Karras watched Stefanos smile with the others as he snicked the hammer back on the .38. Stefanos had the only gun, and Costa had the cheap Italian knife. The two of them might get Reed and Recevo on a very lucky day. Six was covered by Medium, who would shoot him dead where he sat and then move on the others. And then there was the Welshman, standing surefooted and armed against the plate glass. The Welshman would finish anything left standing.
Karras pushed through the swinging doors. He kept his eyes straight ahead, limped across the floor as the men in the room turned their heads.
“Well, look at that,” said Reed.
Recevo tightened his grip on the bottle of beer in front of him. Goddamn you, Pete. Why’d you have to go and come out here, lookin’ like that?
Karras felt their eyes upon him as he bent forward, stepping in front of Stefanos.
“Excuse me, Boss,” he said. “Let me get these dishes out of your way.”
Underneath the counter, Karras put his hand over the revolver’s hammer, gently pulled the gun from Stefanos’s grasp. Keeping his palm over the hammer, Karras squeezed the trigger, released the hammer, eased it back down to the chamber. He slipped the .38 beneath his apron. Karras picked up the bus tray, walked back toward the kitchen.
Stefanos stepped back, pale and shaken. He looked at Recevo and said, very quietly, “I don’t pay protection money. You hear?”
Recevo said, “Sleep on it. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll see what you think about it then.”
Reed and Recevo got off their stools. Medium got off his, buttoned his topcoat.
“You owe for the beers,” said Costa.
“Pay the little man,” said Reed to the Welshman.
The Welshman put a couple of ones on the counter, followed the group out the door. Six locked the door behind them as they left. Costa took the money off the counter, balled it up, threw it in the trash.
Out on the sidewalk. Reed looked back through the window of the store. “We shoulda heated things up a little more,” he said.
“Come on, Reed,” said Medium. “They got the message all right.”
The four of them got into the Olds, Recevo in the driver’s seat and Reed beside him. Recevo turned the key on the ignition, pulled the car onto 14th, swung it around in the middle of the street and headed south.
“How about your boy Karras?” said Reed, his face waxen in the dashboard light. “Big war hero, wearin’ an apron. He don’t look so damn tough anymore, does he?”
Recevo thought of how Karras had come out from the kitchen, cut the fuse that was getting ready to burn right into the powder. The crazy little Greek, the one called Costa, you could see it in his eyes, he was ready to open Reed’s throat, right there in the grill. Yeah, Karras had stopped a lot of blood from flowing back there. But why?
“Didn’t you hear me?” said Reed. He punched Recevo playfully in the shoulder. “Your pal used to think he was really something. Man, I sure did clip that Greek’s wings.”
Recevo looked over at Reed. “Don’t ever touch me like that again, get it? Not even in fun.”
“I was just say in’—”
“I’m don’t care what you were saying.”
“Now wait a minute,” said Reed.
“Wait, nothin’,” said Recevo. “Just keep your mouth shut.”
Nick Stefanos poured ale into the three glasses that sat on the prep table in the kitchen. He opened another bottle of Ballantine, poured again so the levels were even in each glass. Costa took a glass off the table, waited for the others to do the same.
Stefanos held a glass out to Karras. Karras reached out from his stool in the center of the kitchen, took the glass. Stefanos lifted the last glass for himself.
“Siyiam,” said Stefanos, and the three of them drank.
“Ah,” said Costa, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “That’s good.”
Karras fished a pack of Lucky Strikes from his breast pocket, passed it to Stefanos. Stefanos took a cigarette from the deck and passed it back. Karras lighted one for himself, lighted Nick’s.
“I coulda killed the big one with the mean face,” said Costa. “I coulda killed him quick.”
Stefanos let out some smoke. “And then the one by the window would’ve blown you down. Or the guy holding the gun on Six. Either one, it wouldn’t have mattered. Both of them had a clear shot. Right now, you’d be dead.”
“Six,” said Costa. “That mavros. Lot of good he was to us tonight.”
“He did fine,” said Karras. “He handled himself just right. Anyway, it wasn’t his affair.”
“Costa’s right about one thing, Karras. We could’ve stopped all this tonight. Maybe someone might’ve got killed, but at least it would be over. If you hadn’t of stepped in the middle of everything—”
“And saved your life.”
“Maybe you saved your friend’s life, too. I’m talkin’ about the Italos, and don’t you think I don’t know. Maybe that’s what you had in mind the whole time.”
“You’re wrong.” Karras looked down at his cigarette. “Me and Joe are through.”
“Then why’d you stop me? Why’d you take away my gun?”
“Cause you don’t start a gunfight in a storefront on 14th Street unless you’re ready to die or go to jail. You gotta think these things through. It’s like any fight — you gotta pick your spots, and you gotta take a couple to give one. Just cause you take a couple of good shots, it doesn’t mean you’re done. Katalavenis?”
“Sure, Karras. I understand.”
They all had some more to drink then, letting the alcohol relax the tension that had crept into their shoulders and backs. Karras dragged hard on his cigarette, tapped ash to the tiled floor.
Karras said, “Now you have to think about what you’re gonna tell ’em tomorrow when they call.”
“I already know what I’m gonna tell those bastards. This is my place. That’s my name on the sign out front. I take care of my own problems, and I don’t pay no protection money to nobody, goddamn right.”
Costa ran a hand through his wild black hair. “I could’ve killed that bastard quick.”
“They come back,” said Stefanos, “you gonna get your chance.”
23
Peter Karras finished with the glasses and silver, mopped the kitchen, and swept the place out front to back. He washed his face and splashed water under his arms in the warehouse sink, then changed back into his suit and tie. He went out to the front of the house, where Stefanos sat on a stool behind the counter, doing the day’s books, fingering a string of worry beads in his free hand.
“All done,” said Karras.
“Hold on, Karras, I’m gonna be finished here in a minute. I’ll give you a ride.”
“It’s not so cold out,” said Karras. “I think I’ll walk.”
Karras saw Stefanos glance unconsciously at his bum leg. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m all right.” Karras shook himself into his topcoat, patted his breast pocket to check on his cigarettes. “You think real good about what happened tonight, Nick.”
“I already thought about it, Panayoti. Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Voices came from the second floor, a man and a woman screaming at each other unintelligibly, full on. Karras and Stefanos looked up at the pressed tin ceiling, then looked at each other and smiled.
“Costa and Toula,” said Stefanos.
“A couple of lovebirds, those two.”
“Hey, he ain’t seen her all day. They got to get to know each other all over again.”