There's this guy, let's call him a 'friend of mine', I mean we're not friends, he's a bit of a greaseball if I'm honest, but I ain't namin' names so that'll have to do.

Anyway, this guy, he's associated with some people I know, he's not movin' up because... well let's just say his past is holding him back, but he earns good and always kicks up, so the guys who say what's what tolerate him. One of the things that keeps the cashola rolling is his sports book. He calls it that. Actually, he's a middle man for the sports book, he collects the bets and gets a cut from the real bookie. I mean it's pretty small-time, but he has some regulars who go big from time to time and sometimes they don't got the money to cover the bet. So when they got the money he makes money on the vig, when they don't got the money he makes money on the vig for the bet as well as the vig for the loan to cover the bet. The real sweet spot is getting them to take a loan to bet on something that’ll cover the loan they didn't pay off yet if it wins. You followin' all this? If it don’t win, well, when they're there they never leave, they're his forever.

That is until they just stop paying. Then they're a problem that has to be fixed.

I should have told you how I know this. See, this guy sends a kid from the neighbourhood round to tell me he wants to buy me lunch, meet him at this restaurant. I knew it was a place he liked to hang out, I mean he acts like he owns the joint, and I don't mean that in a good way, he's a greaseball, I told you. So, I washed and dressed, and because it's a pretty nice place I put a suit on, a new one, nothing showy, sober, business-like, but expensive because... well, I ain't no greaseball that's why.

We're eatin' and he tells me all this stuff, it's interestin’ but I know he's not buyin' me lunch just to tell me how he makes money, he ain't braggin', well no more than usual; anyway, eventually he gets to the point. He says the business is still small, but it's been growing and it's getting to be more than he can handle on his own, he needs a partner and would I be interested? 

Now I got a few things goin' on, this and that, but this sounds pretty sweet, so yeah, "tell me more". For the right money I can put up with almost anything, including him.

"OK, first things first", says Greaseball while still chewin' his steak, fuckin' animal chews with his mouth open and talks with it full.... "I need to make sure you're cut out for this. I got this errrr.... problem I need taken care of. Take care of it for me, and we'll talk about bringin' you in on the action".

Needs to make sure I'm cut out for this? Who the fuck does he think he's talkin' to? He's lucky I came to meet him, arrogant fuckin' prick.

And that's how it started. There was this guy, a butcher in East Harlem, he'd got himself in to that sweet spot so sweet that he'd had to pull his kid from college because of how much he had to pay Greaseball. Now the kid was back home and tellin' his Pop don't pay. I mean, he was pissed because he's had to quit pre-Law or whatever the hell it's called and now he’s working for the old man.

"Just go round there and straighten them out, the butcher is a big guy, but he's fat and he's spent, there's no fight in him. The kid? He wants to be a lawyer, a real choir-boy from what I hear, how much trouble could he be?"

Let me tell you somethin'. This choir-boy turned out to be a lot of trouble.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the choir-boy.

Well, this sounds like a doozy, so there’s no need to get any of my boys involved, I’m keepin’ this all for me, plus what I have to kick up of course. I get myself over to the butcher shop, and wait around outside for a while, checking who was there. It was just the old man, degenerate gambler that he was, so I strolled all casual-like across the street and walked through the door. There were no customers so as I closed the door behind me I bolted it and turned the sign to 'CLOSED'. This was going to be a piece of cake.

He instantly knew why I was there.

"Ah Ah Ah..... I don't want no trouble" says butcher, "I paid what I owed, but I ain't payin' the interest that shark wants, it's extortion, that's what it is, extortion! I'd rather talk to the cops than pay" all the time he's backing away from me as I walk slowly and purposefully towards him.

"Oh, you're gonna pay the interest, and if you're too slow payin' it you'll be payin' interest on the interest. And you'd better not even think about the cops again or things are gonna get real messy".

I had walked behind the counter now and I was next to the register. I stopped.

"Now, I'm gonna be reasonable. I don't expect you to be able to pay it all today, I mean it's a lotta money, you don't got that sorta dough just layin' around the place"

I leaned in towards the register and pressed the No Sale button. The bell rang out like everything was normal and the cash drawer opened.

"No, no, no, I'm gonna be reasonable. I'm gonna take whatever bills you got in here, just as a show of good faith. You OK wid dat?" there was no reason to let him answer.

"Good, now let's see....... this should almost cover my expenses for comin' to see you, so I'm only gonna add fifty bucks to your bill for that. I suppose it should be more, something to represent the displeasure me and my, err….. associate…. have for this situation, but like I say I'm gonna be reasonable, seein' as how we just met, we're gonna to work out a repayment schedule and you're gonna to stick to it this time".

I started walking towards him again and again he started backing away, he went through the swing door to the prep room at the rear of the store.

I followed him through the door. He was sweating now and running out of space, he was clearly regretting his show of bravado.

At that moment I heard a voice calling out: "Pa..... Pa! I finished the deliveries what's next?"

The door opened and there was a moment where some sunlight came through it, then there was no sunlight because the whole doorway was full of muscle.

Oh shit, did he say "Pa"? This cannot be the choir-boy. It just can't. Lawyers are scrawny little runts with glasses and clipped fingernails. They're not like this.

"What's going on? Wait...... is this who I think it is?" choir-boy says to his old man.

Well what the hell could I do? There's a shop behind me with the door bolted, there's an open door in front of me, if you don't count the gorilla who's currently filling it, the gorilla hates me, and we're surrounded by knives.

I did the only thing I could, I put my head down and I ran as hard as I could at the choir-boy. This needed to be perfect or damn close to it, and the one thing I learned when I was a kid is you don't win brawls by fightin' fair. My head hit his chest knocking him off balance just long enough for me to recover and give him two quick jabs to the mouth then a head-butt to the face. I caught him perfectly, his nose just exploded, blood everywhere!

But he was still blocking my escape. I stepped back trying to think of my next move. He looked at me like I was Satan himself, like I was the only reason he was delivering meat instead of studying law, I mean forget that his old man was a Goddam degenerate who couldn't stop himself from betting on two drops of water running down a window on a rainy day, I was to blame. I could see it all in his eyes, the hatred, the resentment, the pain. Blood was pumping from his nose, covering his lips and teeth. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing his cheek, and he starts walking towards me. He picks up a cleaver and starts lifting it over his head, ready to bury it in mine. Let me tell you, this was not a pretty picture.

I had to shoot him, seriously, what else could I do? And then I had to shoot the butcher because he's seen me shoot his son and I don't want to spend the rest of my life lookin' over my shoulder for him tryin' to avenge his boy. And I sure as hell didn’t want him calling the cops the second I walked out the door. I had no choice. No choice at all.

But now I got a problem. I got two bodies and I'm covered in blood from the exploding nose. I mean have you ever had a nose just burst on your face? There's a lot of blood. I need a plan.

I must have sat there for an hour, thinking, smoking, hoping no-one would come through the back door or wonder why the shop was closed. I was about to light yet another cigarette when something struck me. That greaseball knew all along this was going to be a problem. He didn't want to ask the Big Man for help, and he sure as hell couldn't do it on his own, and he couldn't trust a couple of goons not to mess it up completely. He'd sent me in here to either take care of Junior, or at the very least to soften him up so he could send some cheap muscle in to finish the job. Either I'd walk out in pieces or I wouldn't walk out. If I was in pieces he’s not expectin’ me to be much use to anyone, and if I didn't walk out at all, well... Either way that son of a bitch is thinking he’s gonna take over my hustles.

That slimy piece of shit!

But I still had a mess all around me. I could just walk away. I wasn't known around here and even if I'd been seen coming in, what was I? Another Italian guy walking in to an Italian butcher on his way home from work. The cops would have thousands of people matching that description. The suit could be a problem, almost everyone round here was blue-collar. And the suit was covered in blood, that's going to draw some attention from even the least inquisitive of men.

I opened the book of matches and struck one ready to light the latest cigarette I’d put in my mouth. Out of habit I used the book and my hand to form a shield around the flame. Something caught my eye, it was the logo of the restaurant Greaseball and I ate lunch in. The place where he was the most regular and well-known customer. The place he treated like he owned. The place he ran his business from. The place the cops always went looking for him when they needed a donation to their fund. The place to which he was completely linked. I laughed as I lit the cigarette. This was going to be his problem again.

I searched around the back rooms of the shop, there were some clothes there. They didn't fit, butcher was fat and the boy was the size of a barn, but they weren't covered in blood, they'd have to do.

I picked up the phone and called the number on the match book, asking for Greaseball when it was answered, "Sure, he's here", I waited.

"Yeah? Who's this?" said Greaseball when he eventually came to the phone, he sounded like the bottle of wine he had brought to the table when we ate lunch was just the first of many that afternoon.

"It's Eggs, listen, that problem you wanted me to deal with, well it's now a different kind of problem, and it's your problem"

"What? What are you talkin' about? I don't know no-one called Eggs! Who the fuck is this?"

"OK, you don't know no-one called Eggs, that's good, because as far as I'm concerned after this I don't know you either, and it will be better for both of us if we keep it that way. But right now you need to fix this problem. Well, actually there are two problems, they're in a shop, you know where, and these two problems ain't goin' nowhere, capiche? You want them to go away"

"Why? Why the hell should I care, how is this my problem?"

"Let's just say that there's something here, and pretty soon someone will find it, and YOU don't want it to be found"

I hung up. I got some brown paper and some string and I wrapped my suit up in a parcel, I put it under my arm and I walked out the back door, stooping down to place the match book in the butcher's mouth on my way.

“Shit” I said to myself. I used my name on the phone, that was stupid. I started to repeat the call in my head. Had I said anything that could finger me in this if anyone was listening? “Don’t be stupid Benny, no-one was listening. Who’d wiretap a butcher’s shop in East Harlem?”.

Who indeed.

So much for a free lunch.