The man who lounged on the couch was fat and soft looking. Dark, damp ringlets tried futilely to cover the bald spot that glowed pinkly in the indirect lighting of the room. His eyes, two shiny black marbles, were almost lost behind the puffy balls of his cheeks. He seemed half asleep as he sat there, hands clasped across his middle, regarding Johnny Liddell.
“Nice of you to come see me like this, Liddell.” His voice sounded choked by the heaviness of his jowls.
“You mean I had a choice? What’s it all about, Zito?”
“Mr. Zito.” Pretty Boy jammed the snout of his g*n into Liddell’s back.
The fat man’s eyes rolled from Liddell to the gunman. “I’ll handle this, Joey. Wait outside.”
A faint color tinged the gunman’s neck. He started to retort, checked himself, minced out. He slammed the do
