“So disrespectful,” Tony muttered. “Acid in the face. Christ!”
“That reminds me,” Angelo said. “Did you get that battery acid?”
“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. “It’s in Doc Travino’s old doctor’s bag on the backseat.”
“Good,” Angelo said. “Paulie is going to like that. It’s a nice touch.”
Tony stretched. He was quiet for a minute. Then he cleared his throat. “What do you say to my getting out of the car for just a second? I’d like to do a set of push-ups. My shoulders are tight.”
Angelo swore under his breath and told Tony that being in the car with him was like being locked up with a two-year-old kid.
“I’m sorry,” Tony said with arched eyebrows. “I’m used to more activity than this.” Locking his hands together, he did a series of isometric exercises. In the middle of one of these maneuvers he stopped and stared out the side window.
“Holy crap, isn’t that Frankie DePasquale coming along beside us?” Tony said excitedly.
Angelo leaned forward to see around Tony. “It sure looks like him.”
“Finally!” Tony exclaimed as he fumbled to withdraw his gun and reach for the door latch. He felt Angelo’s hand on his arm. He looked at his mentor in surprise.
“Not yet,” Angelo said. “We have to make sure the kid’s alone. We can’t screw this up. It might be our only chance and Paulie doesn’t want more trouble.”
Like an eager hunting dog restraining himself with difficulty from some flushed prey, Tony watched as Frankie DePasquale disappeared into the crowded grocery store. To his surprise, Angelo started the car. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“I’m just backing up a bit,” Angelo explained. “It appears that Frankie is alone. We’ll take him when he comes out again.”
Angelo angled back to the curb at a bus stop. He left the engine running. They waited.
Twenty minutes later, Frankie came out of the store with bundles in both arms. Angelo and Tony watched as he walked directly toward them.
“He looks like a teenager,” Angelo said.
“He is,” Tony said. “He’s eighteen. He was in my sister’s class before he started hanging around with the wrong people and dropped out of school.”
“Now!” Angelo said.
In a flash both Angelo and Tony got out of the car and confronted the surprised Frankie DePasquale. Frankie’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped.
“Hello, Frankie,” Angelo said calmly. “We need to talk.”
Frankie responded by dropping his groceries. The bags split when they hit the wet sidewalk and a number of cans of tomato paste rolled into the gutter. Frankie turned and fled.
Tony was on him in a flash. He grabbed him roughly from behind, knocking him to the pavement. Holding him down, he frisked him quickly, coming up with a small Saturday night special. Tony pocketed the gun, then turned the terrified boy over. Up close, Frankie looked even younger than eighteen. In fact, it didn’t look as if he shaved yet.
“Don’t hurt me!” Frankie pleaded.
“Shut up!” Tony snapped. The kid was such a drip. It was disgusting.
Angelo pulled the car up alongside them. With the engine running he jumped from the car. A few pedestrians had stopped beneath their umbrellas to gawk at the spectacle. Angelo pushed through them.
“All right, move on,” Angelo commanded. “We’re police.” Angelo flashed an old police department badge that he kept in his pocket for just this sort of occasion. The fact that it said Ozone Park when they were currently in Woodside made no difference. It was the shape and the glint of metal that caused the desired effect. The small crowd started to disperse.
“They’re not police!” Frankie yelled.
Tony responded to Frankie’s outburst by putting his Beretta Bantam to the side of Frankie’s head. “One more word and you’re history, kid.”
“In the car,” Angelo commanded.
With Angelo on one side and Tony on the other, they stood Frankie up and dragged him to the car. Opening the rear door and pushing his head down, they shoved him inside. Tony climbed in after him. Angelo ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat. With a screech of rubber they headed west on Roosevelt Avenue.