He drove through the night in the shiney new 42 ford deluxe. the chicago streets were damp from the rain. steam seemed to rise from the asphalt, or maybe it was the fog... Mickey didn't know. the wipers labored back and forth lazily as he hummed a tune. "that Marcino is gonna have to make a decision," he mused to himself, lighting a filterless lucky strike. the street lights cast broken shadows through the car windows as he passed down the empty street. the night was lonely and unsure, like Mickey.
he took a left at the abandoned warehouse, like the directions said, and pulled into the lot beside the bistro. after putting the car in park, he turned it off and looked up at the window on the third floor. the light was on. Mickey took a deep breath, put on his his seude fedora, and got out of the car. the rain had become a light mist, and he watched a couple coming out of the bistro as he stamped his cigarette out in the gravel. side entrance... Andrew will let you in. he folded the paper and put it into his trench coat pocket.
he could hear them talking through the door as he approached. the lobby decor was rich with hardwood paneling and dark, red velvet. he knocked on the door like he was told, and a brief moment later, it opened.
"hello Mickey. you found the place okay?"
"no problem, Mr. Marcino."
"Mickey, this is my associate, Mr. Harrison. Mr. Harrison, this is our new friend, Mickey."
Mickey reached out his hand and met the firm grasp of the man. a serious, interrogating handshake that made Mickey a little nervous, but he held his grip.
"have a seat then, Mickey. Angela, bring Mickey a scotch. How do you like em, Mickey?"
"neat, Mr. Marcino. thank you."
Angela brought the scotch to Mickey. she was a buxom girl, mid twenties, with auburn hair and soft hazel eyes. Mickey nodded his thanks, took a drink, and set the glass on the table beside the chair.
"now then. i understand that the family wants to negotiate. is that true, Mickey?"
"yes sir, Mr. Marcino. there's been some trouble on the north side of town with some of the bookies. the family isn't happy with the profits, and wants a bigger cut."
Marcino looked at Mickey, and folded his hands behind his head. "you do realize that we've taken great pains to arrange the fights, don't you Mickey? We're taking a big risk by doing this, and many of the fighters don't wanna play. We're having to raise their cuts to get their cooperation. the family's got some nerve to make demands like that."
Mr. Harrison moved slowly from the door and sat down in the chair beside Mickey. He picked up a newspaper and began casually flipping through the pages.
"i understand, Mr. Marcino, but the family feels the present terms aren't going to work."
Mickey sat motionless in his chair, his piercing eyes fixed on Marcino. He moved his hand to his lap, and rested it beside his inside coat pocket. Marcino glanced over at Mr. Harrison, who was watching Mickey from the corner of his eye, then back to Mickey. a quiet tension filled the room.
Mickey took another draw from his scotch, not breaking his eye contact with Marcino. His sharp features showed a man with intelligence and cunning. Mickey wasn't the kind of guy who was easily persuaded.
"i think we might be able to come to an agreement, Mickey. we don't want any trouble, and i'm sure the family doesn't either."
"i think that's a wise decision, Mr. Marcino."
Mickey stood up and approached the desk. Marcino moved nervously in his chair, then relaxed.
"mind if i have one, Mr. Marcino," he asked with a shrewd smile as he took out his gold zippo, hands moving with expert precision and grace. he stood over Marcino, his lean, muscular frame announcing itself.
"of course Mickey, help yourself."
Mickey's hand moved to the corner of the desk, and opened the box of
twenty small cigars
