Vinnie And Mauricio //free\\ -

Slowly, Carmine reached into his jacket. Mauricio flinched. But Carmine only pulled out a thick roll of cash, peeled off nine hundred dollars, and slapped it into Vinnie’s palm.

The back room of Tony’s Pastosa smelled of garlic, old leather, and regret. Vinnie sat on a folding chair, polishing a silver-plated revolver that hadn't been fired since the Carter administration. Across from him, Mauricio paced a groove into the linoleum, tugging at his collar like it was trying to strangle him.

“That,” Vinnie said, “is a sworn affidavit from the city zoning board. Turns out that warehouse you’ve been renting to the senior center? The one you told them was ‘renovated for safety’? It’s got three code violations—electrical, fire, and structural. The city’s been watching you for months. I’m a retired accountant, Carmine. I audit city contracts for fun now. This copy goes to the Daily News tomorrow morning unless my seven hundred dollars—plus a two-hundred-dollar inconvenience fee—is in my hand in the next sixty seconds.” vinnie and mauricio

Mauricio made a small squeaking noise.

Then Vinnie did something unexpected. He smiled. “You know, Carmine, you’re right. Fine print. I respect a man who knows his contracts.” He folded the receipt, put it away, and pulled out a second piece of paper. “That’s why I brought this.” Slowly, Carmine reached into his jacket

“You got balls, glasses,” Carmine said. “I’ll give you that.”

Carmine stared at Vinnie. Rocco looked at Joey. Joey shrugged. The back room of Tony’s Pastosa smelled of

Carmine chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. “See, the guarantee was for the boat . Not the water. The water’s what sank it. That’s an act of God. Read the fine print, Vin.”