.
    Augustine pulled, but Giordano just stood there like a mental patient, the rope loose in his hands. Augustine yanked harder. The magistrate’s chair tipped and nearly toppled over. “Come on, damn you. Pull! ”
    But the more Augustine pulled by himself, the more lively the magistrate became, grunting and struggling, fighting his restraints.
    â€œDamn you, Giordano! What happened to your big dream? You told me you wanted to be a millionaire? You had it all figured out. What happened? Don’t you want it anymore?”
    â€œSee?” the old man snorted. “No guts.”
    The jovial fat man was frowning gravely.
    Nemo’s eyes were burning. “If you fuck up here, Vin, you’ll never do nothin’ with any family anywhere. Neverever. Remember, I brought you here, Vin. Don’t embarrass me.”
    Augustine squeezed the rope, waiting for Giordano to show some sign of comprehension. The drill was screaming into his skull. His chances of becoming the next mayor were slipping away, thwarted by this spineless jellyfish. “Buck up, Giordano. It’ll take one minute of your life. That’s all. It’s the only thing that’s standing between you and all that money you told me about. Now come on. Pull!”
    Giordano seemed to wake up a bit then. He still had that stupid expression on his face, but he was wrapping the rope around his hand and bracing himself.
    Augustine gripped his end and started to pull again. Unfortunately Giordano’s contribution was minimal. He glanced at the others: the contorted anticipation in Nemo’s face, the confident skepticism in Zucchetti’s, the malevolence in Salamandra’s smile. He knew he was going to have to do this by himself, the way he’d always done things. He clenched his elbows over his rib cage and forced himself not to think of this as murder. After all, who was this man? Another greasy dago as far as he was concerned. He thought of the campus at Yale, the most wonderful times of his life, rowing on the crew team, sculling on the Housatonic. He put his back into it, the way he always did in a regatta, pulling hard and long with each stroke, forcing the other lazy bastards to pick up the pace and keep up with him.
    He bent his knees and dug in, yanking hard. But Giordano wasn’t holding tight enough. The chair tipped over, and the hooded man fell onto