[ When Ray recoils his fist, ready to plough it into his face and show him exactly what all that muscle is for, Vecchio doesn't even flinch. He grew up with this sort of crap, between his father and the street criminals and the lower level mob guys pretending they were even remotely like the high rollers in Vegas and New York. They weren't. They didn't know what they were talking about. But it had prepared him for this, and so Ray bore it out, not even smiling - because he knew that usually made the situation worse - and sure enough Kowalski worked out his error and lowered his hand again.
He wanted Fraser back, after all. If he had hit him... Well, if he'd hit him, everything would have changed on the spot. Any hint of cooperation from Armando would have fallen apart on the spot.
Instead he steps forward, staying at the other end of the tie as Ray moves into the chair, and when he's down, perching nervously on the edge, he looped and knotted the other end in one of the big D-rings.
Standing behind the chair now, he removed his own tie, moving to Ray's other hand and slipping the fabric across his wrist. The silk was an entirely different texture, soft and dense and perfect. It tightened into an impossible knot when he hooked it through the ring on the other armrest.
Then came the classical music; classical music to disrupt the FBI's listening devices. They'd be furious with him, but fuck them--what had the FBI ever done for him? Only then did he speak again. ]
Well, you see, unlike you, your friend told someone else where he was going. He'd befriended the head of one of the other families, and you know, the situation here is a delicate one. We don't want to start another war; no-one makes any money when we're all shooting holes in each other, and the Feds like it a whole lot too much. So a car rolls up to pick him up and he gets walked out of here like a prince and driven off in a limousine. Sadly for me, I wasn't even home when this was going on. Prick gets to walk around my house for an hour, a cop--god knows what he thinks he found, cause as he's being escorted out he's insisting on organizing a meet with me, like he has something on me I can't afford to dismiss.
[ In the meantime, Ray had retreated across the room. There was a cabinet built into the wall, and he ran the doors open and switched on the interior light. Immediately cool white flourescents lit up the various items inside, masks and paddles and...well. Things. Things covered in spikes and things made out of rubber in new-agey blob shapes, and things wrapped in studded leather straps. And a nailgun. Things. ]
Only after that he vanishes, but I'm interested by now. I want to know who this guy is, how he's managed to get into such good graces with one of the most powerful Italians in the city, what he was doing in my house--and I want what he has. I put people out there to find him so we can have a well overdue chat, and I get the information back here and there. I find out about a hotel, and a floor, and a suite. I find out the FBI have picked this guy up, and they're holding him under bullshit charges because he's getting right up in their business down here.
[ He ran his hand along the shelf thoughtfully, and as he reached the end of it, he turned to look a little harder at Ray. He smile was very cold, as cold as he could make it. ]
And you're thinking 'great, the FBI have my friend, they'll give him back, no problem.' But if that's where your head's at, you're forgetting how stupid they are. They're charging him with conspiracy. He'll go to jail. And worse, whatever he has on me he might give to them. Obviously neither of us want that. [ He raised his hand, turning and taking down an ornate knife, which had been otherwise propped up on its display stand. He strode back toward Ray, looking purposeful, and his voice sunk to a deeper growl as he leant into Ray's ear. The cool flat of the knife nudged against his bare shoulder. ] So I'm gonna give you some help, a distraction, and you're gonna walk in there, and you and your friend are going to get the hell out of Vegas and never come back, and if I so much as see a hair from either of your heads around here again, you're both gonna be on a meat train to Lousiana by daybreak, mashed into beef mince. That sound fair to you?
no subject
He wanted Fraser back, after all. If he had hit him... Well, if he'd hit him, everything would have changed on the spot. Any hint of cooperation from Armando would have fallen apart on the spot.
Instead he steps forward, staying at the other end of the tie as Ray moves into the chair, and when he's down, perching nervously on the edge, he looped and knotted the other end in one of the big D-rings.
Standing behind the chair now, he removed his own tie, moving to Ray's other hand and slipping the fabric across his wrist. The silk was an entirely different texture, soft and dense and perfect. It tightened into an impossible knot when he hooked it through the ring on the other armrest.
Then came the classical music; classical music to disrupt the FBI's listening devices. They'd be furious with him, but fuck them--what had the FBI ever done for him? Only then did he speak again. ]
Well, you see, unlike you, your friend told someone else where he was going. He'd befriended the head of one of the other families, and you know, the situation here is a delicate one. We don't want to start another war; no-one makes any money when we're all shooting holes in each other, and the Feds like it a whole lot too much. So a car rolls up to pick him up and he gets walked out of here like a prince and driven off in a limousine. Sadly for me, I wasn't even home when this was going on. Prick gets to walk around my house for an hour, a cop--god knows what he thinks he found, cause as he's being escorted out he's insisting on organizing a meet with me, like he has something on me I can't afford to dismiss.
[ In the meantime, Ray had retreated across the room. There was a cabinet built into the wall, and he ran the doors open and switched on the interior light. Immediately cool white flourescents lit up the various items inside, masks and paddles and...well. Things. Things covered in spikes and things made out of rubber in new-agey blob shapes, and things wrapped in studded leather straps. And a nailgun. Things. ]
Only after that he vanishes, but I'm interested by now. I want to know who this guy is, how he's managed to get into such good graces with one of the most powerful Italians in the city, what he was doing in my house--and I want what he has. I put people out there to find him so we can have a well overdue chat, and I get the information back here and there. I find out about a hotel, and a floor, and a suite. I find out the FBI have picked this guy up, and they're holding him under bullshit charges because he's getting right up in their business down here.
[ He ran his hand along the shelf thoughtfully, and as he reached the end of it, he turned to look a little harder at Ray. He smile was very cold, as cold as he could make it. ]
And you're thinking 'great, the FBI have my friend, they'll give him back, no problem.' But if that's where your head's at, you're forgetting how stupid they are. They're charging him with conspiracy. He'll go to jail. And worse, whatever he has on me he might give to them. Obviously neither of us want that. [ He raised his hand, turning and taking down an ornate knife, which had been otherwise propped up on its display stand. He strode back toward Ray, looking purposeful, and his voice sunk to a deeper growl as he leant into Ray's ear. The cool flat of the knife nudged against his bare shoulder. ] So I'm gonna give you some help, a distraction, and you're gonna walk in there, and you and your friend are going to get the hell out of Vegas and never come back, and if I so much as see a hair from either of your heads around here again, you're both gonna be on a meat train to Lousiana by daybreak, mashed into beef mince. That sound fair to you?