Thieving Weasels - Billy Taylor Page 0,42
could take another swing the guy punched him in the stomach. Vinny’s legs went out from under him and he fell to the ground coughing.
“Asshole,” the girlfriend said as they marched past us to the next green.
I squatted down next to Vinny. “You okay, man?”
“I could use a hit of that Jägermeister, if you don’t mind.”
I handed him the bottle, and he guzzled down the entire thing.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? It’s the best idea I’ve had all day,” he said as he jumped up, ran to the next green, and slipped his golf club across the guy’s throat.
“There,” Vinny shouted, squeezing the club as hard as he could. “How does that feel? Huh? Huh?”
The girlfriend screamed and dug her fingernails into Vinny’s forearm. “Stop it! You’re killing him!”
I ran to the green and pulled the club out of Vinny’s hands. The guy fell to the ground, and Vinny put his heel on the guy’s neck.
“One word,” Vinny hissed. “One word and I’ll make you a quadriplegic.”
The guy remained silent, and Vinny lifted his foot.
“Pussy,” he said with a grin.
Someone turned off the music, and I looked up to see everyone at the golf course staring at us. People were reaching for their cell phones, and I figured it was only a matter of seconds before they began posting our pictures online.
“C’mon, Vin,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Sure thing, Skip.”
I had Vinny drop me off at home, which was kind of stupid considering how drunk he was, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from the guy. The moment he drove away, however, I remembered the buses to Shady Oaks had stopped running for the night. Yes, I could have called a cab, but Vinny’s rampage had unnerved me and all I wanted to do was crawl under my Star Wars sheets and call Claire.
Which was exactly what I did. We talked deep into the night, and when we were done I took a couple of silly selfies and texted them to her. As I dozed off it occurred to me why Roy didn’t want Vinny involved in the Mr. DeNunsio job, and I couldn’t have agreed with him more because the last thing you need on any job—real or pretend—is a psychopath for a wingman.
• • •
“Where the hell were you last night?” Mr. DeNunsio hissed when I walked in his room the following evening.
“It’s a little hard to explain,” I said, stopping in my tracks.
“No, it’s not. You were supposed to be here and you weren’t. See? Easy peasy.”
I stared at Mr. DeNunsio, and my mind flashed to my compromised morals, family psycho drama, and Vinny almost strangling that guy with his golf club. I didn’t want or ask for any of it, but I was doing my best to hold it all together, and now I was getting grief for it. It was time to take a stand.
“You know what else is easy peasy?” I said under my breath. “Telling you to kiss my butt. If you don’t like what I’m doing go find somebody else to kill Fat Nicky for you.” I turned and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute!” he said. “Get back here.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why should I listen to a single word you say?”
Mr. DeNunsio reeled in his anger and said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. Grab a seat and we can talk this thing through.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I’d rather stand.”
“Suit yourself, but let me ask you a question. What if somebody from Shady Oaks saw you last night? Yeah, I know it’s a long shot, but stranger things have happened. Wouldn’t they have wondered, even a little bit, why you were out messing around when you should have been at work?”
“Maybe,” I said with a shrug.
“You’re damned straight they’d wonder, and that’s all it takes. It might seem like nothing right now, but let me tell you how it works. You add up ten little nothings and pretty soon you got one big something that lands your ass in jail. And if that happens, there are two other things you gotta remember. The first is that if you get caught, prison is the least of your worries. Twenty years in a jumpsuit is nothing compared to what the pasta eaters would do if they found out you killed one of their own. They wouldn’t think twice about killing your mother and feeding your uncle his cojones for