Free The Struggles of Johnny Cannon by Isaiah Campbell

Caballeros,” Mr. Trafficante said. “It has your fingerprints all over it.”
    Mr. Thomassen wasn’t drinking his coffee anymore. Instead he had both hands on the table, more tense than I’d ever seen him.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “And more than that, I don’t know why you’re concerned. Based off what you’ve told me, they’re only targeting the Cosa Nostra. Which, last time I checked, didn’t include the Trafficante family.”
    Mr. Trafficante popped his knuckles as I took my seat back next to Mr. Thomassen.
    â€œNo,” he said, and shot me a look. “But it does include the Bonannos and the Giancanas, and they’ve started to complain.”
    â€œTo you?” Mr. Thomassen said. “Why would they come to you?”
    â€œBecause, you idiot, they recognize a Cuban operation when they see one.” He leaned in over the table. “And I recognize one of yours when I see it, too.”
    I looked at Mr. Thomassen to see if he was scared. I’d be scared, that was for darn sure. But he didn’t look an ounce nervous at all. Instead he reached for his coffee cup.
    â€œWould one of your goons mind topping me off with some decaf?” he asked.
    Mr. Trafficante almost spit fire out as he nodded to one of his fellas.
    â€œNow,” Mr. Thomassen said, “you’ve had your chance to talk to me. Let me talk to you.”
    Mr. Trafficante sat back in his seat and quieted down a bit. As soon as they brought Mr. Thomassen his coffee, he added a little cream and sugar and took a sip.
    â€œI already knew about the Three Caballeros,” he said. “I’m not saying that I’m one of them, or that I’m affiliated with them, but I know about them. And I can tell you right now that they aren’t interested in you.”
    â€œI wasn’t concerned about—” Mr. Trafficante started.
    â€œLet me finish.” Mr. Thomassen put his cup down and his face changed and even I got a little scared of him all of a sudden. “They aren’t interested in the Trafficantes at the moment. From what I hear, these days you are as much a patriot as I am.”
    Mr. Trafficante studied his face for a second and nodded.
    â€œSo this is about patriotism for you?”
    â€œFor the Three Caballeros, from what I understand, yes,” Mr. Thomassen said. “It’s about keeping this nation from becoming the cesspool Havana was. Keeping the hands of the Cosa Nostra from holding power in the government. Because we saw what happened in Havana once people got sick of you and your family. They brought in the Commies to clip your wings.”
    Mr. Trafficante reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He lit it and took a couple of puffs while Mr. Thomassen sipped his coffee. I didn’t much know what to do, so I started using the spoons as drumsticks and played a beat on the table. Mr. Thomassen snatched them out of my hand real quick.
    â€œSo you’re saying I should stay out of it?” Mr. Trafficante finally said.
    â€œNo, I’m saying you should get out of it.”
    â€œBut I’m not in it. Like you said, my wings are clipped. The Three Caballeros haven’t got any beef with me, remember?”
    â€œNot yet,” Mr. Thomassen said. “But there’s a matter of a price tag I’ve been hearing about.”
    Mr. Trafficante’s eye started twitching again. He slammed his hand on the table.
    â€œThat doesn’t have anything to do with you. Or with the Three Caballeros.”
    â€œOh, but it does. Because it stinks of the old days in Havana, of exactly what they’re trying to prevent.”
    â€œThat’s because it came out of the old days in Havana.”
    â€œThen get rid of it,” Mr. Thomassen said. “Leave it back there.”
    â€œI can’t,” Mr. Trafficante said. “I won’t. Some things you