iggy axman held his phone to his ear.
vince gray did not think iggy was actually listening to anything or anybody, but he kept his own counsel.
as he had been doing for millions of years.
iggy took the phone away from his ear and pointed it at vince.
mister blue wants to see you.
i work for al hodgkins now.
that is neither here nor there. i think it would be a good idea if you saw mister blue. what do you guys think?
two hulking figures emerged from the shadows and stood between vince and the sidewalk.
mose jones and tank miller.
they had worked for all the bosses in the world in their time and had been around the block and knew all the scores and then forgotten them. neither of them talked much.
whatever you say, iggy, mose murmured, soft as a butterfly on a deserted beach with the tide gone out.
let’s get it over with, vince told iggy.
i knew you would be reasonable.
the black car was parked on the corner.
tank got in the left front seat with iggy beside him.
mose motioned to vince to get in behind tank, then got in beside him.
the left front seat was pushed so far back to accommodate tank that vince was almost pinned back to his own seat.
they moved out. the streets were deserted.
they passed the beach, also deserted, and got out on to the mostly abandoned highway that circled the town.
nobody spoke. vince thought they might talk about nothing, about the fights or the horses or the ball games, but they did not.
he thought they might comment on the fact that he, vince, did not talk or ask questions but they did not do that ether.
the black car floated down the highway.
No comments:
Post a Comment