“You have a point.”

“Leave it with me, then.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you.”

They both hung up.

—

Later that day, Jerry Brubeck and Gino Parisi left their offices and walked to the garage where their cars were parked. Brubeck lived in New Jersey and Parisi in Corona Park, Queens.

It was Parisi who noticed first that their cars were blocked by cars parked behind them. “Let’s go, Jerry,” he said, tugging at his partner’s sleeve.

“Huh? What’s up?”

“Let’s just go.” Parisi turned and propelled his partner toward the elevator, but their way was blocked by two very large men, both with battered faces and unwelcoming visages.

They tried to go the other way, but two other men blocked that, too.

Each of the men held a short black tube in his hand.

Parisi unbuttoned his jacket and came up with a snub-nosed .38 revolver. As he raised it, something hard came down on his wrist, and the gun clattered to the concrete floor. The short tubes the men held had become longer: steel batons. Parisi swore and clasped his wrist. “If it’s broken I’ll have you taken out,” he said to the man who had struck him.

“Shut up and listen,” the man said. “You are paying unwanted attention to a gentleman visiting from Texas. This will stop now.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Parisi said.

“We know exactly who we’re dealing with,” the man replied. “You are the ignorant one. You’re in over your head, and if you persist, bad things will happen to you.”

“To you, not me,” Parisi said.

The man swung his baton and connected with a knee, and Parisi went down. “Would you like me to use it on your face?”

“No!” Brubeck said, suddenly coming alive. “We get the message, so back off.”

“We’ll do that,” the man said. “But just this one time. Don’t make it necessary for us to come back.” The four men got into their two cars and drove down the garage ramp at a leisurely pace.

Brubeck helped Parisi to his feet. “You want a hospital, Gino?”

“They’re the ones gonna want a hospital,” Parisi replied, dusting himself off and rubbing his wrist.

“Gino, we don’t want a war,” Brubeck said. “Wars cost too much.”

“You think I’m going to let Perado get away with that?”

“I think it’s best if we forget about Perado.”

“He’s going to buy out Winkle,” Parisi said.

“We should have made Winkle a better offer. There’s no chance of a deal now, and we don’t really know who we’re dealing with here.”

“I’ll find out,” Parisi said.

“Gino, if you do this, we’ll have to kill somebody. We’re going good, here—don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m going to fuck them up,” Parisi said. He got into his car and drove toward the ramp.