Chapter 28

“What the fuckare you doing?”

I couldn’t have been caught more red-handed robbing a ketchup factory.

“Um…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you were doing.”

I had barely bothered to glance at the driver’s license in the wallet, but I sure did recognize Antony Diodoro when I saw him filling up the doorway of a Tennessee service station lav.

“Th-th-this isn’t what it l-l-l-looks like,” I stammered.

“Good,” he hollered. “Cuz it l-l-l-looks like you’re stealin’ money outta my wallet.”

Okay, so maybe it was what it looked like, but I could explain. Could have explained, anyway, had Antony Diodoro expressed any interest in hearing my story. But he seemed a rather more direct communicator than I, opting to skip right to the physical intimidation portion of the evening’s program.

“Gimme my wallet,” he directed, advancing on me in the tiny tin room.