Tony Tollini's black eyes snapped open. "Yes, yes, in my bank account. As a matter of fact, I have almost sixty thousand."
"Okay," said Don Carmine in a mollified voice. "I get all sixty."
"But you said forty!"
"That didn't include the money I can't collect from the dough I put out on the street at twenty percent on account of that fuggin' hard-on disk."
"Can I write you a check?" said Tony.
"After you gimme your watch," said Don Carmine.
Tony blinked. "Why?"
"You're a sharp fuggin' dresser. I figure you got a sharp fuggin' watch I can hock for another grand."
Morosely, Tony Tollini removed his Tissot watch and handed it over.
Don Carmine Imbruglia accepted the proffered tribute. He looked at it with blinking eyes.
"What the fug is this? A fuggin' joke?"
"What?"
"You holding out on me, you yubbie bastid?"
"No, I swear!"
Don Carmine held up the watch for all to see, saying, "Look at this watch! He palmed the fuggin' numbers. I never heard of anything so brazen."
"Numbers?" said Tony blankly.
Don Carmine passed the watch to his lieutenants. It was passed from hand to hand.
"Hey, it's made out of a rock," exclaimed Bruno (The Chef) Boyardi.
"What do you take me for?" snarled Don Carmine Imbruglia. "Stupid? Tryin' to hoist a rock off on me?"
"It's a Tissot," Tony explained. "It's supposed to be made from a rock. It cost me almost two hundred dollars."
Don Carmine took the watch back and looked at it again.
"You got rooked, smart guy." He tossed the watch back. "Here, I can't do nothing with this. The fences'll laugh me right out of town."
Tony Tollini caught the watch.
"You and I," said Carmine. "We're gonna make some money together."
"How?"
"You're a smart guy. You know computers. Don Fiavorante says you're gonna fix me up with the best computers money can buy. Only they ain't gonna cost me nothing."
"They ain't? I mean, they aren't?"
"Naw. 'Cause you're gonna filch 'em from IDC."
"Oh," said Tony, getting the picture.
Then Don Carmine explained his needs.
"I got runners, see? You understand runners and numbers slips? What can you do about that?"
"We'll bring in faxes," Tony said quickly.
"I don't hire queers. That's out."
"No, I said a fax. It's a telephone that transmits sheets of paper. "
Don Carmine looked blank.
"With the writing on it," Tony added.
"They got those now?" said Don Carmine, his beetling brows lifting in surprise.
"I can have this room filled with plain paper copiers, faxes, beepers, dedicated phones, word processors, and PC's equal to all your needs," said Tony Tollini, suddenly on familiar ground. Sales. "What's more I can get you fault-tolerant systems. They're completely bulletproof. You'll never have a hard disk failure again, Mr. Imbruglia."
"Call me Cadillac. Everybody does."
"Yes, Mr. Cadillac. "
"Now you're talkin' my language. Boys, help Tony here set this up."
They helped Tony Tollini off his knees. He made a call to IDC and ordered an open system.
"I want our best stuff," he told customer service. "And program everything to run LANSCII."
Within two days Don Carmine was on line. The Salem Street Social Club was crammed with equipment. He stood blinking at the big black fax that had been placed on a dead burner of the black stove for lack of a better place.
"Looks like a fat phone," he said doubtfully.
"I'll show you how it works," said Tony Tollini eagerly. "There's a restaurant near here that accepts fax orders. Here's the menu."
Frowning, Don Carmine looked over the folded paper menu.
"I'll have the clam chowder," he said.
"Great," said Tony Tollini, who typed a brief letter on the word processor, printing it out and sending it through the fax machine.