He ripped the sheet free and looked at it.
Turning to Tony Tollini, he said, "It's still fuggin' here. What is it, broke?"
"Just wait."
Minutes later, there came a knock at the front door.
Instantly Pauli (Pink Eye) Scanga and Vinnie (The Maggot) Maggiotto drew automatics as Bruno the Chef answered the door.
"It's okay," he called back. " I got it."
He came back with a paper bag and handed it to Don Carmine.
"What's this?"
"Your eats, boss," said Bruno confidently.
Don Carmine broke open the bag and pulled out a plastic container. He lifted the lid, sniffed experimentally, and looked inside.
"This stuff is all white!" he roared.
Bruno looked.
"It's clam chowder. Ain't it?"
"This stuff looks like fuggin' baby puke. Where's the tomato soup?" ,
"They don't put tomato soup in clam chowder up here," said Bruno.
"Then what do they put in, fuggin' cream? Send this back. I want clam chowder with tomato sauce in it."
And as an expression of his wrath, Don Carmine picked up a heavy cellular phone and threw it at a nearby computer screen.
The glass cracked, seemingly sucking in the rows of amber columns. Silence followed.
Don Carmine turned to a cringing Tony Tollini. "What happened to bulletproof." he roared.
Eyes widening, Tony sputtered, "They're not literally bulletproof!"
"What other kind is there!"
"It's just a technical term," Tony bleated. "The system is built of arrayed redundant mirror components. If some break down, the others take over."
"Oh," said Don Carmine slowly. "Now I understand perfectly. "
"You do?"
"No wonder these computer things work like they're magic. It's all done with fuggin' mirrors."
His eyes sick, Tony Tollini swallowed his reply.
While Bruno ran the errand, Don Carmine demanded of Tony, "Got any other things you want to show me, genius?"
The phone rang then. The Maggot answered it. He called over to Don Carmine, "It's Don Fiavorante. He wants his money. "
"Tell him I got it."
"He wants it now."
Don Carmine frowned. His eyes lit up suddenly. "Ask him if he's gotta fax."
"He's says he does."
"Tell him to hang up. I'll give him his money in no time."
Don Carmine pointed to Tony Tollini. "You, genius. You write that check for forty G's now."
Tony sat down at the Formica table and pulled out his checkbook.
"Make the check out to Fiavorante Pubescio, the crook. Only leave out 'the crook' part, okay?"
Obediently Tony began writing.
When he was done, Don Carmine looked at the check and handed it back, grinning.
"Fax this to Don Fiavorante," he said.
Tony swallowed. "But I can't . . ."
"Why not? Won't checks fax?"
"They will, but . . "
"No buts. Fax the fugger."
An unhappy look on his face, Tony Tollini trudged over to the fax machine, inserted the check sideways, and dialed the number Pink Eye read off to him.
The check went in. And then it came out again.
Don Carmine plucked it free.
"You know," he said, pocketing the check, "modern technology is fuggin' wonderful."
He was so pleased with his new computerized office that when Bruno the Chef came back and said, "They say they don't know how to make tomato clam chowder up here,
Don Carmine simply shrugged and said, "Screw it. We'll go out to eat. Maybe we'll take over one of these joints. Make 'em do chowder right and join the fuggin' human race for a change. "