“So I was listenin’ to this Markowitz guy on the radio,” said Giuseppe Sanseli. “That’s his name, somethin’ Markowitz, right? Anyway, this Markowitz guy is gettin’ blown by some broad while he’s doin’ his radio show!”

Sanseli laughed.

All of the Sanseli thugs in the van laughed.

“An’ you could hear the girl givin’ this Markowitz the blow job. You could hear her makin’ all these slobberin’ noises. It was real funny.”

Sanseli laughed.

All of the Sanseli thugs in the van laughed.

“So I hear ya was peddlin’ ringside tickets around Yankee Stadium, country boy.”

All the Sanseli thugs in the van stopped laughing.

“Ya was doin’ that a week before the big fight, weren’t ya? Am I right, country boy, because if I am, it wasn’t a smart thing to do, was it? So were ya peddlin’ ringside tickets around the stadium or not?”

Billy Constable swallowed and whispered, “Yes, sir, I was.” All Billy could do was whisper.

“What’s that, country boy? What’d ya say?”

“Yes, sir, I was,” said Billy as loud as he could.

Billy Constable could smell a sickening body odor. He wasn’t sure if the stink was coming from the moron sitting next to him or Sanseli sitting behind him or from himself.

“See, country boy, I got people on my payroll all over the fuckin’ place. I even own most of the cops walkin’ the beat ’round Yankee Stadium. In fact, I own the precinct the stadium’s in. Did ya know that, country boy?”

“No, sir, I didn’t,” whispered Billy, so scared he was barely able to get the words out of his mouth.

“I didn’t fuckin’ think so,” said Sanseli.

“I got a lotta people on my payroll, country boy,” said Sanseli. “I own most of the guys peddlin’ shit around the stadium. I own the ticket takers, the concessions, and a shitload of other crap. As a matter of fact, there isn’t much in the Bronx I don’t own. Ya know what bothers me, country boy?”

“No, sir. I reckon I don’t, sir,” whispered Billy.

“What bothers me is that with all those dimwits on my payroll, why didn’t I find out what you did sooner? That’s what bothers me,” said Giuseppe Sanseli. His voice was hoarse. Maybe he was catching something.

“I didn’t think I was stealin’ from you, sir. I thought I was stealin’ from Mr. Lieberman.”

“Those fuckin’ tickets were my fuckin’ tickets, not Sonny’s. Ya was stealin’ from me, country boy!”

“Yes, sir. But those tickets were in a box in a closet in one of the rooms in Sonny’s office. Since Sonny owned them offices I thought he owned them tickets too. I didn’t put them tickets in his office closet. If I didn’t put them there, then he must a put them in there. I wouldn’t steal nothin’ from you, Mr. Sanseli. I may be a dumb country boy, but I ain’t that stupid.”