Eight O'Clock Split by Joanne Pence

Author:Joanne Pence
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quail Hill Publishing

As Richie drove to Nico’s in North Beach on Sunday afternoon, he knew something had to change and fast. He was tired of getting reports from all over the city of Rebecca being seen with Jared Woolridge. Sometimes he hated it that he knew a lot of people who were more than willing, often for a small gratuity, to give him information. He’d needed a network of snitches when he was being paid to fix problems for the rich and/or famous. But now, the whole thing was a royal pain.

He had to put an end to it. He’d expected she’d move on, just not this fast. But why wouldn’t she? He found her gorgeous, sexy, with a good sense of humor, a good heart, trustworthy, and – yes, he’d admit it—with an impressive job.

The last guy who came by with word of Rebecca having yet another dinner with Woolridge was an old friend, but that didn’t stop Richie from throwing him out of the office. That was when he realized he was better off not knowing. It was her life; she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Everything about his life was in turmoil. Rebecca was gone. He had found a headless rat by Big Caesar’s door, followed the next day by a Molotov cocktail sitting on the same back door stoop. These “warnings,” or whatever they were, had really pissed him off. Maybe he should just sell the place. What did it matter anymore?

Then there was Carmela, still at his house, and Matteo Veltroni who was not happy, not with the cops, and most importantly, not with him. His “favorite” nephew, as Matteo now called Frankie, had been murdered, and it seemed no one cared. No one had as yet found the killer.

Richie reached Nico’s. After only one trip around the block looking for parking, he gave up and parked in a red zone. He’d get a ticket, but he no longer gave a damn about much of anything.

Veltroni had invited Richie along with a few goombahs to Nico’s back room. Inside, Richie saw mostly aging faces, sunbaked and wrinkled, looking up at him. They suddenly reminded him of a Christmas a while back—when he first met Rebecca, in fact—when he had to shepherd around a bunch of old guys wearing Santa Claus costumes. Anybody who thought that’d be an easy job hadn’t met those particular Santas.

The fellows here weren’t all old, of course. A couple of them were young. Quite young. He recognized the type. They were him some twenty-years earlier, hungry, and thinking they could find an easier way than “the straight and narrow” to make a buck. Sorry, guys, he thought. Life doesn’t work that way.

As Richie sat in the back of the room, Matteo slowly rose to his feet. He was an imposing figure—tall, thin, slightly stooped with a shock of white hair, a lined and grizzled face, and piercing black eyes. He spread his arms wide. “My friends, to see you here warms my heart.

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