Never Say Die

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“If I’da known about this in advance, I woulda kept my mouth shut,’ said the bookkeeper.

Vinnie Donatello wasn’t buying it. “That’s total bullshit, Ira. Balducci’s people were about to let you take the fall for tax fraud, and you got pissed off. You knew exactly what would happen if you talked.”

“I didn’t know nothing about hiding out in the fuckin’ house where Honest Abe was born,” said Ira Goldblum, staring at the log walls with a pained expression on his doughy face.

Greg Brady laughed at that one, lowering himself into a chair directly opposite the bookkeeper. “Get over it,” he said. “You know how long you’d last back in Detroit.”

“We coulda gone down to Miami,” Goldblum whined. “They got the ponies running now, at Hialeah. We could make a few bucks on the side. I got a system.”

“And Balducci’s people could make you,” Blair Rooney said, returning from the kitchen with a sandwich on a paper plate. “They got a system, too.”

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