Time To Go
I spent the rest of the day preparing to leave, and making sure Alphonse had everything he needed. After work, I drove to Monroe Street and parked near the corner of 7th. Two guys were standing near the corner, leaning against a brick wall. They were trying to look inconspicuous, and to most people, probably did. I knew they were guards for Monroe, and both likely had .45s tucked in their waistbands.
“What’s up, boys?” I asked, as I started up the block. “Monroe in?”
“He’s in,” one of them said. “Who are you?” His hand was already moving toward the back of his waistband.
“That’s the ‘Rat’,” the other one said to his buddy, then looked at me. “S’up, Nicky?”
“Not much on my end, but I know you need to be thanking someone that it’s a cool evening for standing guard. Last week
