BooksBarbecue
Back The Deal Goes Down
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Other Titles
  3. Dedication
  4. CHAPTER ONE
  5. CHAPTER TWO
  6. CHAPTER THREE
  7. CHAPTER FOUR
  8. CHAPTER FIVE
  9. CHAPTER SIX
  10. CHAPTER SEVEN
  11. CHAPTER EIGHT
  12. CHAPTER NINE
  13. CHAPTER TEN
  14. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  15. CHAPTER TWELVE
  16. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  17. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  19. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  21. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  22. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  33. CHAPTER THIRTY
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  43. CHAPTER FORTY
  44. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  45. CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  46. CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  47. CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  48. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  49. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  50. CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  51. CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  52. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  53. CHAPTER FIFTY
  54. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  55. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I masked it. Quickly. Had he seen it? I didn’t know.

I said, “Excuse me a second. At my age, my bladder…” turning, “…at our age…” walking toward the bedroom, “…how’s yours?” as I disappeared behind the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SHOTGUN BOOGIE

“Shotgun Boogie,” written and sung by Tennessee Ernie Ford, was #1 on the country charts for fourteen weeks.

WHEN I WALKED BACK INTO the living room, I was holding a Benelli M4.

I’m not much of a gun guy. This one had belonged to Seymour Herschkowitz, the killer dry cleaner, when he feared people might come to do him harm. It had been included with the home furnishings. There’s no sportsman bullshit that it’s for hunting. It was designed from scratch for professional killers. Ostensibly the legal ones, soldiers and armed-response police. It’s a semiautomatic. It holds six rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. It has a collapsible stock, which is exactly what it sounds like, so you can hold it like a giant pistol instead of a rifle.

Cohen stood still. Staring at me. Trying to breathe steady.

I didn’t say anything.

He didn’t say anything.

Cohen slowly raised his hands up. Not high overhead like in a Western movie. Or like kids marching out of a middle school after a mass shooting. Just to about shoulder height, palms forward.

I still didn’t say anything.

Finally, he spoke. “I don’t know what I did to upset you.”

I pointed at the handgun he’d revealed by pushing back his jacket.

He said, “It’s hot in here. I was just getting comfortable.”

I shook my head, no.

“Come on, Tony, I’m not going to pull on you.”

I still didn’t say anything.

“You want me to just take it out, put it on the ground or something?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. You don’t have to do that. Do what you want. Go for it. If you win, you have big problems. What do you do with the body? What were you doing here? They trace cars and phones. If I win, I don’t have any problems. You came in with a gun. Even in blue state New York, this is my house.”

“You’re misreading an innocent gesture.”

“No. I’m not. What we have here, Owen, is…a breach of etiquette. Yeah, a breach of etiquette. Bad manners. A misperception of who each of us is in this situation.” I gestured with the Benelli. It’s Italian. It has style, style that communicates. As Ferrari says speed and Gucci says conspicuous consumption, a Benelli shotgun says kill. I said, “Sit down.”

Owen backed up slowly, until he felt the couch behind him, then lowered himself. It’s big, cushiony and soft. He sank low. If he pulled his gun, he’d shoot himself in the knee before he shot me.