Free Beautiful, Naked & Dead (Moses McGuire) by Josh Stallings

um…”
    “Johnny,” his metallic voice squawked to the waiter. “Get the kid a slice with prosciutto and peppers.” Refusing to eat in front of The Pope was a sin, one he never let you commit. “I can’t take good food any more. Not that it would matter, I got no more taste buds see? Do yourself a favor kid and die young. This growing old is the craps.”
    We were sitting in Figueroa’s, a small Italian restaurant and bakery in the Los Feliz area. His crew looked more like a V.F.W. meeting than a mob. Fifty would have been a youngster with this group. Not that their age made them any less dangerous. Most of these guys had more bodies to their count than I had bad debts. Bob had gone in first, cleared my way and then faded back onto the street. He had no desire to be around if it went sideways between me and the old man.
    “I need to ask you a question,” I said, my eyes darting around the room.
    “So ask. Don’t worry, I have this place swept daily.”
    “I know Uncle Manny kicks you a piece off the top, not that it’s any of my business.”
    “Did that little towel head send you to me?”
    “No, he doesn’t even know I’m here. Problem is I may have to jam up two Armenian punks, caught them running a protection racket on my girls.”
    “Inside the club?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Cock-sucking sons of bitches.”
    “I don’t want to step on any toes. But you know I can’t let it pass.”
    “These Armenian pricks have some balls, huh? If it was ten years ago, I’d just take them off the count and call it a day. New York wants us to make peace. They’re trying to strike a deal with the Russians. This is the golden age of mergers, huh kid?”
    “I’ve heard they have a mob set up out of Glendale.”
    “Fuck that. A few crews at best. But they’re growing balls fast. Gas station tax scams, credit cards, cloned cells, some loan sharking. They keep it in their neighborhoods and out of the press. I had a little boundary dispute with them. These Russian bastards don’t scare easy I’ll tell you that. I put three of their pawns in the grinder before I even had their attention. Now this crap in my territory. If it’s sanctioned, bodies got to drop. Let a man shit on your lawn, he’ll be screwing your wife by nightfall.”
    “You’re a poet, sir.”
    “Whatever.”
    “If these punks are freelancing?” I asked.
    “Then you’d be doing me a favor by squashing them.”
    “Who do I have to ask before I pull the switch?”
    “Rafael Hakobian, he’s running things since his brother took a federal fall two years ago. I’ll have Frankie make a call, an introduction, nothing else. You go in alone, you come out if you’re lucky.” The waiter placed a slice of pizza in front of me. Say what you will about the Wops, they make a mean piece of pie. “No shit, kid, these fucks are some evil pricks, kill cops, kids, girls, they just don’t seem to care. In ninety-four, we had a council meeting after bodies started washing up on Brighton Beach, I said we should take them down, but the New York families wanted to wait and see. Well, we saw. Now, I say go to the mattress and they say we negotiate. When did the world go to the pussies?”
    “Maybe they’re all just looking out for their piece of the pie.” I said, taking another bite of the thick-crusted pizza.
    “Yeah, and we’re going to lose the whole pizzeria in the deal. You don’t come out of this Russian fuck’s crib, ain’t shit I can do, we’re clear on that, right?”
    “I’m on my own, Sir, I got it.”
    “And you still want to go in?”
    “No, but I have to. Nobody fucks with my girls, you know that.”
    “Uncle Manny don’t pay you enough to die, so why?” I could tell he really wanted to understand what would make me do it. I thought about it for a moment looking out the dirty window. On the street a Latin immigrant woman pushed a shopping cart with all of her worldly possessions piled high, her face was deeply wrinkled. I wondered if