"Carmelo. Listen, I just need..."
"You know my name now." That's a problem. Last time he didn't. Someone told him, which means someone is talking about me being in Philadelphia, which means the wrong ears might be hearing it.
"People talk," he says. "You're hard to miss."
"Who's talking?"
"Nobody. Guys at the book. They see a big guy doing collections in South Philly, they ask around."
"Who asked around?"
His face changes. He realizes the conversation isn't about the money anymore.
"Sal Petrone," he says. "Runs the card game on Federal. He wanted to know if the Bonaccorsos were expanding into Philly. I told him I didn't know."
"What did you tell him about me?"
"Nothing. Just that you collected a debt. That's it."
I look at him for a long time. He's sweating through his shirt and his hands are gripping the edge of the tool chest… he knows that the next thirty seconds of his life depend entirely on whether I believe him.
Good news for him… I believe him. Delvecchio is a degenerate bookie, not a strategist. He doesn't have the imagination for a play.
I pull the knife. His eyes go wide and his hands come up.
"The five," I say. "Now."
He gets the money. I take it and I take two of his fingers. The index and middle on his left hand, the same webbing where I put the blade last time. He screams, but the shop is closed and the street is empty and the scream doesn't carry past the roll-up door. I wrap his hand in his own shirt and tell him the remaining has a new deadline, and if he misses it, I'm taking the hand.
"And Delvecchio."
He's on his knees, cradling his hand, tears and snot on his face.
"If Sal Petrone or anyone else asks about me, you don't know my name. You don't know who I work for. You don't know anything. If I find out different, I'll come back, and this conversation will be the one you'll wish we were having."
He nod and I leave. The blood on the knife goes in the drain at the apartment. Thirty-two thousand goes under the bed with the rest.
I call Leone.
"Delvecchio, he’s short but I got five. He'll pay."
"Good. Anything else?"
"He's talking. Small time, local bookies. They're asking who I am and whether we're expanding into Philly."
Leone is quiet for three seconds. "Are we?"
He's been thinking about this. I'm already here, already operational, already building a footprint through collections and contacts. The Bonaccorsos don't have territory in Philadelphia. Leone is asking me if we should.
"Maybe," I say.
"Think about it. We'll talk when you're done with the girl."
The call ends. I wash my hands and go to the window. Grace's morning shift starts in twenty minutes. I've been watching her for three weeks and going to the restaurant for two and tonight I'm going back and I need to think about something that isn't her for the next twelve hours.
The only problem is that I can't.
Danila shows up the next afternoon.