doing, hiring a dick—laying out his troubles to a complete stranger? It had been a desperate, sentimental gesture and would only make things worse with Gloria. He’d have to whack Kelly, too.
Not literally, of course. Just that it was time to cut and run. And if Julie thought those drugs were going back to DiNoto, he had another think coming.That load of heroin, purring contentedly in the safe across the room, was going to be his ticket out.
Roth looked at the back of Mundi’s chair and reflected on the shame of it all. Instead of trimming their operation and moving it to Newark, they were running on fumes and Mundi’s ego. Coughing up thousands for a fancy midtown office, feeding on themselves. Instead of parlaying their lucky find into some small advantage with the Mob—something that could be useful to the operation in Newark— Mundi was going to try to sell it out from under them. Roth could practically hear the old man’s brain laboring through its plan. The poor guy actually thought he’d be able to take the money and run.
The whole scenario distressed Roth. He remembered what he’d loved about Richard Mundi, how exciting it had been when the two of them were lean and hungry and on the make. There was nothing Roth wouldn’t have done for him back then. And, in fact, he’d done most of it—with a feral sense of purpose and not the slightest twinge of conscience. But as age overtook Mundi, he began backing himself too frequently into corners. Roth’s talents got sucked up into continual damage control—stuff that was unpredictable, potentially dangerous, aggravating. He wasn’t having fun anymore.
The worst of it was, he knew instinctively that feeling this way made him vulnerable. Just like on the football field. If he couldn’t do the job with absolute energy and commitment, he was going to get hurt.
When he thought of the situation in those terms it boiled down to a choice between Mundi and himself, and that was no choice at all. He’d had a wonderful run, but it was over now. That thing with Smoot had been the final straw.
The chair swiveled back around and Mundi regarded Roth. What he saw was a slightly anxious man, but one still ready to deal with the situation in whatever way Mundi thought necessary. Just not ready to figure this thing out by himself. Never ready to take charge, to run the show. Roth would never be anything but a glorified gofer. Mundi sighed, gathered himself, slapped his thick palms on the desk.
“All right, Julie.You shut things down in Newark. Send everybody home for a week.”
“Boss, if you take that smack they’ll kill you.”
Mundi looked at him, said nothing.
Roth considered walking out right then, but it didn’t feel right. So for the fifth time that week, he outlined his plan whereby Mundi Enterprises would go into partnership with DiNoto, returning the heroin and offering the shell of their company as a moneylaundering apparatus for DiNoto’s drug money.
Mundi listened, as he had the first four times, nodding at all the right places. But Roth understood.
“I hear you, Julie. I just don’t want anyone stepping on his pecker over there in Newark until we get this thing resolved.”
“Okay.Then maybe you could take a little break yourself, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno. When was the last time you played a round of golf ? You look a little tired, is all.” In fact, he looked like shit.
“Good old Julie.”Mundi regarded him with paternal benevolence, thinking all the while, I’m gonna whack this guy.
Roth gave him a fond smile. I’m outta here, he thought.
Ilda
I
t all came apart for the Mailman that July. Then it came back together.
Having been looped on codeine for days and locked in utter despair for months, he woke one morning wanting heroin more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.The shit had been abundant all spring and he’d been skin-popping with a comical, growling, scoundrel named Langer. Now supplies had dried up and
Not literally, of course. Just that it was time to cut and run. And if Julie thought those drugs were going back to DiNoto, he had another think coming.That load of heroin, purring contentedly in the safe across the room, was going to be his ticket out.
Roth looked at the back of Mundi’s chair and reflected on the shame of it all. Instead of trimming their operation and moving it to Newark, they were running on fumes and Mundi’s ego. Coughing up thousands for a fancy midtown office, feeding on themselves. Instead of parlaying their lucky find into some small advantage with the Mob—something that could be useful to the operation in Newark— Mundi was going to try to sell it out from under them. Roth could practically hear the old man’s brain laboring through its plan. The poor guy actually thought he’d be able to take the money and run.
The whole scenario distressed Roth. He remembered what he’d loved about Richard Mundi, how exciting it had been when the two of them were lean and hungry and on the make. There was nothing Roth wouldn’t have done for him back then. And, in fact, he’d done most of it—with a feral sense of purpose and not the slightest twinge of conscience. But as age overtook Mundi, he began backing himself too frequently into corners. Roth’s talents got sucked up into continual damage control—stuff that was unpredictable, potentially dangerous, aggravating. He wasn’t having fun anymore.
The worst of it was, he knew instinctively that feeling this way made him vulnerable. Just like on the football field. If he couldn’t do the job with absolute energy and commitment, he was going to get hurt.
When he thought of the situation in those terms it boiled down to a choice between Mundi and himself, and that was no choice at all. He’d had a wonderful run, but it was over now. That thing with Smoot had been the final straw.
The chair swiveled back around and Mundi regarded Roth. What he saw was a slightly anxious man, but one still ready to deal with the situation in whatever way Mundi thought necessary. Just not ready to figure this thing out by himself. Never ready to take charge, to run the show. Roth would never be anything but a glorified gofer. Mundi sighed, gathered himself, slapped his thick palms on the desk.
“All right, Julie.You shut things down in Newark. Send everybody home for a week.”
“Boss, if you take that smack they’ll kill you.”
Mundi looked at him, said nothing.
Roth considered walking out right then, but it didn’t feel right. So for the fifth time that week, he outlined his plan whereby Mundi Enterprises would go into partnership with DiNoto, returning the heroin and offering the shell of their company as a moneylaundering apparatus for DiNoto’s drug money.
Mundi listened, as he had the first four times, nodding at all the right places. But Roth understood.
“I hear you, Julie. I just don’t want anyone stepping on his pecker over there in Newark until we get this thing resolved.”
“Okay.Then maybe you could take a little break yourself, huh?”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno. When was the last time you played a round of golf ? You look a little tired, is all.” In fact, he looked like shit.
“Good old Julie.”Mundi regarded him with paternal benevolence, thinking all the while, I’m gonna whack this guy.
Roth gave him a fond smile. I’m outta here, he thought.
Ilda
I
t all came apart for the Mailman that July. Then it came back together.
Having been looped on codeine for days and locked in utter despair for months, he woke one morning wanting heroin more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.The shit had been abundant all spring and he’d been skin-popping with a comical, growling, scoundrel named Langer. Now supplies had dried up and
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