Page 75 of A Murderous Crow
I’d had yet to try the food here, but I was told by Torment it was a treat – and that was high fucking praise indeed coming from that epicurean snob.
I was led to the upstairs of the place, which held tables all around the outer edge looking down over the tables below. There was a secluded round book set back behind a fountain at the top of the stairs, the gently tinkling water loud enough to foul any parabolic microphones in employ anywhere in the restaurant.
The fountain was a heavy marble piece of work, and a small-scale replica of one of the famed fountains in Italy – no doubt thesame region where the food was from. Torment would certainly know; but I didn’t really particularly care. I was here on more pressing business; the food was just a bonus.
I slid into the booth beside Synister, who was already waiting with Di Maritzi.
“I told you he wouldn’t be late,” Synister intoned, and I glanced at my watch. It was two minutes to the appointed hour we were to meet. Of course I wouldn’t be late. I abhorred being late as much as Synister did.
“Would have been ten minutes early, but parking was a bitch,” I said.
“Corvus, this is Luca Di Maritzi,” Synister made the introduction. “Mr. Di Maritzi, this is Corvus, the man in charge of our real estate dealings.”
“Please, please, we’re all friends here – call me Luca.” Luca snapped his fingers. He was younger than I had expected. Late twenties, maybe – when I had expected late thirties to early forties. I glanced at Synister as someone nearby came and dropped a drink at our table.
We didn’t tend to fuck with the Italians, so this was pretty much highly unorthodox. What’s more, these Italians happened to be new to the area. The Mancini’s were the usual game in town, and we’d had a rather unfortunate run in with them about eight months or so back when one of their presumed stiffs had ended up on Grim & Reaper’s table. Except she wasn’t dead. It’d been a major headache and had taken some real doing to untangle the Gordian Knot of chaos that’d become our problem.
Hangman wasn’t complaining, though – that’s how he’d gotten with his Lorelai, and she was a sweet girl. Tended to keep Hangman’s head above his depression and PTSD flare-ups. They were a match made in heaven and it worked.
Of course, thinking of them, my thoughts trailed back to my bright-eyed kitten.
I slammed the door on those thoughts as quickly as they attempted to manifest in order to keep my head in the game.
“I understand you have some real estate you’d like to talk about leasing,” I said.
“That I do, friend. A toast,” he raised his glass and I raised my eyebrow. “To a profitable future.”
Synister snarked a laugh and said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. A deal has to be made, first.”
“I guarantee you’ns guys ‘re gonna want what I have to offer,” he said.
“We’re listening,” I said cautiously. If it sounded too good to be true, it probably was.
“You use our places for your fights, no money up front, ten percent, and you uh, maybe owe us a favor or two here and there.”
Synister and I looked at one another, and a silent accounting passed between us. We sat in silence for several moments and I tapped Syn’s foot with my own under the table to signal he shoulddefinitelytake this one; I certainly didn’t have anything nice to say.
“The last family came around here treating us like their errand boys were the Mancini’s. You, no doubt, heard how that worked out for them…” he said, and it was as deadpan as I had ever heard him. He was even less impressed with their bullshit than I was.
“Ten-thousand down, as a gesture of good will, a single event, you can have five percent, and this is a onetime deal,” I said. “To see how things work out – a trial if you will, and nobody owes anything to anyone. That’s just clean business.”
“Alright, alright,” Luca looked like he was mulling it over. He sipped his drink and stared plaintively at me.
“Twenty-five down if you’re only offering five percent, ten down if you’re offering fifteen percent,” he said.
“We’ll do fifteen and ten,” Synister said quickly. “That’s if you really do want to be friends…” I smirked and hid it as best I could behind my glass.
We turned a few hundred thousand, sometimes as far upward as a mil on a good fight. The percentage would far outweigh the cost of renting a venue. Our fights were popular and we had good talent.
Luca looked thoughtful and said, “Open to renegotiation after this inaugural investment?” he asked.
“Sure,” Synister said.
He raised his glass, and we clicked ours to his, sipping before setting them down.
“A deal’s a deal,” he said. “Sorry if you’ns thought I was gettin’ cute.”
He snapped his fingers twice, and plates were brought out. The rest of the negotiations, locations, legal and forward-facing contracts etc., were worked out – which was all me and my job.
