Free Bad Apple by Anthony Bruno Page A

into Gibbons’s mouth, but the mean bastard still looked like he was ready to bite. “I gotta go call your cousin,” he grumbled.
    Tozzi wondered if his cousin Lorraine had done something to piss Gibbons off. Over the years, Tozzi had noticed that Gibbons usually referred to his wife as “your cousin” whenever they were fighting about something.
    Gibbons had his hand on the doorknob of the candy store. “Maybe she can get the goddamn dentist to give her a prescriptionfor some pain-killers. In the meantime, you get lost and make yourself scarce until we find Tony Bells. And call in to the office before Ivers wets his pants.” Gibbons went into the store, holding his swollen face.
    Through the plate-glass window, Tozzi watched his partner lumber to the pay phone at the back of the store. What a grouch. Tozzi wondered how Lorraine could stand him sometimes.
    Tozzi headed around the corner back toward Freshy’s house. He’d have to tell Freshy something, make up some kind of bogus excuse so he could disappear for a while. He couldn’t risk telling Freshy the real reason. Freshy might get cute and try to win some brownie points by tipping off Bells to the manhunt.
    But just as he rounded the corner, he heard two short toots on a car horn. He looked up and saw a silver four-door BMW 735 double-parked at the curb.
    â€œHey, Mike. Mike!” Freshy was in the back, the tinted window rolled down. “We were looking for you. C’mon. Get in.” His hair was still wet from the shower.
    Tozzi didn’t recognize the car. He crossed the street and leaned down to see who was inside, trying to hide his suspicion. Bells was in the front passenger seat, a copy of the Daily News open on his lap. Behind the wheel was Stanley, the Tazmanian Devil.
    Bells lowered his window halfway. “Get in,” he said with a smile. “I gotta show you guys something.”
    â€œRight now?” Tozzi looked at his watch for effect. “I told this guy I’d meet him at ten in Brooklyn—”
    Bells shook his head. “Forget about your meeting. This is more important.”
    â€œBut I—”
    â€œYou want the loan?”
    â€œYeah, of course I do, but—”
    â€œThen get in.” Bells went back to his paper. He was reading the gossip column. He seemed pretty low-key, but the anxiety on Freshy’s face made Tozzi anxious. He did not want to get in with them, but if he didn’t, Bells would get suspicious. He didn’t know Mike Santoro from a hole in the ground, and if he was as paranoid as Tozzi figured, he might start thinking Mike Santoro was an undercover cop. If he did, Bells would flee, sure as shit, and they might lose him for good. He’d get away with the attempted murder of a federal agent—murder one if Petersen died. Tozzi balled his fists in his coat pockets. He had to make a decision and make it fast.
    Bells kept his head in the paper. Stanley had his head bent, looking up at Tozzi from under heavy brows, waiting for him to get in. His underbite looked lethal.
    Freshy’s eyes were pleading. “C’mon, Mike. Get in. It won’t take long, will it, Bells?”
    Bells didn’t answer, and when Tozzi didn’t make a move to get in, Bells turned to Stanley. “C’mon, let’s go. This guy doesn’t wanna do business.”
    Stanley was reaching to put the car into gear when Tozzi suddenly made up his mind. “Hang on. Lemme call the guy I’m supposed to meet and tell him I can’t make it. I’ll be right with you.” He figured he could go into the candy store and quickly tell Gibbons what was going on.
    But Bells rolled his head back and looked up at him, no expression. “Who’s more important to you, Mike? This guy or me?”
    It wasn’t a question. Tozzi had no choice.
    He opened the back door and got in next to Freshy. “All right, all right, let’s