Night Games Pt. 09

Franz bent down to do another line. He didn't see the look on Fabrizio's face. The look of a man in a war movie whose buddy has just been caught in an explosion, calling for a medic and holding his friend's guts in with one hand while patting the dying man on the shoulder with the other.

"We'll have to do something when you come back to San Finzione, then." Fabrizio said, feeling like he was assuring his dying buddy that he'll be fine and telling him that the medic's gonna fix him right up. And then they'll go do all the things they talked about doing when they make it out of this hellhole and back home.

"Of course, of course." Franz muttered, feeling the tingles of his second line stronger than the first. "This is, indeed, the good shit, Fabrizio!" He took out a roll of bills and started peeling off €500 notes. He pointed at the pile that the other three men were cutting lines from. "A quarter kilo of THAT!"

Fabrizio smiled his biggest smile and went over to his desk. He pulled out two pre-weighed bags and a scale so Franz could see everything was on the level. Franz walked over to inspect it and hand him the money.

"Do I get a discount?" Franz asked. A disgusted look briefly crossed Fabrizio's face.

"You are German, Franz. White Americans are the ones who always imagine themselves entitled to a bargain. Everyone else comprehends why my prices are my prices. Mind you, haggling is not the same thing, but you have already failed in that art by taking out your money. It is the difference between a quiche and scrambled eggs."

"You are correct. My apologies." Franz answered, peeling a few more notes off the roll. "Still, I hope I am able to return soon, and we may party in earnest."

"Sure, sure. Of course." Fabrizio remarked, counting the money. Deep down, he knew that if the man shorted him, he'd never get to collect. "Would you like to have another line or two for the road?" He asked, hoping it didn't sound too much like an offer of a last cigarette.

"Nein. There are some people waiting for me. I must be off."

Fabrizio nodded that the money met with his satisfaction. Franz collected the cocaine and stuffed two bags into each of his inside jacket pockets. Fabrizio rose again to show his guest to the door.

"Then let me say what a pleasure it has been having you frequent my establishment again. I hope that you will come back soon, and the coca shall flow like rain."

He held the door open. Franz smiled and shook his hand.

"Guten tag, Fabrizio." He said and walked toward the front door.

"Arrivederci, Franz." Fabrizio replied, watching him walk out the door. When he was leaving the restaurant, Fabrizio muttered under his breath "You poor dead motherfucker."

He closed the Privato door and slowly walked back to his desk. He remembered that he'd dragged his chair over to the table and retrieved it, sitting down.

"Hey, Fabrizio." One of the men at the table called out. "Weren't Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin just in here asking about a guy like that?"

"Si." Fabrizio agreed, taking out his phone. "And now I must rat him out."

"You're gonna rat the dude out, man?" Another of his guests asked. "That is so uncool, dude."

"Ha!" Fabrizio ha-ed. "You wonderful ignorant fools. That man stole from La Contessa. When she catches him, which she will, he is dead. And if she learns that Fabrizio knew something and did not tell her right away, which she will, I am even more dead than Franz."

He found a number in his phone and dialed it. A number that many of San Finzione's criminals had.

"You've reached La Contessa's special number for special people like yourself who have something to tell me." The pre-recorded voice of Helen answered in Italian. "Remember: If you're lying, I will find out. And then I will find you." The beep followed.

"This is Fabrizio. I have something La Contessa will want to hear."