Sal wasn't dressed like a man who owns four hotels in Atlantic City. Before you start thinking he was dressed like Tony Soprano or something, he wasn't dressed like your stereotypical Italian either. Instead, he was dressed kind of like you would expect your doctor to be on a Saturday afternoon, in a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, some Dockers khakis, and brown casual Skechers of all things. He approached me by himself, carrying a shopping bag, and I could immediately spot two of his men staying a respectful distance back. "Marco, it's good to see you."
"Thank you Sal. It's been a long time, hasn't it? You look like you're keeping yourself fit."
Sal patted his reasonably trim stomach for a fifty year old man and nodded. "New girlfriend, you know. To keep up with her, I've had to lay off the cannolis. Ah, but the benefits... those are worth a few cannolis. Sit down, let's talk."
Sal led me the short distance to an empty park bench before opening his bag. Inside there were three packs of Ritz crackers, still sealed in their foil tubes. "I couldn't find any bread that was dry enough on short notice," he explained, handing me one of the tubes. "But, my grandson says the birds like these just as much as bread, so I decided to give them a try."
"I hope the family is in good health," I said evenly, opening my pack after squeezing, crunching the crackers and making sure there wasn't something else inside. I took a few crumbs and tossed them onto the sidewalk in front of us, watching as pigeons waddled over and started to eat. These were city pigeons, they didn't feel the need to hurry for anything.
"They are, but let's get down to business," Sal said, his voice still friendly but his eyes going cold. "Marco, before I agreed to engage your services, I gave you some very specific rules. Do you remember what they were?"
"Of course, Sal."
"Really? Because one of the ones I remember being very explicit about was that if you were going to do contracts for me, you were not allowed to have any sort of romantic relationships. You wanted to go out and fuck women, you could do that all you want. I don't expect a man to be a saint, even though I go to Mass every Sunday. But a girlfriend? No way Marco. No way."
As strict as it sounded, there was a sort of twisted logic to his rule. His brother, Vincenzo Giordino, had been ratted out by one of his men, after some of his competitors got a hold of the man's girlfriend. The man, who was a freelancer in the same job I did, rolled over as quick as he could to get his girlfriend freed. "I know Sal. But this girl, she's special. I know you hear it all the time, and I know you probably think I'm too young and stupid to really know what I'm saying, but she is special. I didn't exactly plan it, you know."
"I know, my boy. Which is why it was so surprising when Louis brought me the news that the best freelancer in this part of the country, a man I'd consider part of my own family if he wanted, was breaking one of my most important rules. And for who? Marco, your luck must be terrible when it comes to women, my boy."
"What do you mean, Sal? The girl has no family in the area, she comes from a working class background. What would be the problem?"
Sal looked at me with surprise in his features. "You really don't know, do you? Marco, she works at the Shamrock. Who owns the Shamrock?"
"Liam and Glenn Devitt. Two brothers, the place has been in the family for about fifty years. I checked."
Sal shook his head sadly. "No, son. The Devitt brothers may be the names on the business license and the IRS forms, but that pub is controlled by Owen Lynch."
Dammit. Owen Lynch was Sal Giordano's largest competitor, and also the man who had gotten Vinnie Giordano taken down. Also, Owen Lynch was the deputy mayor of the city, which tells you how corrupt the city was as well. "I'm sorry Sal, I didn't know. Honest to God."
"I know Marco, which is why you're meeting with me instead of with my men. But you know what has to be done, right? Marco, Owen knows about you and your girl. Just to let you know, he happens to be friends with a certain Doctor Green from the University Hospital Emergency Room, they were high school buddies. He cannot prove it, but suspects you in quite a few of the actions on my behalf over the past few years. Now, you are seeing a girl who works for him, even if it is as a bartender."
I blinked, sideswiped by the fate of what had happened. "Sal, I'll stop seeing her I guess. Or I'll retire."