“Sonny sent you,” Reese says.
“You’ve been a bad boy,” Robby says.
“I was just surprised because you don’t look …”
“You mean, look the part?” Robby chuckles. “Quite the contrary. This is a part I was born to play.”
Robby takes another look around. The kitchen is big enough to serve as a three-car garage, the morning sun really like a spotlight in here. Or like high beams fixed squarely on Allen Reese, real estate agent to the rich and the famous.
“Listen, maybe you know this and maybe you don’t,” Reese says. “But Bobby Salvatore and I had an understanding, because he knew that in the end I was always good for the money, even when I was a little late.”
“Until, sad to say, Bobby was the one who was a bad boy,” Robby says. “May he now rest in God’s heavenly embrace.”
“Hold on,” Reese says nervously. “It was Sonny who had that done?”
“That’s another discussion for another day,” Robby says. “And besides, I’m not here to talk about Mr. Salvatore. I’m here to talk about money you owe to Mr. Blum that is long past due.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this and Sonny probably doesn’t either,” Reese says. “But it was a slower summer than usual out here. On top of that, I’m still digging myself out from a divorce. And on top ofthat,I had a very bad firstmonth of the pro football season. Andthatyou probably do know.”
“Fascinating,” Robby says. “But where’s our money?”
Before Reese can answer, Robby moves quickly across the kitchen until they’re on opposite sides of a granite-topped counter. The huge stove is to Reese’s left. He must have been preparing to make himself breakfast before he went outside. There’s a frying pan on the stove, the eggs are out, a container of milk. Cooking spray. Salt and pepper shakers. American cheese. Even an onion. Doing it up big himself. Man of the people.
Reese is wary now that Robby has closed the distance between them, his senses suddenly on high alert.
“You’re obviously aware of the sum of money that has brought me here today,” Robby says.
“Million,” Reese mumbles.
“Actually, Allen, that was last week’s number,” Robby says. “Now it’s two.”
“What …no!” Reese says, as if in pain.
“It’s like they say in the commercials,” Robby says. “Late fees do apply in this case.”
“Sonny just up anddoubledit without telling me?”
“Cost of doing business,” Robby says. “This isn’t Draft-Kings. And so you know? I’m the one telling you.”
“Just give me a couple more days, and I’ll have it,” Reese says.
“End ofthisday,” Robby says. “Or the number will double again.” Robby’s shoulders casually rise and fall. “Funny world, right?”
“When you’re gone I’ll start making some calls,” Reese says.
“You’ve got a bad habit, Allen,” Robby says, almost soothingly, “to go along with a big ego and a big mouth. That is a very difficult combination, in Mr. Blum’s eyes.”
Reese tries to laugh, but the sound that comes out of his throat makes it sound as if he’s choking.
“Sonny’s not going to kill me,” he says. “You don’t kill a golden goose.”
“Or a bronzed one, in your case,” Robby says.
“Whatever.”
“Think of it another way,” Robby says. “He won’t kill youyet.”
Then before Allen Reese can move, Robby grabs the frying pan and smashes it down violently on Reese’s left hand.
