Snippet 2

You see the old man Greg Scala was a shooter for the Snake ever since the Gallo wars when we coming up in the sixties. He had so many hits under his belt they freakin’ called him Elvis. He ran his own crew out of a social club on Lorraine St down in the Hook and everybody pretty much left him alone. The cops. The crooks. The corner Boys dealing crack out of the projects. Nobody wanted to fuck with the Weasel. Or his son for that matter. The only question was how much of it was Mikey and how much was it the weight his old man threw. I guess we were going to find out now. Because the old guy was gonna croak in the next few weeks. It was a miracle he lasted this long.

That’s why I agreed to meet up with Mikey in a public place. I hadn’t talked to him in a year or so. I already had a couple of beefs in my jacket from consorting with “known” criminals so I tried to lay low. But he told me he needed my help. And when your brother calls you for help, you come. No matter what.

So I met him in the Court St. Saloon that used to be Cousins back in the day on Amity. We used to hang there for years on end. Back before he got made. And I wasn’t on IAB radar. The place had changed owners. The guys who owned it were Italians but they sold out to some Syrians who owned a deli in the city that got demolished for a skyscraper. So they decided to go into the bar business. They didn’t have a clue.

The waiter was some hipster dofous wearing overalls and a john Deere cap. He had a soul patch, a bunch of tats and the skin of leper.

“Hey, howya doing” I said. “Mikey around.”
“Mikey Who? I don’t see anybody else here in the bar dude. What ya have?”
“Gimmie a Bass pint and a Jameson shot. And a menu.”

So I sat at turn of the bar where I could see out on Court St and keep my back up against the wall. I didn’t think anything was wrong, but it pays to be careful. That’s why I am still here. And a lot of other people ain’t.