“It is,” said Stefanos.
“Then I’ll stay, if you don’t mind. Only—”
“What?”
“It’s gonna run you a little overtime.”
Karras tipped his glass back to his lips and drank. The beer felt cool going down his throat.
Bender, the redhaired man, the big dark one, and Sanderson walked into Nick’s shortly after eleven that night. The bell tinkled above the door as they moved in. Bender gave Six the eyeball as he entered, smiled a little to himself. The four of them fanned out. Standing next to Six in his tall white hat, Sanderson looked like a child.
Stefanos sat behind the counter, making entries in a ledger book covered in marbled green leather. He raised his head.
“Mr. Bender,” said Stefanos.
“Mr. Nick,” said Bender, rolling his R just slightly in faint mimicry. “Are we too late?”
“No. I got book work to do, anyhow.”
Bender looked back at Six, chuckled under his breath.
“Your colored man. He looks like he ought to be standing under a tent somewhere. Did he escape from the circus?”
Stefanos did not answer.
“Because I was thinking,” said Bender. “Between your giant shine and my little man Sanderson over here, the two of us have the makings of a freak show.”
Bender laughed. The redhaired man with the bent nose laughed. Even Sanderson’s shoulders jiggled once or twice. The big dark one in the tight suit showed no expression at all.
“Anyway,” said Bender. He pulled a pint bottle from his breast pocket, unscrewed the top, had a drink. “Shall we do a little business?”
“In the back,” said Stefanos.
Bender made a precise wave of his hand in the direction of the kitchen. “After you.”
The four of them followed Stefanos back behind the counter and through the swinging doors. Six listened to the doors crying on their hinges. When the hinges stopped complaining he locked the front door and turned out the lights in the front of the house and extinguished the lighted sign out front. He sat back on the stool, folded his arms across his chest, and stared impassively into the darkness of the grill.
“Just a little bit more,” said Stefanos.
“Hey, get of fa me, mate,” said one of the men. Stefanos guessed it was the big one.
“Christ,” said the redhaired man. “I can’t see nothin’, same as you.”
“I’ll get it in a second,” said Stefanos. “Jus’ gotta find the light, that’s all.”
“Ain’t you got a switch?” said Red Hair.
“I don’t need a switch,” said Stefanos. “...Here we go, I got it. Lemme just turn it a coupla times here.”
Stefanos’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. In outline he saw the figures of the four men converge toward the rear of the warehouse, where a sliver of light came through the doorframe from the lamp in the alley.
Stefanos rotated the bulb clockwise. The connection was made, and a harsh wave of yellow light flooded the room.
Bender was the first to see the men standing before him. Costa stepped off the pallet where he had been standing and onto the concrete floor. Karras and DiGeordano had walked from the bathroom as Stefanos turned the bulb. They stood to the right of him.
Karras kept his eyes locked on Sanderson’s. Sanderson spread his short legs, let his jacket fall open. He blinked spastically, tried to hook a finger in his belt, jumbled the action.
Bender’s thin upper lip twitched. He smiled.
“A surprise. I love surprises, don’t you. Moon?”
He was talking to the big one in the small suit. Moon did not reply. He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest. Red Hair turned his head quickly, saw the padlock on the back door.
“It’s locked, Mr. Bender.”
“Then I guess we’re trapped. Is that it, Mr. Nick? Are we trapped?”
Stefanos untied his apron, let it drop to the floor. He kicked the apron aside. He pulled the pearl-handled Smith & Wesson from the front of his pleated trousers, let his gun hand rest at his side. He snicked back the hammer on the thirty-eight.
Moon reached into his jacket. DiGeordano pulled the three-eighty, put one in the chamber in one fluid motion. He pointed the blue automatic at Moon.
“Hold it, Moon,” said Bender. “We don’t need to get ahead of ourselves here.”
Karras drew the .45 from where he had wedged it in the waistband of his trousers. He flicked off the safety, pulled back on the receiver.
“Now,” said Bender, “this isn’t too sporting, is it? You’ve all pulled your firearms before we’ve had a chance to talk. Except you, of course.” He smiled at Costa. “My, you’re a little fellow, too, aren’t you?”
Costa made a step toward Bender.
“Costaki,” said Stefanos, and Costa stayed put.
The naked bulb stopped swinging on its cord; the light settled evenly in the room.
Bender reached into his jacket. Stefanos raised the .38.
“Don’t get excited,” said Bender. “I’m only getting myself a drink.” He pulled the pint of bourbon. He unscrewed the cap, tilted the bottle back. Air bubbles flowed up the neck.
“Mr. Bender,” said Red Hair.
“Relax,” said Bender. “You’ve got to learn how to relax.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Aaah. So, Mr. Nick. Maybe now you’d like for the two of us to sit down, have a little talk.”
“I’m gonna talk,” said Stefanos. “You’re gonna listen.”
“As you wish.”
“Hokay,” said Stefanos. “Here it is. You gonna put any guns you carryin’ on the floor, right now. Then you gonna walk out of here, go back to your Mr. Burke. You’re gonna tell him that Nick Stefanos, he don’t pay no protection money to nobody. You’re gonna tell him to leave me alone. If you come back, or if he comes back, or if anyone that looks like one of your boys or one of his boys — if any of ’em even walks out front of my store — that man, he’s gonna die. You understand?”
Bender looked behind him, smiled at Moon. Moon smiled back. Bender turned back to Stefanos.
“Your American,” said Bender, “it’s not so good. Nevertheless, I do understand. The thing is, Mr. Nick, me and my boys here, we don’t lay our guns down and walk away for anyone. Not for any white men I know. And especially not for a bunch of immigrant dogs like you.”
No one said a word for a while after that.
And then Stefanos said, “Now you’re gonna meet my men. This is Karras. This here is Lou DiGeordano. Over here is Costa.”
Bender said, “I don’t care to be introduced to your men. Why on earth are you telling me—”
“I thought you might wanna know.”
“I might want to know what?”
“The names of the men who killed you tonight.”
Bender threw his head back and laughed. The laughter was high-pitched and dramatic. Costa spat on the floor.
“Poosti,” said Costa.
Bender’s smile faded as he narrowed his eyes. “What did he call me?”
“Cocksucker,” said Karras.
“Uh,” said Stefanos.
Bender killed the bourbon in his pint. He tossed the bottle back over his shoulder; the neck of it caught air and made a whistling sound in the room. The bottle shattered against the brick wall.
“Uh,” said Bender. “You hear that, Moon? All these Greeks and Italians, grunting, making noises like a bunch of animals. And these are the men that are going to kill us.” He jabbed a finger roughly to his own chest. “Kill me.”
“A buncha wogs,” said Moon.
“Yes,” said Bender. “Wogs. What did I tell you about these Greeks, Moon? They’re one step off of niggers.”