“The interest on your loan is calculated from the first day of the month during which you accept the loan. Tell you what,” Yale pulled three ten dollar bills out of his wad and tossed them across the table, “I’ll give you a few dollars extra, to make thirty even. Do you need additional funding, Mister Bayer?”
“Well, do you need more gin?”
Yale glanced back at Capone, who stood firm at the door with a straight stare foward. “I imagine that we will. Can you supply two hundred gallons by September First?”
Wally peered down at the floor, watching a cockroach skitter beneath a bookkeeper’s desk in a corner. “With a hundred more, yes.”
Yale pulled a hundred dollar bill from the back of his currency wad, threw it on top of the three tens, and stuffed the refolded wad back in his pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you once more, Mister Bayer. Alphonse will see you out.”
Wally stood with Yale, shook his hand, and walked out the door held open and pulled shut by a young Al Capone. Capone followed Wally past the wooden crates of gin bottles resting along the empty restaurant’s bar, and opened a second door for him to the pleasant spring day and the sight of his borrowed truck resting alongside the curb.
“Beautiful spring day, isn’t it, Al?” Wally asked as he donned his hat against the sunshine and stepped outside onto a dirty Coney Island street.
“It’s Mister Capone. And yes, it’s a lovely spring day,” Capone replied before slamming the front door of the Harvard Inn shut in Wally’s face.
############
|
