The Encore (Part 2)

Tony. I’m sure that’s not his name, but it matches his looks. Who knew Italian-American gangsters still existed? Not me, until last year.

“With that baseball cap, you look like an undercover cop”, he says.

“Maybe that’s because I am police.”

“Ha! So is my cousin,” he says, laughing. His lightheartedness makes committing felonies feel easier.

“Mexicans.” I wink. “They keep dropping these when they are arrested.” I pass him the bag of coke.

He studies it. I didn’t spot anything unusual. Hopefully the bag isn’t marked. If the guy I whacked is his outfit, I’ll be in my own bag in the Charles River. Floaters come to the surface every month.

All our exchanges are done in the hotel, casino security cameras protect both of us. At least that’s the idea.

“One of our guys had an accident up in Andover, you know anything about that?”

“Andover, never been.”

“Everyone’s been to Andover,” he says. “Except you.” He explodes in a belly laugh of the depth and volume only a chain smoker can produce.

My thoughts go to my marked police cruiser parked a few blocks away. It might take an hour to get back to it. I will take a long walk around the neighborhood, after I place a few large wagers downstairs.

The seaport reminds me of Angela, we had good times here back in the day.