Big Sugar

Bandora glanced outside the door, to where Wheelchair Paul sat in an otherwise isolated corner. “Well Joe—I dunno—this guy in ah chair says diz jah-mook frien’ ah his is on ah trail right now and he means to find them and extract some payback.”

Capt. Giambra followed Lt. Bandora’s gaze to Wheelchair Paul and then eyed Porelli, who nodded. “Sir, I know this man, this Jamaican, and I t’ink he’ll maybe do what he says he’ll do. Big Sugar’s a pretty capable guy—Skipper.”

Giambra lit a cigarette and eyeballed Porelli and Bandora. He exhaled a stream of noxious smoke. “Big Sugar …? A street-name—”

“Ah, yessir—he ah—he protects the homeless people around the Port sir; I mean, that is, he has before and he does help us a lot.”

Giambra’s face showed amusement, as he blew smoke rings in the air and then glanced at Bandora and chuckled. “What ah youse mean Officer Porelli? Isn’t this Jamaican homeless himself? Ain’t diz the guy we put out an all-points on more’n once, din’ he cut a guy’s hand off a while back?”

Porelli smiled deceptively. “They sewed the guy’s hand back on Skip’. It was Card Mullins.”

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