"Destroyer 004 - Mafia Fix.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

And thus it went in the caravan of rented limousines. Health, weather, the family. The big innovative discussion came when Guglielmo Marconne, or Apples Donnelly as he was known from time to time, told Vittorio Pallellio that "you can't get a good steak in Miami Beach." They were in the fourth car from the front. Guglielmo Marconne was from Duluth and Vittorio Pallellio was from Miami Beach.

"We got good steaks," said Vittorio Pallellio. "Maybe you didn't look in the right places."

"I looked in the right places, Don Vittorio."

"You didn't look in the right places, Guglielmo."

"I looked in the Boca Del Sol."

"The Boca Del Sol doesn't have good steaks."

"I looked in-what's the name of that place that looks like a shlock furniture store?"

"That's the whole city, Guglielmo."

"I didn't get a good steak there, either. And I didn't get a good one in the Boca Del Sol."

"The Boca Del Sol doesn't have good steaks, Guglielmo."

"I know that. I got a bad steak there."

And so the small talk went among the representatives from Dallas and New Orleans, Chicago and Rochester, Portland and Kansas City, Cleveland and Columbus, Cincinnati, Louisville, Denver, Phoenix, Norfolk, Charleston, Las Vegas, San Francisco, Philadelphia and Wheeling.

Downtown went the caravan which, because the rented limousines were not all the same color, did not look like a caravan. Only Don Dominic Verillio knew the destination and every so often he would tell the driver to turn here and turn there, always careful not to lose the cars behind. Finally, before a small art shop in Greenwich Village, Don Dominic Verillio signaled his driver to stop.

He jumped out, opening the door for Pietro Scu-bisci, Francisco Salvatore and Fat O'Brien, saying "no time for formalities. No time."

The driver, Willie the Plumber Palumbo, also jumped out and, checking a wad of bills in his pocket, ran into the little boutique art store with the dresses and paintings in front.

Almost as soon as he opened the door, he said, "There is a strawberry scene here I want to buy for $5,000."

"Into the back room," Don Dominic Verillio told his guests. "Just go into the back."

To each car that stopped, he said, "The back room. The back room."

Within forty-five seconds, he was following the last man into the art shop, the sign above which read "Eve Flynn."

The attractive owner was still talking to Willie the Plumber. "Oh, my dear," she said. "So many people at once. This is wonderful. I always knew it would happen like this."

Her flaming red hair bounced as she threw back her head and rammed a hand on an outstretched hip, clad in paint-splattered blue jeans.

"This pitcher here by the door," said Willie the Plumber. "Right here. Dis one. Here is the money. But first I wanna know watcher modi . . . modi . . . what's the word, moderation is."

"Motivation," said the woman.

"Yeah. What dat is and how you tink of ya'self in de relativition of let's say Goggin."

"Gaugin?"