43.
Scram woke up beneath Doctor C's large octopus lamp. A few days to hole up and heal. Burn off the snatch and bag missions.
The powers would know where to smoke him out. C dimed his car service, and mailed Tony to Chinatown. Tony arrived at a cheap hotel.
Sore as hell, but breathing. A large bandage, bubble wrapped his stomach. Beneath, patches of creamy gauze, icing stitches. He‘s alright, that Doctor C.
The hosts, an older Chinese couple, brought fresh tea and papers. Tony gassed over the coverage. They were stars, that old gang of his. Papa San thought it was a big hoot too. They both enjoyed each other’s company. Cards, chess, small talk. Baseball.
Mets. Yankees.
The suitcase. Green and cream bricks. Banded cash. Nearly, close to a million of it. Tony removed a brick for the nice couple, and started to map his break. Doctor C house called, cutting threads. Tony scrammed out a side alley. He trusted Lenny, but that was before the game changed. Scram checked out a rental, and buzzed towards Miami Beach.