Porcia leaned over the side of the barrister desk. Her fingers strummed idly across aged mahogany. A tune fashioned from her imagination played against a strip of satin wood inlay. "Sal," she whined, "aren't you done yet?"
"Sorry, doll," Salvatore Martingale answered. He rolled the end of his filterless cigarette to the front of his mouth. The paper clung to his dry lips. "You know what this time of year is like." Fatigue wore at his blue eyes. His temples ached. Sal knew he needed to get the books in order before the New Year. The numbers just weren't adding up--at least not in a way that he cared for. How had he become so careless? The path was too easy to trace. He needed to do something fast. A real number. Sal reached out a freckled hand toward Porcia. "Why doncha get going. I'll be around soon enough."
"How long is soon?" Porcia's lip jutted out in a spectacular pout.
"Soon is," Sal tipped his head noncommittally to the side and shrugged, "soon."
With a sigh, Porcia pushed off the desk and straightened. Manicured hands swept down the front of her ruffled blouse and across the waist of the mint green pencil skirt she wore. "I'll be waiting at our table," she said to Sal as she reached for his abandoned camel brown fedora with the chocolate band and set it at a jaunty angle on her finger waved blonde hair. "And I'm gonna hold this," she tapped a polished nail on the rim, "hostage." A teasing look flit across her features as she leaned down toward Sal. "So if you ever want to see it again with all its fingers and toes, you know where to find me."
Amusement sparkled in Salvatore's eyes. Who ever heard of a hat with fingers and toes? That was all beside the point. There was just something about Porcia that made his heart go pitterpat. "I'll take that under advisement."
"Good," Porcia said with a hint of a smirk. Dipping her head, she let her lips touch briefly against Sal's brow. His auburn hair smelled of citrus pommade. It tickled her nose. A soft smile turned her mouth when she felt the weight of Sal's hand rest on her cheek. His fingers slid down toward her chin and pinched the point.
"Don't take any wooden nickels," Sal said to Porcia as she left his side and moved leisurely toward his office door. The sound of her footfalls were first muffled by a carpet and then resounded sharply as her heels hit hardwood. He kept his eyes on the ledger before him. He resisted the impulse to watch Porcia wiggle as she left.
Porcia laughed and wagged her fingers over her shoulder as she spoke. "Only the Real McCoy for me, Daddy," she answered as she exited. Her humor colored her tone and fading words.
The click of the door let Salvatore know he was alone. Only then did he place the book back down. He leaned back in his chair and rolled the cuffs of his long sleeved oxford to his elbows. Sal took a deep draw from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray. The butt lay broken in the ash and smolder with several of its brothers. Scratching at his scalp, a small wild smile crept on to his face. "Maybe...," he said to himself as he reached toward the buzzer on his desk. Static crackled through the speaker. The device was unreliable at the best of times, but habit drove him to keep the trinket around. It did work, sometimes. "Hey, will one of ya get Vin for me?" He asked. There was no reply. Swallowing a sigh, Sal tried again. "Will one of you meat heads go get Vinnie?" He was answered by more snaps and pops of electrical interferrence. Irrate, Sal stood and rounded his wide, deep barrister desk. Purposeful strides brought him to the door. Sal yanked it open and leaned into the hallway. "Hey!" He called sharply out toward the receptionist's foyer. The elusive sound of conversation teased his ears. He couldn't make out any one word in its entirity. Their voices were too far and soft.
"Yeah?" A masculine voice called back loudly.
"Go get Vinnie. Now. I don't care what he's doing, and you tell him I said so. Now stop beating your gums and scram."
"Yes, Sir."
The reply is all Sal wanted. Satisfied that his will would be done, he stepped back into his office and closed the door. Pulling his timepiece from the pocket on his waist coat, he checked the time. It was going to be a late night. He only hoped Porcia would understand.
"Sorry, doll," Salvatore Martingale answered. He rolled the end of his filterless cigarette to the front of his mouth. The paper clung to his dry lips. "You know what this time of year is like." Fatigue wore at his blue eyes. His temples ached. Sal knew he needed to get the books in order before the New Year. The numbers just weren't adding up--at least not in a way that he cared for. How had he become so careless? The path was too easy to trace. He needed to do something fast. A real number. Sal reached out a freckled hand toward Porcia. "Why doncha get going. I'll be around soon enough."
"How long is soon?" Porcia's lip jutted out in a spectacular pout.
"Soon is," Sal tipped his head noncommittally to the side and shrugged, "soon."
With a sigh, Porcia pushed off the desk and straightened. Manicured hands swept down the front of her ruffled blouse and across the waist of the mint green pencil skirt she wore. "I'll be waiting at our table," she said to Sal as she reached for his abandoned camel brown fedora with the chocolate band and set it at a jaunty angle on her finger waved blonde hair. "And I'm gonna hold this," she tapped a polished nail on the rim, "hostage." A teasing look flit across her features as she leaned down toward Sal. "So if you ever want to see it again with all its fingers and toes, you know where to find me."
Amusement sparkled in Salvatore's eyes. Who ever heard of a hat with fingers and toes? That was all beside the point. There was just something about Porcia that made his heart go pitterpat. "I'll take that under advisement."
"Good," Porcia said with a hint of a smirk. Dipping her head, she let her lips touch briefly against Sal's brow. His auburn hair smelled of citrus pommade. It tickled her nose. A soft smile turned her mouth when she felt the weight of Sal's hand rest on her cheek. His fingers slid down toward her chin and pinched the point.
"Don't take any wooden nickels," Sal said to Porcia as she left his side and moved leisurely toward his office door. The sound of her footfalls were first muffled by a carpet and then resounded sharply as her heels hit hardwood. He kept his eyes on the ledger before him. He resisted the impulse to watch Porcia wiggle as she left.
Porcia laughed and wagged her fingers over her shoulder as she spoke. "Only the Real McCoy for me, Daddy," she answered as she exited. Her humor colored her tone and fading words.
The click of the door let Salvatore know he was alone. Only then did he place the book back down. He leaned back in his chair and rolled the cuffs of his long sleeved oxford to his elbows. Sal took a deep draw from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray. The butt lay broken in the ash and smolder with several of its brothers. Scratching at his scalp, a small wild smile crept on to his face. "Maybe...," he said to himself as he reached toward the buzzer on his desk. Static crackled through the speaker. The device was unreliable at the best of times, but habit drove him to keep the trinket around. It did work, sometimes. "Hey, will one of ya get Vin for me?" He asked. There was no reply. Swallowing a sigh, Sal tried again. "Will one of you meat heads go get Vinnie?" He was answered by more snaps and pops of electrical interferrence. Irrate, Sal stood and rounded his wide, deep barrister desk. Purposeful strides brought him to the door. Sal yanked it open and leaned into the hallway. "Hey!" He called sharply out toward the receptionist's foyer. The elusive sound of conversation teased his ears. He couldn't make out any one word in its entirity. Their voices were too far and soft.
"Yeah?" A masculine voice called back loudly.
"Go get Vinnie. Now. I don't care what he's doing, and you tell him I said so. Now stop beating your gums and scram."
"Yes, Sir."
The reply is all Sal wanted. Satisfied that his will would be done, he stepped back into his office and closed the door. Pulling his timepiece from the pocket on his waist coat, he checked the time. It was going to be a late night. He only hoped Porcia would understand.