like."
Gloria stood close to Jimmy Cap's lounge, hands on her hips, looking down at the Zip. "I don't know, who?"
"It's what I'm asking you."
"You mean like a movie star?"
Jimmy said to his bodyguard, "Hey, Joe Macho. Who's he look like?"
This punk Nicky Testa with his ponytail, his shirt off to show his body, stared at the Zip and said, "He looks like some of those outfit guys you see pictures of from the old days. Some of those guys, they look like they just got off the fucking boat."
Jimmy Cap was grinning, nodding his head, so the punk was grinning, his attitude not showing any respect at all. When the Zip called him Joe Macho, which wasn't too often, he said it in a way that let the punk know he thought the name was a joke. Otherwise he saw him as just Nicky and called him that.
Jimmy said, "Where's that picture you showed me? The one you cut out."
The Zip shook his head. "I don't have it no more." He did, but wasn't going to show it to this punk.
It was a photo of Frank Costello taken in the 1930s that had appeared in a news magazine last year. The Zip showed it to Jimmy Cap who looked at it and said, "Yeah, what?" Finally he caught on, seeing the resemblance, raised his eyebrows, and gave the Zip a nod.
The Zip cut the picture out and took it to his tailor in Bal Harbour, an Italian guy in his seventies. He waited for the tailor to say, "Who is this, you?" or something like that. "This you or your brother?" But he didn't. The Zip said to him, "This is what I want, a buttoned-up look just like this. Dark-blue almost black double-breasted cut to fit close. Six buttons in front, right? Count them. Buttoned up high to show some white shirt and a pearl-gray tie with it. What do you say?"
The tailor said, "Sure, if that's what you want."
The Zip asked him, "You know who this is in the picture?" The tailor said no, so the Zip told him, Frank Costello.
The tailor said, "I made a suit for Meyer Lansky one time, way back. I was down on Collins then in the McFadden-Deauville. Made him a beautiful suit of clothes and he stiffed me. You believe it? With all his dough?"
The tailor, there was a guy old enough to know better and even he didn't show any respect. What did Nicky, a punk like that, know about it? Or Gloria, aiming her bare butt at the Zip while she cooled Jimmy down with the cold towel. The Zip reached over, gave her a pat, and watched her wiggle her butt at him. Like saying he could have some if he wanted. The Zip was thinking he could have it all, anything Jimmy Cap owned, if he wanted. Why not? He had already taken over his sports book.
Chapter Seven.
Raylan had decided he needed to talk to the Zip to clear something up. Originally he'd thought of him as Tommy Bucks because it was what the Bureau guys called him. But then had started thinking of him as the Zip because that's what Harry called him and Raylan liked the sound of it.
The way he got on the Zip's tail was to wait till he showed up at Jimmy Cap's and then hang on to him after that. The Zip was in there only fifteen minutes, got in his Jaguar and cut through streets to head south on Alton Road, Raylan thinking he was going home and would find out where he lived. The Jag got to Fifteenth and turned left, went past that little park there and turned right onto Meridian. When the spiffy dark-green car all of a sudden pulled to a stop across from the Flamingo Terrace apartments Raylan realized, Jesus, the guy was going to see Joyce Patton. There was no way they could be friends. No, it had to be the Zip was going to question her about Harry, get her to tell him things she might know. Use force on her if he had to. Beat her up. Maybe do worse than that. All this was in Raylan's mind as he drove past, U-turned at Eleventh, the south end of the park, and pulled up in front of the Flamingo as the Zip reached the stoop of Joyce's terrace apartment and rang the bell. Now, Raylan out of the car and starting up the walk, the Zip was banging on the door
Gloria stood close to Jimmy Cap's lounge, hands on her hips, looking down at the Zip. "I don't know, who?"
"It's what I'm asking you."
"You mean like a movie star?"
Jimmy said to his bodyguard, "Hey, Joe Macho. Who's he look like?"
This punk Nicky Testa with his ponytail, his shirt off to show his body, stared at the Zip and said, "He looks like some of those outfit guys you see pictures of from the old days. Some of those guys, they look like they just got off the fucking boat."
Jimmy Cap was grinning, nodding his head, so the punk was grinning, his attitude not showing any respect at all. When the Zip called him Joe Macho, which wasn't too often, he said it in a way that let the punk know he thought the name was a joke. Otherwise he saw him as just Nicky and called him that.
Jimmy said, "Where's that picture you showed me? The one you cut out."
The Zip shook his head. "I don't have it no more." He did, but wasn't going to show it to this punk.
It was a photo of Frank Costello taken in the 1930s that had appeared in a news magazine last year. The Zip showed it to Jimmy Cap who looked at it and said, "Yeah, what?" Finally he caught on, seeing the resemblance, raised his eyebrows, and gave the Zip a nod.
The Zip cut the picture out and took it to his tailor in Bal Harbour, an Italian guy in his seventies. He waited for the tailor to say, "Who is this, you?" or something like that. "This you or your brother?" But he didn't. The Zip said to him, "This is what I want, a buttoned-up look just like this. Dark-blue almost black double-breasted cut to fit close. Six buttons in front, right? Count them. Buttoned up high to show some white shirt and a pearl-gray tie with it. What do you say?"
The tailor said, "Sure, if that's what you want."
The Zip asked him, "You know who this is in the picture?" The tailor said no, so the Zip told him, Frank Costello.
The tailor said, "I made a suit for Meyer Lansky one time, way back. I was down on Collins then in the McFadden-Deauville. Made him a beautiful suit of clothes and he stiffed me. You believe it? With all his dough?"
The tailor, there was a guy old enough to know better and even he didn't show any respect. What did Nicky, a punk like that, know about it? Or Gloria, aiming her bare butt at the Zip while she cooled Jimmy down with the cold towel. The Zip reached over, gave her a pat, and watched her wiggle her butt at him. Like saying he could have some if he wanted. The Zip was thinking he could have it all, anything Jimmy Cap owned, if he wanted. Why not? He had already taken over his sports book.
Chapter Seven.
Raylan had decided he needed to talk to the Zip to clear something up. Originally he'd thought of him as Tommy Bucks because it was what the Bureau guys called him. But then had started thinking of him as the Zip because that's what Harry called him and Raylan liked the sound of it.
The way he got on the Zip's tail was to wait till he showed up at Jimmy Cap's and then hang on to him after that. The Zip was in there only fifteen minutes, got in his Jaguar and cut through streets to head south on Alton Road, Raylan thinking he was going home and would find out where he lived. The Jag got to Fifteenth and turned left, went past that little park there and turned right onto Meridian. When the spiffy dark-green car all of a sudden pulled to a stop across from the Flamingo Terrace apartments Raylan realized, Jesus, the guy was going to see Joyce Patton. There was no way they could be friends. No, it had to be the Zip was going to question her about Harry, get her to tell him things she might know. Use force on her if he had to. Beat her up. Maybe do worse than that. All this was in Raylan's mind as he drove past, U-turned at Eleventh, the south end of the park, and pulled up in front of the Flamingo as the Zip reached the stoop of Joyce's terrace apartment and rang the bell. Now, Raylan out of the car and starting up the walk, the Zip was banging on the door
Similar Books
