Chapter Nine - Mafia involvement in Sunshine's suspicious activities?

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Nick rolled his eyes the moment he saw Sam's ultra-stretch limo, a glaring contrast to the other vehicles in this public parking lot. Sam cherished his limousines and all the other tangible indicators of his success and liked to flaunt them.

He extended a hand toward the door of the limo. It opened with a click just before his fingers could reach the handle. Inside, Sam moved away from the door to let Nick in. Sam wore Armani again and held the expected glass of scotch in his left hand.

Nick closed the door behind him and took a seat along the right side. "Looking impeccable as always."

"I try, Nick. A man has to try." Sam cleared his throat and took a lazy sip of scotch. He gestured to his glass. "Want some?"

"Yeah, what the hell." Sam started to get up, but Nick stopped him. "I got it." He slid along the leather seat and poured a glass for himself from the bar.

Nick lifted his glass. "Salud."

Sam echoed, "Salud." They each took a sip of the expensive scotch.

Nick got right to it. "You have the information?"

"Yes and no."

"You know I hate that kind of answer." He looked Sam in the eyes. "You hate that kind of answer, too. What's going on?"

Prezziato shrugged. Nick wasn't sure if it was a smug gesture or a guilty one. "Yeah, well, you happen to be asking some very tricky questions. But, first things first. Nothing yet on that guy you asked me to look into. I haven't been able to access the . . . uh. . . right data banks yet." They both knew Sam meant his inside government guys hadn't been able to illegally tap into them. The two of them were in the habit of politely ignoring these types of uncomfortable facts, given that Nick's past employer happened to be the US government.

Sam twisted his lips and sniffed at the same time, looking discomfited. "The Sunshine Children's Home stuff, that's a little different."

"But, you have information?"

"Like I said, yes and no." Prezziato tilted his glass back and forth to emphasize each word. "I know you don't want to hear it, but it happens to be the truth."

"Okay, okay, I take your word for it. Just tell me what that means."

Sam nodded slowly. "It's good that you're bowing to my superior intelligence."

Nick gave him a false smile and downed the rest of his scotch.

"Let me give you a little background," Sam began. "You know that I run a respectable business, Nick."

Nick fought the impulse to roll his eyes again. It wouldn't be wise to do that at this juncture.

"But the nature of my business requires that I keep in contact with some less reputable organizations. In particular, I have certain dealings with a larger group which polices many city goings-on." He flourished his right hand in a general exterior direction.

"You mean the Mafia?" Despite the widespread belief that D.C. didn't have any organized crime lords, he and Prezziato–and the US government, quite frankly–knew that wasn't true. The FBI monitored a secret underground network that, while small, had been entrenched in the city for decades. The government tolerated their existence so they could exploit the network's connections.

"That's what some call them. I prefer not to use that word."

"But that is the organization you're speaking of?" 

"Well, yes. Yes, it is." He nodded. "Now what was I saying? Hmmm, would you pour me a drink while I try to remember?"

Nick ignored his petulance, refilling his glass with more scotch and handing it to him.

Prezziato took an extraordinarily slow sip. "Ah, it seems to have come back to me. As I was saying, I have a certain amount of contact with these organizations. And when I inquired about Sunshine Children's Homes, it was suggested to me that it would perhaps be best not to ask any more questions. To let the matter drop, as it were."

"They threatened you?"

Sam shook his head. Nick still sensed an undertone of guilt in him. "I wouldn't say they went as far as that. They were just making a strong recommendation. I suggest you follow it."

"Can't do that, Sam."

He shrugged. "All right. Your call." He drank the rest of his scotch. When he leveled his eyes at Nick, they belied his nonchalant attitude. "Don't say you haven't been warned."

"So, what? You won't help me?"

"I will help in the matter of trying to find the described gentleman, as long as he has no association with Sunshine Children's Homes."

Nick hated it when Sam talked in that overly formal fashion, like he was some kind of English lord instead of an Italian-born punk, but when Sam started talking that way, it also meant he felt threatened and that was important to note. "Okay, thanks. And thanks for the scotch. Let me know what you find out." He exited the limousine and stepped out into the daylight, which suddenly seemed too bright.

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