Free Murder Takes Time by Giacomo Giammatteo Page A

raised them on two and nine. Then we prayed and got ready for the next race. It turned out to be almost a repeat of the first, with number five winning. This time number ten came in second, and number two rushed to a third-place finish. Number nine again finished last.
    Mr. McDermott and several of his firemen buddies came in just before the third race. It was a surprise he showed, but when he bet five bucks on number nine he shocked everyone. He had nine kids so we figured that was why. Tony nudged me and Bugs, then whispered. “Nine’s a dog. Got no shot at winning.”
    We were still laughing when the sound of car doors slamming echoed up the alleyway. Mikey the Face stepped out of a Caddy, with his normal contingent of hangers-on. He pranced down the alley like he owned it, comb already out and messing with his hair. Paulie Shoes was with him, as were Tommie Tucks, Pockets, and Patsy Moresco, though how Patsy fit into that Caddy with four other guys was a mystery. The gate squeaked open, and Face came in, still brushing his hair as he walked across the yard. When he got to the odds board, he stared at it while he scratched his cheeks and picked at an imaginary beard.
    “Number five’s won two in a row, huh?”
    “Both of them,” Tony said. “Odds are going down on him, though.”
    “Those odds ain’t going nowhere.” Mikey pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, peeled off two C-notes, and plunked them down on the table. “Two C’s on number five.”
    Tony almost shit. Even though the odds were even money on number five, we couldn’t cover the bet. Tony hesitated, looked up at me.
    I shrugged, looked behind me. Pops stood against our fence, two houses away, just watching. I had hoped for support, but Pops turned and walked back into the house. My heart sank. Not that I blamed him. Who was going to stand up to Mikey, except maybe Doggs. Still, I felt a little ashamed. Pops hadn’t even come down to see the races. I turned back to Tony.
    “Do whatever we got to.”
    Face picked up the bills and waved them in front of Tony. “What the hell, kid? You takin’ the bet or not?”
    “We don’t have that kind of money, Mikey.”
    “What are you doin’ holding a race if you can’t take a bet?”
    “Why don’t you bet less, Mikey? There’s ninety-six bucks in the till.” Tony stood up, faced Mikey. “We’ll cover you for ninety-five. Come on, we’re kids.”
    Mikey the Face was usually all smiles. Today he looked mean. Word on the street was he lost big a few nights back at Doggs’ game. Maybe he was trying to make some of it back. Whatever it was, he was showing no mercy. He leaned in close to Tony, snapped the bills—crisp hundreds—then backed Tony right into his seat. “You either take the bet or you close down this piss-ant operation.”
    The gate creaked open and Pops walked in carrying a cigar box. When he got to the table, he handed me the box.
    “Cover the bet,” he said.
    I opened the lid to a box filled with money.
    “Holy shit. How much?” Suit asked, not thinking about the cursing.
    It was an assortment of ones and fives and tens. I pulled out a wad and handed it to Tony. “Count it,” I said, while I started on the other stack of bills.
    Tony finished first. “Two hundred seventy-eight.”
    Suit and Bugs stared at me, waiting. As I rolled past the last few bills, my eyes lit up. “Two hundred forty-nine,” I said, and almost instantly Tony totaled it.
    “Five hundred twenty-seven.” He turned to Face, grabbed the two C-notes from his hand and stuffed them into the betting box. “That’s two C’s on number five,” Tony said, and wrote it in the book.
    I stared at Pops, proud as anyone could be. I didn’t know where he’d gotten the money, but it was the proudest I’d ever been of him, except maybe that day at the cop station.
    Face snatched the bills back. “Decided not to bet.”
    He turned and walked straight into Pops, who stood as stiff as Ciotti’s stone wall.