“Not as good as you’d think from what the media says,” he squeaks. “You see … remember what Guido said a second ago about being connected? Well, for a long time, when you first join the Mob, you actually have to pay us … strike that … them instead of the other way around.”
“How’s that again?”
“It’s easier to understand if you think of it as a franchise system. The Mob gives you permission or license to operate, and you give them a share of your profits. You have to give a percentage, say half, to the guy over you, who in turn has to split with the guy over him, and so on right up to the top. Of course, the guys at the top pull down a bundle, since there’s a whole pyramid under them feeding ’em percentages.”
“Wait a minute!” Spyder frowns. ‘The last time I heard something like this, they were trying to get me to sell cosmetics … or was it cleaning products?”
“There are similarities,” Nunzio agrees. “But there are some major differences, too.”
“Like what?”
“Like the cosmetic pyramids don’t break your face or your legs if you try to operate independently,” I sez.
“What I was going to say,” Nunzio sez, glarin’ at me, “was that the cosmetic chains don’t supply you with lawyers, much less alibis, if the authorities take offense at your activities … or your tax reports.”
“Oh yeah?” I bristles, gettin’ a little fed up with Nunzio’s know-it-all attitude. “Well the soapsy folks don’t whack you if they think you’re shortin’ them on their take, either!”
“Well what do you expect ’em to do?” he snaps right back at me. “Have ’em arrested?”