25.
Cruising the Jersey night. Burning off a slow shift. Funny biz. Once in a while, Friday nights calm down, and weekdays ramp up. Tony made up his mind. He was leaving, and would skip old-timer's night. The one for the road just seemed too risky. Sure, he trusted Bones, and Whitey was a friend. There were no bad vibes to think of, pushing him away. It was a big hit. He could use the money. He would love the money. But he didn't have to have it.
The juice from pulling a score could be finally put to bed.
Steve would have to find a way on his own. Scram and Irma did all they could. Irma, anyway. He's a big boy now. Let him loose. Tony radioed in he was stepping out.
7 Eleven. Grab some joe. Tony's taxi, parked in a slot. Tony at the counter, cashing out. He turned for the exit, breezing back to the cab. He was quickly surrounded. Max and Dom blocked his path. Tony stopped. Dom and Max inched forward, right in Scram's face.
"We need to talk."
"Some other time." Tony stepped forward. Dom blocked his path. Max pumped a paw into Tony's chest, stopping Scram cold.
"It's about your son."
"What do you want with Steve?"
"We're with Big Dave--he sent us to collect."
"I don't know what the hell you guys are talking about."
"Listen, man. You're fuck-up son is into us. You get the fuckin' picture here, or what?"
"What the hell do you want me to do about it?"
"Find that fuck-head son of yours, and make this thing right--between all of us, and Big Dave."
"I don't know where he is."
"You better figure it out, 'cause we're lookin' for 'im. I don't think you want us to find him first."