Big
Shoes
By
Jack
Getze
Genre:
Mystery, Humor
Book
Description
Jersey
Shore broker Austin Carr wants out of the stock and bond business but
un-hooking from his mobbed-up partner won’t be painless. Angelina
“Mama Bones” Bonacelli is best known for professional
consultations that deteriorate into criminal violence, breakfast
appointments raided by the FBI and one particular Power Point
presentation to a Jersey state racing commission that ended in
automatic weapons fire. Good thing she likes Austin.
Author
Bio
A
former reporter for The Los Angeles Times, Jack Getze is Fiction
Editor for Anthony nominated Spinetingler Magazine, one of the
internet's oldest websites for noir, crime and horror short stories.
His Austin Carr Mysteries BIG NUMBERS, BIG MONEY, BIG MOJO and this
fall's BIG SHOES are published by Down and Out Books. His short
stories have appeared in A Twist of Noir, Beat to a Pulp, The Big
Adios and Passages.
EXCERPT
Two
days later Mama Bones watches Johnny the Turk Korsay stride across
the Pardon Me's main dining room, the king-size man seventy this
year, same as Mama Bones, and still swinging his big you-know-what
when he walks. Proud of himself. Not brainy and quick like smarty
pants Austin, but street wise and tough, maybe a genius for odds and
numbers. They say Turk also has a built-in, natural lie-detector.
Makes
sense to Mama Bones. Before he brought the Korsay family to America
in 1970, they say Turk's father was a Lebanese-born camel trader from
Egypt. Made a fortune selling two-humped middle-eastern camels to
Abdel Nasser's Egyptian army. You can't make up a story like that.
Mama
Bones sits at her three-quarter-circle control station, the Pardon
Me’s biggest corner booth. She's perched near the center, at the
top of the circle, the orange leather cushions stretching out from
her on either side. Enough room for six or seven adults. A
right-angle corner of brick walls protects her back. Over on her
right side, like always, is Gianni, and behind him the four-inch
thick, bulletproof bay window she had made special. On her left is
nobody.
The
Turk marches to the edge of her table but keeps his gaze off Mama
Bones. He stands with his hands hidden inside his suit coat pockets,
staring at Gianni. There's a story about him killing a rival once
this way, whipping a pistol from his coat and shooting. But Mama
Bones isn't worried. Too many witnesses at the Pardon Me Diner.
Turk
says, “Just the two of us, Angelina.”
Mama
Bones glances at Gianni. He scoots around and out of the booth
without a word to either one of them. She knows he won't go far, and
she also knows he has two of his men in the room eating breakfast.
“Sit
down and talk to me, Johnny,” Mama Bones says. She almost calls him
Fat Johnny, the nickname Mama Bones gave him in high school. “How
come you want to see me today, huh?”
The
Turk slides his six-five, two-hundred and sixty pound body onto the
far edge of Mama Bones’ booth. Nice suit he’s wearing. Charcoal
gray, and -- what she hears -- hand made in London. Over
fifty-thousand bucks apiece.
“Billy
Z tells me you interfered with the stockbroker,” Turk says.
Mama
Bones’ espresso is cold but not like the Turk’s dark brown eyes.
Frozen solid. She gives him ice cubes back, says, “I know a guy
says you tried to kidnap my nieces from a trailer.”
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