City on Fire (Danny Ryan, #1)(44)

“These particular pieces weren’t insured.”

“If you brought them in from overseas and you didn’t declare them, that’s not my problem,” Peter says. Then he gets to the point. “Anyway, I thought you were under the Murphys’ protection. If you was with us, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I want my rocks back.”

“I want a twelve-inch dick,” Peter says. “I got shorted by an inch, what can I tell you.”

Solly goes into this whole song and dance—he has to put his sister in a nursing home, his wife has a condition, the roof needs repairing—

“Basta,” Peter snaps. “With all due respect—”

“I’m glad to hear you say ‘respect,’ young Peter Moretti,” Solly says, “because that’s what this is all about. I showed respect to your father, I showed respect to Pasco, they showed respect to me, they showed respect for my business.” His voice is shaking.

“My father is in the joint,” Peter says, “Pasco is in Florida, and I’m in charge now.”

“I didn’t come empty-handed,” Solly says. “If these pieces are returned, I’ll establish the same relationship with you that I had with John.”

“Which was what?”

Solly lowers his voice. “An envelope first Thursday of every month. Thirty percent discount—off wholesale—during the holidays. And of course, if you ever have a special need . . .”

It’s one of those if moments.

If Peter were in a better mood, if Peter’d had a second cup of coffee, if Peter had got a chance to look at the sports page, if Chris Palumbo had got his ass out of bed in time to have breakfast with Peter, if Solly’s hair didn’t for some reason annoy the shit out of Peter this morning, then maybe Peter accepts his offer and none of the horrible shit that follows happens.

A lot of ifs people will look back on.

None of them matter, because Peter says, “I have a special need now.”

Solly smiles. He’s going to get his rocks back. “Tell me.”

“I have a special need for you to get the fuck out of here,” Peter says. “You want to see your rocks, I’ll let you watch them bounce up and down on my gumar’s tits while I’m fucking her. Look, just don’t piss me off, okay, Solly? It’s safer for you that way.”

Peter’s already given one of the pieces to his gumar and he’s not about to go in there and tell her she has to take it off her neck.

Solly looks at him sadly, shakes his head, gets up and totters out the door.

Old Jew, Peter thinks, going back to his paper, lives up John Murphy’s ass for thirty years, now he wants to swap me a hundred K for thirty percent at Christmas?

Fuck that.

End of story.



Not for Solly it isn’t.

He goes home, gets right on the horn to Pasco Ferri down in Florida and plays “remember when.”

Remember when you proposed to Mary and you had no money for a decent ring? Remember when your son was in the same position with his fiancée? Remember when you needed a contribution for the rides on Saint Rocco’s Day? Remember when you were running that legislator and needed to wash some money? Remember when . . .

“I don’t have the Alzheimer’s, thank God,” Pasco says. “What’s going on, Solly?”

Solly tells him about the robbery, tells him about how he was treated by young Peter Moretti. “He told me to come watch him fuck his girlfriend.”

“That was out of line,” Pasco agrees. He’s getting a little tired of the Moretti brothers causing him agita. First it’s a war over a damn titty, now it’s this. Maybe it’s time the Morettis got taken down a peg or two.

“I have friends,” Solly is saying. “Friends in the mayor’s office, friends at the precinct houses . . .”

“I know you do, Solly.”

“I made him a respectful offer, Pasco,” Solly says. “Reflecting the new situation, and he treats me like some schwarze he caught with a hand in the till? I won’t have it.”

“Solly, do me a favor?” Pasco asks. “Let me take care of it.”



Peter’s at American Vending when he gets the call from Pasco. “Peter, what the hell? Solly Weiss?”

Peter gets defensive. “Technically, he wasn’t under our protection so he was fair game.”

There’s a long silence, then Pasco says, like he’s real tired, “You ever think about making friends instead of enemies?”

“I have a right to earn.”

Pasco sighs. “The ring on my wife’s finger—”

“Pasco, with all due respect,” Peter cuts him off, “you’re retired, God bless . . .”

Don’t stick your nose in.

When Peter hangs up he turns to Paulie and says, “That old kike went crying to Pasco, do you believe that? Shit, I should rob him again.”

Chris Palumbo looks at him.

“What?” Peter asks.

“Maybe you should return the old guy’s shit,” Chris says. “Solly goes way back with Pasco and all those guys. He’s given prices to every cop in town. You might want to show him the respect, Peter.”

Paulie says, “I agree.”