Apaches by Lorenzo Carcaterra

Author:Lorenzo Carcaterra
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Drug traffic, Police, Vigilantes, Mystery & Detective, New York (N.Y.), Westerns, New York, Fiction, General, Suspense, New York (State)
ISBN: 9780345487124
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2005-09-27T04:30:52.177059+00:00

10

THEY SAT CROWDED around a table in a rear room off the main bar. Boomer held the head, his back against a wood-paneled wall, just below a framed photo of Nino Benvenuti and Emile Griffith slugging it out for the middleweight title. Dead-Eye sat to Boomer’s left, a large wineglass filled with ice and Pepsi in his hand, a puzzled look on his face.

There were four others gathered around the table, three men and an attractive woman in tight jeans, white crew neck, and soft leather jacket. Dead-Eye knew that they were all cops. They had the look and the attitude, each coming into the room with a swagger, greeting Boomer with only a handshake and a cautious nod.

If they were all cripples, like Boomer said, then they managed to hide their handicaps successfully. You couldn’t tell much by looking at them, except for the guy hanging loose in the far corner, a young, dark-haired man in a hooded sweatshirt that couldn’t hide the reddened, burnt skin around his neck, hands, and along the right side of his face.

Dead-Eye also had the guy across from him figured, more or less. He was tall and muscular, sitting with his hands spread flat across the tablecloth, a large glass of skim milk in front of him, a bowl of ice cubes off to the side. The others had asked for beer, wine, or booze. Generally, only two kinds of cops order milk in a restaurant: those trying to stay on the wagon—and this guy didn’t look shaky enough to be walking down that street—and those who’d been shot in the gut. Dead-Eye was even willing to bet that a pat-down of the quiet guy in the bombadier jacket would shake out several packets of Maalox and a half-empty bottle of Zantac.

There was little in the way of small talk. Everyone waited for Boomer to open the conversation. But Boomer just sat there, sizing up each cop. The glasses were close to empty and the chunky guy in the bowling jacket was already on his third cigarette, when Nunzio came in with a fresh tray. He rested it in the center of the table, closed the door behind him, and sat on a corner stool.

“The place is closed, Boom,” Nunzio said. “I just checked the last couple out.”

“You got any pretzels to go with this?” the guy in the bowling jacket, Jimmy “Pins” Ryan, asked, lifting a long-neck Bud from the tray and taking a swig.

“We’ll eat later,” Boomer said. “After we talk.”

“Talk about what?” Delgaldo “Geronimo” Lopez, the man nursing the glass of milk, said.

“A lot of things, Geronimo. We’re going to start it off with a story about a lady. After that, if you’re still interested, I’ll tell you one about us.”

“Did Boomer just call you Geronimo?” the guy in the scruffy sweatshirt, Bobby “Rev. Jim” Scarponi, asked. “I mean, like the Indian?”

“You bothered by it or just curious?” Geronimo looked at Rev. Jim with a hard set of eyes.

“Neither one, Chief,” the Rev.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.