Jezebel Koko Brown (best books to read non fiction txt) 📖

again when hewound up breaking the old man’s heart. “I’m goingto hit the showers.” He removed one glove tucked it under hisarm, and then attacked the other.

“Soundsgood.” Ollie hobbled over, picked up his hat, and placed itback on his head. “A good hot shower should clear your head.”

He needed morethan a shower to clear his head. He needed to make things right.

***

The Parliamentwas a hive activity. Money exchanged hands quicker than the horses atBelmont Stakes. People cursed, others cried. A couple of lackeysrecorded the days’ results on a monstrous chalk board, runninghalf the length of the room.

Slotmachines lined twowalls and blackjack and roulette tables peppered the main floor. At each and everygame, some unlucky bastard, unaware that the odds were stackedheavily against them, was trying to beat the house.

Amazing, Shanemused as he picked his way through the throng. There was a ragingrecession and people still whittled away their money in gamblingholes.

Atthe back of the room, Shane approached a steel doorwhich broke up the monotony of games of chance.With clammy fingers, he pressed the buzzer per the doorman’sinstructions. Almost instantly, a metal slat slid back.

“What’dya want?”

“I needto speak to Mr. Ferruci.”

“Who areyou?” The other man’s voice was so low and gravely,Shane could barely make out his Brooklyn accent.

“SugarShaneBrennan.” Although he hated the moniker, Shane decided to throwit in. It was the only reason he’d gained entrance. Onlypeople in the know or whales knew the whereabouts of Johnny Ferruci’sracket located in the basement of a butchery located in the meatpacking district.

The pair ofeyes peered at him. “You’s got an appointment?”

Shane shook hishead.

“Noappointment…no open sesame, capisce.”

“How do Iget an appointment?”

Theman sighed heavily. “You got to go through his secretary MarcoPirelli.”

“Asecretary?” Shane ground his teeth. What was this theutilities department? “And how do I get to see Pirelli?”he asked with as much patience as he could muster.

“He’supstairs,” then as if reading Shane’s mind, “but heain’t seeing anyonetoday.Now scram,”hesaid then shutthe metal slab.

Stunned, Shanedidn’t move just kept staring at the immovable object in frontof him. He was back at first base with no one to bat him in. He feltcornered, hemmed in and he didn’t like it one bit.

Embarrassed,furious and just feeling damned sorry for himself, Shane punched thedoor so hard his entire body reverberated.

Yeah, it wasstupid, but he didn’t like feeling helpless or vulnerable. Andhe hadn’t felt that way since he was a child when his fatherused him as a punching bag.

Insteadof checking his anger, Shane let it swell and fester until it cloudedhis better judgment. Hobbled with fury, he slowly turned around, ahot flush stealing up his collar. If he couldn’t get to Pirellior Ferruci, then he’d make them to come to him.

He scanned theroom, making note of Ferruci’s associates. Instead of gambling,they watched the tables. Few in number, Shane surmised he could takethem if he had to.

Not wastinganother minute on inaction, Shane stalked over to the nearest table.He bent his knees, grabbed the edge and flipped the table on end.

“What thefuck are you doing?” The dealer yelled.

“Tryingto get noticed.”

Whileall three players fell to their knees and scooped up cash, Shanerushed another table. Seeing his approach, the dealer scrambled forhis deck of cards. He was too slow.

Shane, headdown and arms out, flipped the table so fast cards and moneysomersaulted in the air. Not only players from the table, butseveral people from nearby slot machines dove into the melee.

“Thanks,buddy!” one of the gamblers looked up from the floor andwinked. “I was in the hole.”

Ignoring himand trying to keep out of Ferucci’s men, who’d finallywoken up, Shane skirted the throng crawling around on all fours andset his sights on a craps table.

Made of cherrywood and lined with green felt, the thing looked heavy. Still, hecould handle it. Grinning, Shane cupped the edge as he bent hisknees.

“Heaveh—”

Thefist connected with his jaw, filling his head with stars. Shanestumbled back. About damn time! He was about to wreck the goddamplace.

Another fistslammed into his stomach, doubling him over, knocking the breath outof him. He barely had any time to regain his bearings when anotherfist uppercut him under his chin, spinning him around on his heels.

Sure, hecould’ve recovered and dished out as good as he got. But Shanekept his hands down at his sides, accepting blow after blow until hisknees eventually buckled and he sank to his knees.

Hisnose felt broken and his left eye was swelling.In spite of the pain coursing through his body all he could think ofwas Celeste.

“You hadenough?” recognizing the man’s voice from behind themetal slab, Shane lifted his head and tried to smile, but his lip wasbusted.

“Feelslike old times,” Shane paused to spit out blood. He barelymanaged it. From his cheekbones down, he couldn’t feel a thing.“Now do I get to see Pirelli.”

“Oh,you’s gonna see Mr. Pirelliall right!”The man guffawed. “But it might be the last face you’llsee before we put you to sleep permanently. Fellas pick him up.”

Shane stifled agroan as several pairs of hands lifted him up, hauled him across theroom and up a flight of dimly lit stairs.

Shanewasn’t sure if his one good eye was playing tricks on him or ifthe stairwell was just poorly lit. Hecouldn’t even see his feet

At the top ofthe landing a three-hundred pound meatball materialized out of thedarkness. With heavy bags under his eyes and jowls rivaling awalrus, the man looked like death warmed over.

“Openthe door Salvatore. We got a present for Marco.”

The next fewmoments happened so fast, Shane fought a wave of dizziness as theyushered him inside and dumped him unceremoniously in one of twoleather chairs before a large desk.

They even heldhis arms down as if he had enough power in his limbs to escape. Thethought made Shane laugh. His amusement was only fleeting because thetask hurt too much.

“Is thishim?”

MarcoPirelli didn’t look up from counting what looked like receipts. Elegantly dressed in a navy pin-striped suit, and streaks of graythreading his dark hair, Pirelli reminded Shane of one of those eggand butter men on Madison Avenue.

A