Free Fear City by F. Paul Wilson Page B

healthy again. Capisce? ”
    Vinny nodded. “ Capisco .”
    So there it was, all settled, all done. Their crew capo had spoken: Tommy was out of Preston Salvage and not coming back. That was the good news. The bad news was he’d be sharing a car with the jerk for the next few weeks.
    â€œWhich taxi depot we talking about?” Tommy said through clenched teeth. “Long Island City?”
    â€œNah. West Fifty-third— way west. Guy’ll be there noonish.”
    Tommy said, “What’re we charging?”
    â€œTwelve. But if that looks like a deal breaker, Vinny here will mention a special this week: ten.”
    â€œAnd if he pulls some rug-merchant shit and tries to Jew us down?”
    Tony stared at him. “Did you just say what I think you just said?”
    Tommy looked around. “What?”
    Tony sighed. “Never mind. If he don’t like ten percent you bust his face for wasting your time.”
    â€œYou got it,” Vinny said. “I’ll drive.”
    No way was he going to try to squeeze into Tommy’s Z.
    â€œDamn right you will,” Tommy said.

 
    2
    If Tony thought putting them together in a car would ease things, he was dead wrong. Usually Vinny hated when Tommy sat in the back, making it look like Vinny was his chauffeur, but this trip he was glad for it. And usually Tommy talked nonstop, but he said maybe six words on the way across town.
    The taxi depot turned out to be a long, one-story brick building with a rolling steel door. A few yellow cabs sat in the long lot next to it, the rest presumably out on the street hunting fares. Eleventh Avenue rumbled half a block away.
    Turned out they were dealing with two Arabs—a tall one with weird red hair and a short one—who were looking for one loan of ten Gs. As the four of them stood in the cold on the sidewalk in front of the depot, Vinny took an instant dislike to both of them. Something not right about these bozos. They didn’t even blink when Tommy said the vig was twelve percent per week. If it was up to Vinny he wouldn’t lend them a friggin’ dime.
    But Tommy had had a couple of snorts on the way over from Ozone Park, so maybe his judgment wasn’t the best. And since nothing else was happening for him, he was looking to do business.
    â€œYou got jobs?” Tommy said.
    Both nodded.
    The tall one said, “I drive a cab from here.”
    â€œYeah?” Tommy said. “Let’s go in and check that out with the dispatcher.”
    As they went inside, Vinny looked at the little guy.
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œKadir.”
    â€œKadir, eh. What kinda name is that?”
    â€œI am from Palestine.”
    The other guy had better English. This one’s accent was so thick he shouldn’t even have bothered trying English.
    â€œWhat’re you gonna do with this money, Kadir?”
    His gaze slid away. “We are starting a business.”
    â€œYeah? What kind?”
    â€œDelivery.”
    Start a delivery business with ten grand? Good luck. Bad lie.
    â€œYou got a job, Kadir?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat do you do?”
    Again the sliding gaze. “I … I run a machine. I put labels on things.”
    This was starting to make sense now. These guys weren’t getting into a legit business they could talk about. Nothing wrong with less than legit.
    â€œWhere’s this job?”
    â€œIn Jersey City.”
    Tommy and the tall redhead returned.
    â€œOkay. He’s for real. What about this guy?”
    â€œDoes piece work over in Jersey City.”
    â€œYeah? Let’s go see your boss.”
    The little guy suddenly became hyper. “No-no! I cannot! He will not like that!”
    Tommy grabbed him by the collar of his coat and dragged him toward Vinny’s idling car.
    â€œI said we’re going to see your boss.”
    As Tommy tossed him into the backseat, Vinny looked at the tall one,