The Choke Point

The cash-out took ten minutes—ten minutes of Leo watching the door, watching the mirrors, sweating through his shirt. Dante stuffed the thick envelopes of cash into his coat pockets, looking like a squirrel preparing for winter.

"You worry too much," Dante said as they pushed through the heavy steel rear exit door. "That’s your problem. You think too much about the bullet and not enough about the target."

"I'm paid to worry about the bullet," Leo snapped.

They stepped out into the night. It was raining, a cold, miserable Brooklyn drizzle that turned the neon signs above into bleeding watercolors on the asphalt. The alley behind the lounge was a narrow throat of wet brick and overflowing dumpsters.

Leo scanned the perimeter. The Cadillac was parked at the end of the alley, maybe fifty yards away. It looked like a mile.

"Let’s move," Leo said, shoving Dante forward.

"My feet hurt," Dante complained, lighting a fresh cigarette. The flare of the lighter illuminated his tired, lined face. "And I’m hungry. Let’s get a steak."

"We’re not getting—"

Leo stopped. A silhouette stepped out from behind a stack of pallets ten feet in front of them. Then another behind them, blocking the door.

O’Malley. And two of his friends.

"You got lucky inside, Dice," O’Malley said. He was holding a tire iron. It tapped rhythmically against his thigh. *Tink. Tink. Tink.* "But luck doesn't work out here."

"Gentlemen," Dante said, spreading his hands. "Let’s be reasonable. I won fair and square."

"You took our money," one of the other thugs growled. He pulled a knife. A switchblade. The sound of the blade snapping open was louder than the rain.

Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. The movies told him he would feel cool, calm. In reality, he felt like he was going to vomit. His hands felt huge and clumsy.

"Give us the envelope," O’Malley said. "And maybe the kid keeps his teeth."

Dante looked at Leo. For a second, the mask of the jovial loser slipped. He looked tired. "Kid, give them the money."

"No," Leo said. The word was out of his mouth before he thought it.

Dante blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It's the Family's money," Leo said, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped in front of Dante. He unbuttoned his jacket. "You want it? Come get it."

O’Malley grinned. "Have it your way, hero."