Free The Nightlife: New York (The Nightlife Series) by Travis Luedke Page B

bulldog jowls and beady eyes was the worst condition a
man could be in.  Konowicz, although trim, was plenty undesirable in his own
gaunt, balding way.
    They looked like a wicked version of Laurel and Hardy with Brooklyn accents, heavy drinking problems, and noses for smelling out
nasty business.  Somehow, their indecent ventures always seemed to find a way
from their hands into his lap.
    Los Demonios ordered rounds of beers and burgers.  I’ll
be paying the tab.  Those putos didn’t ask for separate checks.
    “I got somethin’ here for ya.  Look at this.”  Oberman
handed the artist’s rendering of a blond woman to Talco.  “You recognize her?” 
Talco looked over the drawing for a moment and shook his head.
    “She’s workin’ the streets.  She’s been seen in the last
week by Palmetto and 60th.  Claims to be workin’ alone, but she’s a hot little
bitch, and it don’t make no sense that she’d be out there on her own.”
    Talco sensed something personal involved in this.  He got a
really bad feeling.  There was more to this girl than they were telling him. 
He speculated she had something to do with the scratches across Oberman’s face
and silently praised any woman brave enough to fight back.  The sad part, this
chick was already fucked.  She just didn’t know it yet.  You do not go head-to-head
with NYPD, a serious mistake.
    Konowicz stared hard at Talco, making certain to impart the
severity of his request. “This baby here’s got your name all over it.  You find
her and we’re square for the last payment you owe.  Think you can handle it?”
    Perhaps the girl was involved in something serious, heroin
or something.  Maybe she needed to be taken in.  Maybe it was legit.  “I’ll ask
around, see what I can find out.  I’ll put in the time.  I’ll try, but I can’t
guarantee anything.  And what if I can’t find her?  All this for nothing?  You
still gonna be on my case, man?  I gotta life too, a wife and kid!”
    “Hey, you better remember a few things.  You gotta do
everything you can to protect that sweet little chica at home.  You get popped
on a probation violation and you’ll be doing twenty-four months.  That ain’t
gonna be so good for the mamasita.  Maybe she’s gonna have to work the streets
again to pay the bills.  You wanna see that?  You wanna see her on her back
again while you’re locked up?”  Konowicz threatened in his nasal voice.
    He knew these weren’t idle threats.  With nothing but a
phone call to his probation officer from either detective, Talco would be immediately
thrown in lockup.  Since he was already convicted, and on probation, he had no
rights to speak of.  And he wasn’t exactly keeping his nose clean ,
running a prostitution racket on the side.  His life had been a living hell
from the moment the detectives had pressured one of his girls into revealing
the name of her employer.  They had owned his ass ever since.
    Talco seriously considered the idea of killing these two
disgusting pigs.  They could sit here in front of him, calmly drinking beer at
his expense, and discuss the ruination of his life.  His temper flared, his
fists and jaw clenched tight.  Generations of hot-blooded Puerto Rican genetics
warred against his better judgment.  Evita warned him constantly to calm down
and think before acting.  He had to cool down, that’s what Evita always said, “Cool
it pappy, te quiero mucho.  No te asustes.”
    It was his hot blood that put him in prison the first time,
after he beat some asshole senseless for smacking around Evita when she refused
him anal sex.  She’d been so appreciative that she’d stood by Talco’s side
through every court appointment while he was prosecuted for aggravated
assault.  In the face-off of an obnoxious fast-talking Puerto Rican vs. a
respectable white businessman, the jury’s verdict against Talco was a foregone
conclusion.
    The one witness whose testimony could’ve brought to