It was raining.
New York City in the rain always had its own beat. The taxi's hissing through the standing water on the road, that was the occasional cymbal crash. The shoes moving fast on the sidewalk, city slickers trying to stay dry between awnings. That was the snare. Windshield wipers in a line at every red light, the fwop fwop baseline loud to the ears of a man walking alone.
He liked this city. He liked that it was clean. That it went on for miles. Even the drunks had it better here. They ate in soup kitchens instead of at the feet of Don's and drug lords. And no bloody revolutions, only the occasional riots, or marches or what was the word? Demostración.
Andamo ducked under an awning, a cigarette between his lips, trying to get his lighter to catch. The flint was wet maybe or he had once more forgotten to refill the reservoir. It didn't seem to matter when the doorman of the restaurant the awning led to, flicked his own lighter into existence.
"Hey...tanks a lot man." Andamo said, bending over the flickering flame until the end of his cigarette caught. He drew the smoke into his lungs and sighed over the comforting rush of nicotine, the sweet smell of tobacco and rain and the end of summer.
Behind him the door to the restaurant opened, a taxi pulling up to the awning making Andamo realize that he was standing in the path of people with places to go. His day job, well, night job with his partner Lucky kicked in, and he found himself holding the door of the cab open as a blonde in red and fur, and a brunette in blue and sable, ducked out of the restaurant and into the car, followed by a sport in a white jacket that handed him a dollar bill before he told the ladies in the cab to 'scoochy coochy'.
The dark-haired Latino made a face, letting the cab door slam a little harder than was absolutely necessary. Once the car pulled away Andamo gave the buck to the doorman. "For the light.." He explained, then tossed his thumb over his shoulder. "An' for havin' to put up with guys like that."
They shared a knowing look. The look that all waiters, doormen, elevator operators and cabbies shared at the end of a day spent as the whipping boy for that great monster the semi-wealthy public.
Andamo opened the door for himself a minute later and swept into the gentle thrum of human noise on the inside. Little Italy had become a favorite night spot for the American new-comer, and Lombardi's was the best of the best. They boasted the first, and best, pizza since 50 years ago, and Andamo was in total agreement. He and Lucky had frequently tried to steal Lombardi's sauce chef, promising any rewards they could think of, just to get him to spend one night on the Fortuna II. But Louey, aging founder and proud Papa of the man preparing to take his place, refused. His home, he said, was over a pot, or standing beside the coal oven waiting for the pie to get just right. He would cook in no other place. "And that'sa it, and that'sa all."
The man standing at the maître d' podium was much younger than Papa, and recognized the dark-eyed Latino immediately, grinning. "Andamo, fratello, famiglia!"
Andamo grinned and accepted the traditional Italian greeting, shaking the man's hand exuberantly. "Hey, Antonio! Is good to see you. Why are you out here and not back with your papa, eh?"
The young, tuxedoed man, probably no younger than Andamo, but still looking like a wet behind the ears teenager, grinned with pearly white teeth and shrugged. "Itsa dinner rush, Andamo. Mio padre..." He shrugged his shoulders, grinning. "He'sa like a mad man in the kitchen ona Saturday night. You don'a get too close."
Both men laughed together. "Hey, you come alone then? Where's da woman ona your arm? Heh? Where's Signore Fortunato?"
"Eh...Lucky's lady wanted a quiet night in y'know?" Andamo made a droopy eyed look, a little like a lovesick calf.
Antonio grinned, clearly one of the many men in the city that ascribed to the belief that Lucky, when it came to women, could do no wrong. Andamo was well aware that most of Lucky's...well...luck, had to do with the incredible woman named Maggie, that had latched onto him shortly after they bought the Fortuna II. But why ruin the man's reputation, when it gave hope to so many others.
"You meeting somebody here?" Antonio asked, grinning.
Andamo shrugged.
"Come on, t'ersa somebody here I gotta introduce'a you to."
A few hours later the dark, curly-haired, brown-eyed beauty that Antonio had placed in Andamo's capable hands, sat curled against him in one of the booths in the back, her fingertips lazily tracing over the delicate stem of a wine glass.
Swimming in the warming glow of the grape himself, Andamo was content, his belly full of superb pizza, his arms full of the gentle curves of a fine Italian woman and the worries of running a business, keeping a boat afloat, and keeping his partner daily out of trouble, drifting away on the cigarette smoke hanging over his head.
"Andamo, do you have a...a regular girl?"
"No..." Andamo said, smiling softly as he looked down to the caramel colored eyes he'd been delighted to stare into most of the evening. Her name was Sarah, but he had taken to calling her Ruby. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a rough cut, polished stone by the same name, about the size of her thumb, hanging from a gold chain around her throat.
"Do you want a regular girl?"
Andamo thought about it for a moment then shrugged. "Sure, you up for grabs Ruby?" He asked grinning, and watched the girl tuck her bottom lip under her top teeth, smiling in the shy, peculiar way that she had. Andamo slid a finger under her chin and pushed his thumb against the skin under her lip, pulling the bottom lip back out into the open before he brushed the digit against it. "Whatt'ya think will happen if we decide to have a date tomorrow night, huh?"
"That'd be two dates in a row." Ruby said, her eyes sparkling.
"Yeah...maybe by then we'll pick out pet names." As he moved in for a kiss he could hear her mumbling, "I've always wanted a pet name..."
"You're makin' me sick!" The voice was deep and gruff and very angry, and sounded unfortunately quite healthy.
Andamo opened his eyes, pulling back away from Sarah's lips only a fraction as he peered past the two lit candles. The man in a dark blue suit and hat, with rain dripping off his shoulders and hat brim, had to weigh 250 pounds at least, and very little of that was going to be fat judging by the way the suit fit him.
"Perhaps you would feel better if you sat down atta 'nother table." Andamo offered. He could feel Ruby's breaths quicken, her rib cage fighting the hold he had on her torso. A second later the big bruiser was reaching into the booth, dragging Sarah's free hand, and her with it, out onto the floor. She'd been drinking and couldn't get her feet under her fast enough and ended up on her knees, crying out at the painful wrench against her arm.
"Hey!" Andamo shouted, and the man responded by dropping Ruby's arm, his hand almost making a move into his breast pocket. Keeping his palms empty and in the open Andamo moved out of the booth on the other side of the table. "Whattar you doin' to the poor girl, she's just havin' dinner."
"She shouldn't be havin' it with you, squirt."
Andamo had intentionally stayed just out of reach of the big man, and he could see across the now mostly empty restaurant, the concerned face of his friend Antonio peering from around the curtain that separated the bar from the rest of the joint.
"Excuse me, but I think tha's de lady's choice.." He protested before he stepped past the interloper and bent to help Sarah up, seating her on the booth again. Her rough introduction to the floor had torn two holes in her stockings at the knees, and her face, under the flop of her upset hair, was wet with tears. "You're makin' the lady cry..." Andamo muttered, gathering a napkin from the table and handing it to her.
"I oughta make her bleed..." The man grumbled then clamped rough hands down on Andamo's jacket, pulling him away from Sarah. A flash of anger went through the Latino. He didn't put up with bullies, and wasn't about to let himself get pushed around by this one. He'd already seen the man start to reach for what could only be a piece in a shoulder holster, and with the big man's hands occupied dragging him around, Andamo saw his chance. Reaching a hand into the man's jacket he found the warm grip of a gun, pulled it out and went limp in the man's grasp.
The sudden weight surprised the big guy and he dropped his burden, only to find the Latino now armed, and looking a whole lot meaner than he had before. As Andamo got his feet underneath him again the big guy stared at the little pistol in the smaller man's hand, then tried to reach for his shoulder holster, only to find it empty.
"Hey...that's my gun!" He shouted surprised.
Andamo nodded. "You got it, fella."
"W-what are you gonna do, huh?"
Andamo smiled grimly, shrugging a little as he switched the gun to his left hand and reached his right out towards Sarah.
"Can you get up, sweetheart?" He asked, not taking his eyes away from the ugly mug of the bruiser that had ruined an otherwise perfect first date.
He heard Sarah wetly whisper, "I think so..." and waited until he felt her grab his hand before he pulled her behind him.
"Da girl an' I are gonna leave." He said. "We aren't fond of your rude behavior. You wanna get this gun back you come out to Lucky's place, eh? An' you better come peaceful, buddy, or you're gonna be swimmin' back to shore, you unnerstand?"
As he and Ruby pinwheeled around the men, Andamo gesturing the girl to go ahead of him to the door, the Latino watched the big man's eyes closely.
Some bullies were facades. Nothing more than a big man trying to get ahead by stepping on little people. Usually they fell flat, like a fallen crepe, when met with a victim that fought back.
Others weren't just bullies, they were tyrants. If a victim pushed back, they responded by burying their target in the ground. The hard way.
Andamo was just a little afraid that this man, whoever he was, was one of the latter. Soon as they were both sober, he and Sarah would have to talk about it. They backed most of the way out of Lombardi's, Andamo nodding to Antonio before they ducked out the door. Already the doorman had a cab waiting for them and Andamo was careful to leave a sizeable tip for him. His meal, he knew, would be charged to the account he shared with Lucky.
The cabby turned, staring a little wide-eyed at the gun before Andamo tucked it into his jacket pocket and tried giving the man a friendly smile. "Take us to the docks, eh?"
"No! No Andamo, please, it'll only mean trouble."
"What? You can't swim, Ruby?" Andamo asked, pulling the still weepy girl against him. He felt her melt against his chest and rubbed her arm covered with goose pimples. "Listen we got a nice boat, with a warm bed, and nothin' but the sound of the sea and the waves to wake up to. You gonna like it, I promise." He soothed, watching the door of Lombardi's until the cab pulled out onto the street.
The next morning dawned windy and cool, or so Lucky read in the newspaper that he cracked at a more reasonable hour like noon. His breakfast had been spread out over a table on the deck of the ship, a single chair waiting on the other side for his partner who hadn't yet risen. Lucky wasn't terribly surprised. He knew that his partner usually took his nights off on shore, and sometimes the night off became a morning of possibilities. He wished the man the best and thought little else of it.
The smells of the bacon, eggs, coffee, toast and fruit mixing with the salt from the sea and the crispness of the breeze gave Lucky a satisfying, All American feeling of wholesomeness that he was rarely permitted to experience in his line of work. He knew that at least some of that feeling was coming from the memory of his evening spent with Maggie. She too was still abed, but he let her sleep, knowing that she was one of those women that refused to be seen by her man when she first awakened.
A soft, feminine yawn greeted his ears a moment later and Lucky smiled behind the newspaper, hearing the bare footsteps approach the table.
"I'm surprised..." he teased, flicking the newspaper straight before he turned the page. "I would have expected you to sleep well until two."
A sleepy voice said, "Hmm? Two?"
She sounded a little groggy, Lucky thought, his brow creasing before he reached out a hand for his cup of coffee. When he encountered nothing but air he dropped the paper, looked to the empty saucer, then up to the dark-haired woman dressed in one of Andamo's robes, draining his coffee cup dry.
"Who are you?" He asked, surprised, wincing as his question startled the young woman, and she choked on the last of the coffee, her hand flying up to her mouth. Lucky caught the coffee cup before it could drop and brought the empty chair at the table around so that the young lady could sit, waiting until the coughing fit had subsided. "Are you alright?"
"Yes.." the girl answered, her hand still pressed against her throat where Lucky noticed a flash of gold and red. "I'm terribly sorry I...I thought that this was Andamo's boat."
"Oh!" Lucky smiled, delighted that Andamo had finally brought one of his paramours back to the boat instead of secreting them away. It showed a sort of confidence that Lucky had been hoping to see in his partner for some time. "Well it is. Part of it anyway. My name is Lucky. I'm Andamo's partner." Lucky put out his hand and waited for the young lady to give him her name, noticing the bruise on her wrist a second later.
"My name is Sarah Lombardi...Andamo...he started calling me Ruby. Um.."
Lucky kept hold of her hand, gently turning her wrist so that he could get a closer look at the black and blue mark before Sarah tried to withdraw.
"You and Andamo were...on the town last night?" Lucky asked, placing an empty cup and saucer before the girl before he reached for the coffee decanter.
Sarah watched the stream of coal-black liquid as it spilled into the delicate china cup, nodding quietly, tucking her bottom lip under her top teeth. "He brought me here. I thought he was you...or you were him. I didn't mean to intrude on your..." She quietly pointed to the newspaper Lucky had put to the side, watching as the tall dark-haired man gallantly provided her with the sugar dish and the cream, giving him a quiet 'thank you' in response.
Lucky watched her plunk three sugar cubes and a teaspoon of milk into the brew. "You didn't intrude," he said, smiling. "I never mind being interrupted by a beautiful lady. Although I'm surprised Andamo would let you near me alone."
The look that Sarah gave him in response was mildly surprised with just a touch of fear mixed in and Lucky chuckled, wondering where this odd little duck had come from, and why Andamo hadn't said anything about her before.
"Don't worry my dear, Andamo is just protective of the girls that he likes."
To his surprise Sarah nodded emphatically to the statement. "Oh he proved that last night. My goodness, Mr. Lucky."
"Just...Lucky. Proved how?"
"Well that...my...um..." Her response dwindled to nothing and she quickly buried her nose in the coffee cup, looking at anything but the tall dark restaurant owner.
The conversation stalled and Lucky watched the young girl set her cup down and stare over the jumble of dishes to the plate of bacon just out of reach. "You've already joined me for coffee, would you care for breakfast?" Lucky offered, getting a wide-eyed nod of agreement.
As he helped her help herself Lucky tried to come up with a word that would describe the peculiar girl. Not shy. She was far from it. Clearly she would take advantage of an opportunity if it was placed before her. She was...hesitant, perhaps? Innocent? No there was something about this Sarah that told Lucky she had been around the block more than once.
Reserved? Dressed in a man's robe, on that same man's boat, readily eating breakfast with that man's partner? Hardly, reserved.
Cautious...that was the word. She was cautious in everything she did.
Lucky got little else in the way of conversation out of her for the rest of the meal. She seemed to relax as they ate, though, enjoying the sea breeze and the sun as it appeared through the clouds, content to watch the city from three miles away.
When 1:30 rolled around, breakfast had been cleared from the table and the restaurant had begun to buzz with the voices of Lucky's staff returning for the start of the evening's preparation. Lucky was surprised to find no Andamo at his side. Sarah still sat at the table at which they had eaten breakfast now in quiet conversation with Maggie as the two waited for the launch.
Lucky approached, moving behind Maggie to place a fond kiss against her neck before he squinted at Sarah, now dressed in the evening clothes she had been wearing the night before. Lucky remembered vaguely hearing Maggie say something about being glad she always carried a spare pair of stockings.
"Miss Lombardi, did Andamo return with you last night?" Lucky asked.
Blinking in surprise the young lady looked around her then said, "Of course. I couldn't have made it here on my own. I thought...doesn't Andamo live here?"
Lucky blinked, feeling Maggie shift against him in surprise. "You didn't know?" Maggie asked, then placed a hand gently on Sarah's forearm. "When did you two meet, dear?"
"Last night." Sarah said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Lucky had to admit he was proud of his partner, if a little surprised. The look Maggie gave him was less prideful and more concerned. "Will someone be worrying about you, dear?"
"My brother introduced us, if anyone is more protective of me than Andamo was last night, its my brother."
"Last night...what...Miss Lombardi, what happened last night?" Lucky asked sitting on the other side of Maggie as he leaned towards Sarah. In the distance he heard the approaching belch of the launch horn coming along side.
"My fiancé tried to hurt me.." Sarah said, a little meekly, retreating from the intense looks that Maggie and Lucky were giving her.
"You're fiancé!" Lucky said loudly.
"Antonio, my brother, he's told Lou a hundred times that I don't want to marry him. But Lou don't wanna listen. He wants to marry me so he can take Papa's business. Make it a front for his business. He's a-"
"Don't bother, Miss Lombardi, I have a feeling I know what Lou's business is." Lucky said, eyeing the smoke stack of the launch that bobbed a few inches above the canvas and pipe partition that lined the deck of the Fortuna II. He had the feeling that Andamo was not only still in the city, but also in a whole lot of trouble. What else could have kept Andamo from his two favorite past times, having a woman and chasing a woman.
"Lucky, is Andamo in trouble?" Maggie asked, sensing the tension in the man she loved, intuitively.
"That's very likely Maggie, and we will be too if word gets around that she's aboard. The two of you better get below and lock yourselves in my cabin until I say different." Lucky said, knowing that he could be overreacting, but sincerely doubting it, all at the same time.
Thankfully, this time, Maggie didn't argue. With her own brand of plucky stoicism she stood and gathered Sarah's hand, pulling the girl with her across the deck to the stairway that would take them down below, even as Lucky turned to the man who had been his lead croupier and was now his head waiter. "Joe, keep things running while I'm gone, and don't let anybody on board that you don't recognize. If any boat approaches that isn't the launch, call the police."
The young man stiffened in surprise but nodded with a steady look, watching as Lucky tripped quickly down the gang ladder and ordered the launch to shore.
Andamo woke wet and cold and in pain. It started with his head, looped around his left eye, drilled through his jaw on the left side and snapped at the split lip. His shoulders had been supporting his weight for just a little too long, his wrists, high above his head, were tied AND cuffed. His host wasn't the type of man to take any chances. Andamo's feet just barely touched the floor.
The guys the big man had in his employ had done their heavy bag work on Andamo's ribs, bruising them evenly, the way you would a tough cut of steak.
The Latino knew that coming back to shore after he dropped Sarah off at the boat would be a bad idea. Why he hadn't listened to his own sane advice he didn't know. It could have been the wine, God was he thirsty. Or maybe his natural dislike for bullies and the small amount of bravado he'd built up, successfully dodging the jerk in the restaurant.
He had underestimated how badly the big man wanted his gun back. The tall guy, named Lou according to his goons, had been waiting with three or four of his cronies outside Lombardi's rear door. Andamo didn't know if they were there to catch him, or to harass Antonio or his papa. They hadn't been that choosy and the fight had ended almost before it began with a right hook to the Latino's eye and a solid whack from a sap to the head.
The beating he'd taken, hanging from a pipe in some sort of cellar, had begun when he woke, and apparently ended when he passed out again, unable to breathe. No one had asked questions, made threats, or demanded money. Just a beating that the big man watched, seeming to enjoy it a little too much.
Andamo took it, doing his best to fight back at first, then finally concentrating on keeping his mouth shut. He had the feeling that Lou wanted to him scream, and Andamo had never been a screamer.
Now, though, he was starting to wonder if screaming to get it over with, wouldn't have been the wiser course.
As he breathed in, his lungs restricted by the tension on his arms, he could tell that nothing had been broken...yet.
He didn't know what this had to do with Sarah, if anything. A small part of him wondered why his so-called friend, Antonio, hadn't warned him that the dream girl he was introducing him to had a brutish admirer with a sadistic streak.
"Hey!" Andamo shouted at the closed door thirty feet in front of him. He had to rest for a moment to work up enough breath again, and the desperate need for a cigarette hit him next. "I'm awake again, you can come in and intimidate me somemore if you want."
Lucky would have glared at him and told him to shut his mouth if he were in the room, Andamo realized. Good ol' American smarts that he was slowly inheriting from his partner. But Lucky wasn't there, and Andamo was never terribly patient. He wanted to get out of there, and to get answers, and would take either one first, so long as it happened in short order.
No one came barreling down the hall beyond the door so Andamo tried again. "Hey Fists! Da one with the broken nose and the cali-flower ears!" Talking hurt, breathing hurt, but if he rested enough between sentences he could come up with something truly clever and re-catch his breath all at the same time. "Come on, fellas! Is not polite to leave a guy hangin' around."
"Tu madre come tierra en un buen día, el estiércol en una mala." He called, as loudly as he could manage this time, before he closed his eyes tight against the spots swimming in front of the light over the door, and concentrated on breathing.
That, finally, seemed to have caught someone's attention, and while he doubted that the five foot seven goon who answered the door could speak English, he hoped he would get the chance to translate. The man who opened the metal door was dressed in a white shirt, suspenders and trousers rolled up at the cuffs. His shoes were scuffed and dirty and there was a mustard stain on his shirt, that didn't go with anything. Worse it was yellow mustard, the peon of all mustards.
Andamo shook his head carefully, ashamed for the man. "You wanna call your boss in here, so he can beat me up again maybe?" He asked, realizing that the dizziness that he thought was only because of the beating, might also be coming from the lack of food and water for what had to have been over nine hours.
The ugly little man smirked under the shadow of his hat...a man wearing a hat in a building without a jacket, what was America coming to, Andamo wondered. The man who Andamo was now determined to call Mustard stepped into the room, right into one of the puddles of water that had remained after the last dousing of water that Andamo had suffered. "I was you, I wouldn't talk so much, Spick." he growled.
"Spick!?" Andamo's lip curled, on the non-split side, as he chuckled lightly. "You must be the creative one, eh? Hey I got an idea, you bring in a table and some cards, and I'll show you a nice card trick or two...real impressive with the ladies."
The Latino had just enough leverage against the ground that he could start himself rocking back and forth against the pipe from which he hung. If he was subtle enough about it he could probably work up a good deal of momentum before Mustard noticed. If only it didn't hurt so much...
"You just don't know when to shaddup do ya?" Mustard asked stepping further into the room and smacking a fist against an open palm. Andamo remembered him from earlier, standing in the about the same spot, enjoying the show but not participating beyond getting the occasional bucket of water. He wasn't Cali-flower-ears and didn't look like a fighter. Andamo pushed himself back and let his body swing forward, forcing the muscles in his shoulders and arms into action.
"Well ya know, when you're blessed with a mouth you might as well use it...hey you know you got somethin' on your shirt there." Mustard sneered at him, but made the fatal mistake of looking down at his shirt, not seeing the stain.
Andamo swung again, this time testing the rope and cuffs by lifting himself off his feet. The pipe held without so much as a creak. Bad on the one hand, good on the other.
"No..it's on the other side. No higher..." Andamo sighed, his voice still laid back, almost helpful as he swung again. "Come closer, I'll show you." He said and grinned inwardly as the hired dope did just that.
As soon as he was close enough Andamo swung back, pulled up with his arms, kicked out with his feet, and felt the heel of his shoe connect solidly with Mustard's chin. Before the man went down Andamo wrapped his legs around Mustard's neck, locking his ankles together. At first Mustard struggled, trying to get out a call for help that sounded more like a man drowning in a bowl of soup.
Andamo kept his legs tight around the man's airway until his struggles stopped and he let the gangster, for what else could he be, slump to the floor.
The next few minutes were filled with Andamo's labored breathing as he stared at the unconscious man on the ground, wondering what he was going to do now with a body and his hands still cuffed above his head. The pipe was solid, unfortunately, and attached to the ceiling where it ran up, to another part of the building he was trapped in. The elbow joint that he hung from curved into another straight pipe that ran parallel to the floor for about fifteen feet, then met another elbow joint, this one connecting with a vertical pipe that went to waist level, then elbowed into the wall.
If he stepped up on the back of the unconscious goon in front of him he could easily get the rope and the cuffs over the seal of the elbow joint and slide down to where the pipe was closer to the floor.
"See Andamo..." The Latino said to himself, stepping hurriedly on the spongy body in front of him, before he slid along the length of the horizontal pipe. "Some people are born Lucky, some people just gotta earn it."
Lucky went to Lombardi's first, not surprised to see the place still closed. Most joints like that were closed on Sunday's for the whole day, unlike his restaurant that opened at six. The Lombardi's were probably devout Catholic's and he imagined that they had trooped to morning mass bright and early. Now, they should've been home, but no matter how many times he rang the bell to the second floor apartment, he didn't get an answer.
Frustrated he went to the employee entrance in the back alley, shuffling through the wind-blown debris and knocking on the flimsy door. It opened easily about two feet before it caught on something that scraped metallically against the wooden floor. Lucky felt his stomach jump, his hands growing cold as he drew the gun he'd grabbed from the launch out of his jacket pocket.
"Antonio!" He called into the darkened hall that would lead to the kitchen. "Papa Lombardi!"
No sounds greeted him, but just the same Lucky entered slowly, sinking into a crouch as soon as he was in the door, flashing the barrel of the gun behind the door and down the hall before he looked at what was stopping its progress.
The floor slanted up away from the entrance, a sign of its age and use. Anything caught between the bottom of the door and the wood paneling would act like a door stop. The blood spattered, broken, gold wrist chain was instantly very familiar to him.
"Hold it'a right there, Mister! Put down'a the gun or...I'll...I'll shoot you!" The voice came from the kitchen, the speaker still out of sight.
"Antonio!?" Lucky called back, squinting into the dark.
"Signore Fortunato?"
"Yeah, Tony, it's me." Lucky said, careful still not to move yet, until he noticed that the weapon Antonio had been threatening him with from behind his cover was an oversized spatula. Lucky sighed and stood, tucking his gun away. "Are you alone here?"
"I'ma here too, Lucky!" Papa cried from the kitchen.
"What are you two doing? Where's Andamo?"
Both men quietly moved into the hallway, looking as cautious and frightened as Sarah had looked on the Fortuna II. "Andamo's not with you?" Tony asked, pointing the spatula at Lucky.
"He come'a here last'a night. Wanted us to tell'a him about the man'a that come in. Tony was not'a here. I tell Andamo, don'ta worry. Have'a good night'a with Sarah. Andamo say, "Wheres'a Tony?" I say, "I don't'a know." And Andamo leave." Papa explained carefully avoiding the increasingly furious look that this son was giving him.
"Andamo came'a here last night, and you send him away? You send'a him away!?" Tony screeched, breaking into an angry stream of Italian, punctuated by the long spatula in his hands. His father responded just as heatedly, jabbing with a pointed finger until Lucky shouted, "Finita!"
Both men turned to the tall man in the doorway, Papa looking mildly abashed as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. A second later Tony did the same thing, unaware of how much it made him look like his father.
"When did Andamo leave?" Lucky demanded.
"Two o'clock'a.." Papa said, freeing one of his hands to waive it in the air uncertainly, before it returned to its place.
"Who is this Lou, and where can I find him?" The looks of astonishment on the faces of both men would have been something for the books if Lucky hadn't been so concerned about his friend and partner. Before they could answer he closed the door behind him and approached them, his height alone working as enough intimidation to convince father and son that he wasn't going to leave without all of the answers that he came for.
The pipe wasn't going to give. Andamo had cursed and struggled and pulled and pushed. He had kicked at the elbow joint, mostly catching his hands. He had tugged, rubbing his wrists raw and managing to break the rope in the process, but the elbow joint wasn't going to budge, and the other end of the pipe was buried in a cement square.
Seated on the cool floor, his feet braced against the brick wall, resting his sore and complaining ribs, Andamo gasped quietly. "What I wouldn't give for a hacksaw...I wonder if they come in a 30 regular..." Gritting his teeth he gave another pull, resisting the urge to stop when he felt the cuffs once more biting into his raw and now bleeding wrists. The sound of voices and footsteps approaching rapidly ended his attempt.
He barely had enough time to get to his feet, forcing the cuffs down the length of the overhead pipe to the elbow he had originally been suspended from. He slumped, feigning unconsciousness over top the body of the goon he'd knocked out, seconds before the door swung open.
He opened his eyes enough so that he could see part of the room through his lashes and watched Lou launch into the open space, a fat cigar in his mouth. The big man stopped when he spotted his crumbled lackey on the floor. He turned a sneer towards the Latino, then jerked his hand at the two goons behind him. "Get 'im down from there, tie him up in my office."
Both men responded with a shaky, "Yes Boss" that gave Andamo the impression that Lou was angrier than usual. Now was probably not the time to attempt to make his escape. The two goons weren't terribly gentle with him as they stepped up on a box to unlock the cuffs. They both noticed the rope, but decided not to mention that it was missing to Lou. A wise choice, Andamo thought, as he was lifted and carried out of the room.
Neither of the goons seemed to care that they were digging bony fingers into his bruised ribs, and before they could get him to the stairs Andamo 'came around', moaning and mumbling, but getting his feet under him to avoid the unnecessary painful jabs as much as possible.
He would have tried to make a break for it at the top of the stairs if another goon hadn't been there, with gun in hand, ready to shoot him if he tried anything.
Andamo was led down a hall and into a large carpeted office where he was thrown into a straight-backed chair, his hands tied behind his back, even though he was still cuffed.
A glass of water was splashed into his face, a hand slapping his bruised jaw until he opened his eyes, and after a moment bit at the hand slapping him. The goon jerked his hand back, then went to slug Andamo, the move halted by Lou's voice shouting 'no' from just outside the door.
"No...you boy's had your opportunity last night and did a spit-poor job of it too."
Andamo, still feigning grogginess, rolled his head so that he could look at Lou, feeling the adrenaline kick in hard as the man jerked off his coat. The muscles on his arms were barely contained by the sleeves of the man's shirt, and his forearms were about the size of a ham roast.
"No boys, it's my turn now." Lou grumbled, his voice enjoying the prospect way too much for Andamo's comfort. Lou put out a hand, clenching the Latino's jaw and forcing brown eyes to meet his.
"I was hoping that last night's fun would scare you away from Sarah." Lou grit his teeth, the pointer and middle fingers of his right hand coming towards Andamo's nose, crooked at the knuckles.
Before the smaller man could think to try to move away, Lou had pinched Andamo's nose between two powerful knuckles and twisted. Andamo heard a crack and felt pain slicing into his brain, blinding him with white light, then exploding, as a gush of warm blood filled his mouth. He didn't have time to breathe, let alone scream, and had only enough sense to lean forward so that he didn't drown.
His eyes were streaming with tears, saliva and blood running out of the corner of his mouth, by the time the pain died enough for him to think again. When he could finally see in color, instead of black and mostly white, Andamo spat blood from his mouth, even that motion sending spikes of pain into his skull.
Lou had backed away at some point, perching on the edge of his desk with a satisfied smirk on his face. Andamo glared at him, then closed his eyes and tried to avoid gagging on the taste of the blood still trickling down the back of his throat.
"Big man..." He spat, littering the carpet with more crimson stained spittle. "Beating up on a little guy...tied to a chair. Joo guys gonna be afraid of him?" Andamo asked, turning his head to look at the two goons that had paled, standing a few feet behind him. "Big man...sure...cruel. But too afraid to fight you, unless he's got you chained to a pipe or tied to a chair!"
The accusation of cowardess had Lou on his feet again, angry, steaming and raising a giant fist. It took everything in Andamo's power not to flinch away from it.
Somehow, something stopped Lou. He stood huffing like a bull for a second before a wicked smile took over. Then he laughed, a sound that made Andamo sick. Sicker than he was already after being forced to swallow so much of his own blood.
"He's got a point boys. The situation just isn't fair now is it? Untie him, take the cuffs off." And Lou started rolling up his sleeves.
Lucky hadn't wanted to take the time to get the police, but the more that Papa and Antonio told him about this Lou character, who he was connected to, and worse, who he aimed to be once he'd gotten rid of the middle man, Lucky knew going into the man's hideout and stronghold without at least ten armed policemen would only be a great way to get himself and Andamo killed.
Convincing Lt. Rovac would have taken time, however, that Lucky knew Andamo didn't have, so instead he got creative.
The place that Lou Cossentino called home was a section of the Bronx rumored to be ripe with filth, the lowdown and the desperate. It only took about an hour of scouting and questioning the eager (for money that is) locals to locate the exact address and confirm that it was, in fact, occupied.
Lucky knew this only because he was standing on the street corner at precisely the right moment to watch a man answering to Lou's description, duck into the building with a handful of rowdies.
From there it was three blocks to the phone booth (the first working one anyway) where Lucky made an anonymous phone call to the police station reporting a bank robbery in progress at that address.
Just to be sure, he made a second and third call to the police claiming that there was also a fire consuming the buildings on the block with children trapped on the top floor, AND a woman having a baby in the building.
If that didn't get someone's attention, Lucky was prepared to call in and leave the phone off the hook while he screamed bloody murder. But a distant police siren confirmed that help was on the way and Lucky went back to the building ducking into the door he had seen Lou enter and traveling cautiously down the empty, and darkened hallway, the gun once more in his hand.
The first thing Andamo wanted to do once his hands were free was inspect the damage to his nose. It felt like it had grown to twice its size in seconds. But Andamo knew better than to touch it and instead rose from the chair, hoping the fuzz in his head would clear, raising his fists as he watched Lou windmill his.
"You wanted a fight, Spick? Huh?" Lou menaced, his eyes wide. The man was crazed, and looked like he was going to enjoy beating the Latino to a pulp.
Andamo kept away from him, scanning the room desperately. Neither of the goons appeared to want to help him, but neither were they reaching for their guns in case Andamo, by some miracle, won the fight.
"Not particularly, I just didn't like the odds..." Andamo muttered, drawing in deep breaths and trying to ignore the increased pounding at the front of his face. "Hey. you wanna hear somet'ing funny?" Andamo tried, giving a meek grin before Lou took his first swing. The smaller man easily ducked under it and risked a short jab to the big man's ribs before he backed hurriedly away. The haymaker Lou tried next swung inches away from his swelling nose, and Andamo's jab appeared to have done nothing outside of make Lou even angrier.
"L-like I was saying I heard this joke..." Another swing. Andamo ducked, then drove his head and fists into Lou's belly, finally driving the breath from his lungs, but nearly blacking out from the pain it had sparked. He scrambled away, desperately grasping for oxygen, temporarily blinded. "S'joke about...a nun...taking a bath..."
The sentence was cut off when Andamo felt Lou wrap his arms around his chest, limbs and all, a vice instantly closing against his bruised ribs, that tightened fast and hard cutting off his air and threatening to break the weakened bones. Blood was rushing to his face and with it the darkness that had been hovering behind his eyes. Andamo kicked out desperately with his legs, feeling the heel of a shoe connect with something soft and delicate. He was seconds from blacking out when he heard Lou shout and felt himself fall, managing to throw out his hands and stop himself from going face first into the carpet.
Before he could move again, a foot stomped down on his right ankle, grinding his knee into the floor and turning his leg in way it wasn't meant to go. The minute the foot lifted Andamo rolled hard to the left, his back hitting the legs of the desk before he scrambled desperately under it.
Then the door swung open and a loud angry voice shouted, "Hold it, Lou, I'll shoot!"
Apparently Lou wasn't interested in holding it and a second later a single shot rang out.
Something was definitely wrong with his leg, but Andamo managed to get it underneath him, using his elbows to drag himself up until he could see over the desk. Lucky stood just inside the door, his eyes focused on Lou who was rolling around on the carpet moaning. The other two goons in the corner had thrown their hands in the air, apparently not interested in arguing with the gun in Lucky's hand.
"They got guns, Lucky." Andamo managed weakly.
Lucky snapped his attention to the goons and motioned with the gun. "Throw 'em down, boys. Right now, and get over there."
As the lackeys did as they were told Lucky slowly moved across the room, rounding the desk and bending so that he could slip an arm under Andamo's armpits and around the front of his chest, lifting the younger man up until he could slide into the cushioned office chair behind Lou's desk.
Lucky kept his left arm under Andamo's left shoulder, his hand resting against the right side of Andamo's face. Lucky's right arm crossed over the left, holding the gun pointed on the two lackey's standing quietly in the corner.
"Hey Lucky!" Andamo sighed happily, turning bleary eyes towards the man who apparently hadn't bothered to shave before coming to his rescue.
Lucky turned his attention briefly to his partner, offering a concerned smile in return, shocked at his partner's appearance. "Hey Andamo..."
The Latino man's breathing was slowing a little, and Lucky kept his finger near the man's pulse, just in case.
"You wanna hear a joke?" Andamo croaked, his eyelids fluttering a little as his head rolled against the cushions of the seat.
"Um..." Lucky's eyebrow's came together, considering pointing out to his barely conscious friend that perhaps now wasn't the time to be wasting energy on joke telling. But one look told him that Andamo wanted him to say 'yes.' A man's pride was a delicate thing, especially in the face of a beating like the one Andamo had taken, and if Lou's moans were any indication, given right back. Finally Lucky smiled slightly and nodded, "Sure, Andamo."
Andamo grinned weakly and said, 'There's dis nun, an' she's takin' a bath. An' there's a knock at the door-"
Even as Andamo continued there was a knock on the door of the office, Lt. Kovac of the New York Police Department thrusting his head, and the barrel of his drawn weapon into the room. He didn't seem at all surprised to see Lucky and Andamo in charge of the situation.
"...and the nun says. "Who is it?" Andamo's voice creaked as he pitched it higher, a wince briefly marring his grin, before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And the man says, "It's the blind man." Andamo opened his eyes, enough for the brown orbs to tilt in Lucky's direction. "And the nun says, "Well come on in and tell me your troubles."" Andamo's grin was wider now, even as his energy waned, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And the man comes in, and looks at da nun, and says, "Wow!" Then he says, "Where should I hang the blinds!?"" A whisper of a laugh came out of Andamo's mouth, stained with the blood from his broken nose, but a reassuring sound to Lucky's ears.
He laughed too. The joke was dirty, in every way classic Andamo humor, and a sign to Lucky that once the bruises and broken bones healed, the essence of what made Andamo his best friend and partner, would remain wholly intact.
"That's funny, Andamo." Lucky said, grinning at the wounded man, intent on keeping his arm against the younger man's chest until the medics arrived.
"Dat's a good one, huh?" Andamo asked, his voice remaining quiet, despite the proud grin on battered lips. "You want another one?"
"Another one!?" Lucky asked, surprised. "Sure I'll take another one."
"Too bad." Andamo said, pleased with himself. "That's it."
"And that's all?"
"And that's all." Andamo nodded.
"You're a nut." Lucky laughed, shaking his head.