Free The Violet Hour by Richard Montanari

owed the whole principal.
    It was a good thing he was Paulie’s friend.
    On the other hand, it was the first time in Nicky Stella’s life he found four thousand dollars to be a bargain for anything.
    The phone rang during General Hospital.
    ‘This is Nicholas Stella.’
    ‘This is T’ the voice said brightly, immediately recognizable as Willie T. He sounded playful, content. It probably meant he had recently chewed some gang-banger a new asshole or dropped a midlevel crack dealer with the fourteen-shot nine-millimeter pistol he carried under his arm. It was a perfect time to ask for a favor.
    ‘Willie T,’ Nicky exclaimed, trying to sound as street as possible. ‘Mah man.’
    ‘Where y’at?’
    Willie T sometimes drifted into a New Orleans kind of drawl, and Nicky wasn’t sure, at those times, if he was offering a how ya doin’ greeting by way of his where y’at, the way they did in Louisiana, or actually asking him where he was. Seeing as Willie T had just dialed his number, he chose the former.
    ‘I’m good, Willie. Taking care of business.’
    ‘Ain’t seen your name in the papers lately.’
    Tell me about it , Nicky thought. ‘Yeah, well, trying, you know? It’s one of the reasons I’m calling. I’m working on a cover story for the Chronicle . But I have bigger plans for it.’
    ‘Yeah?’ Willie T said, sounding genuinely impressed. ‘So what can I do for you?’
    ‘Well, were you by any chance in on this case about the priest who overdosed?’
    ‘Heard somethin’ about it.’
    ‘He was my cousin. . . .’ Nicky lied. ‘John Angelino was his name.’
    ‘Sorry, man.’
    ‘The paper said the junk had a red tiger and a blue monkey on it.’
    ‘Yeah, right. I didn’t catch the case, though. If there isn’t anybody buying or selling it, I don’t get the call.’
    ‘Have you run across the tiger and monkey marks before?’
    ‘No,’ Willie T said. ‘Don’t ring a bell. But these dealers change these marks all the time.’
    ‘Sounds Chinese though, right?’
    ‘Yeah. I would say. They’re really into that animal shit.’
    The first push. ‘Got any connections on the local Chinese chain?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Willie T said, a little skeptically, recognizing the pressure. ‘A few. Why?’
    Nicky decided to just say it out loud. He closed his eyes, spoke clearly. ‘I want to talk to the dealer, Willie. Some midlevel guy. You know what I mean? No holds barred, completely anonymous interview. We’ll get some really arty shots of him in shadow. I’ll quote him in dialect, even. Real street-theater piece. He’ll be a fuckin’ star. It’ll get him laid for years.’
    Willie T laughed, a little more patronizingly than Nicky would have liked.
    ‘I’m serious,’ Nicky said.
    ‘Number one, drug dealers need absolutely no help gettin’ pussy. None. Drug dealers got pussy like you and me got gas. Like all the motherfuckin’ time. Okay? And two, this is some dangerous shit you’re talkin’ about, man. I mean, do you know who these people are?’
    ‘Hey . . . did I not ride around with you and see first-hand?’
    ‘You think that’s it? Man . . .’
    Up came the Italian. ‘I know what I’m talking about. I know who I’m talking about. You think I discovered drugs when I met you? Gimme some fuckin’ credit, Willie.’
    Willie T remained silent.
    Nicky continued. ‘Look . . . I want to know if he has any more conscience about selling killer shit than he does about the other shit. I mean, I’m not on some crazy crusade because this guy was my cousin,’ he said. ‘I just want to know. It’ll be a great story.’
    ‘You got brass, Nicky. I will give you that.’
    Second push. ‘All I need you to do is find out who’s dealing it. Get me an intro. I’ll do the rest.’
    ‘Where you gonna be?’
    ‘Around,’ Nicky said. ‘You tell me where and when.’
    Nicky heard Willie T cover the phone with his hand. After a few seconds, Willie T said, ‘I’ll call you