Big Sugar

What follows I flee; what flees I ever pursue.

—Ovid, Amores. Bk. ii, eleg. 19, 1. 36.

Captain Joseph Giambra read the report sitting on his desk slowly, then glanced up at Lieutenant Felix ‘the Cat’ Bandora and Officer Jimmy Porelli. “Youse guys are tellin’ me diz guy had is peckah cut off and stuck in ‘is mouth?”

“Yessir, I ain’t seen nothing like it since ‘Nam Skipper,” Porelli rasped, eyeballing Lt. Bandora, who Capt. Giambra now turned to and barked, “What ah youse t’ink Cat—a hit?”

“Yeah, could be. I mean we need to eye-dee the body and see whether it’s a wiseguy or what. He did obviously have a set of expensive threads on and he had no wallet or jewelry—they picked ‘im clean.”

“Yeah, they coulda done it jus’ to make it look like a robbery. I t’ink we should sweep the place, wha’ ah youse t’ink Cat?”





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