Justice Hunter by Harper Dimmerman Read Free Book Online

father used to say. May his soul rest in peace. In other words, Vito could afford to speak his mind. And if people didn’t like it, they could go fuck themselves. That was his philosophy, and it was written all over his gritty, fifty-something features. His right-wing political views were always controversial, and that placed him front and center in the media. He was a media darling, in fact, handsome in a rugged Ray Liotta Goodfellas sort of way, always good for sparking debate, which naturally meant better ratings and more money for the fat cats at the top. The extent of Hunter’s experience with Vito was the occasional late-night drunken eating binge at his establishment with his college buddies during his undergrad days at Temple University.
    “I’m sure you’re familiar with the controversy over a sign Vito has had hanging at his shop since early this year.”
    “Vaguely.” Hunter hadn’t really followed the story too closely. There was more than enough cheap propaganda going around these days. Now that Mancini mentioned it, though, there was something. He recalled seeing a bunch of talking heads on one of the local news shows blabbering away about Vito’s audacity, more like valiant patriotism for the right-wingers of the group.
    “That’s just fine. I have to admit I didn’t really pay it much mind myself. If it weren’t for my brother, who still lives in the house I grew up in, I probably wouldn’t—” Mancini caught himself, though, sensing he was divulging too much information. After a brief pause, he went on, “Let me refresh your recollection, as we say in the biz.”
    Hunter momentarily visualized Mancini as a tyke raised on the mean streets of South Philly. As powerful and polished as he was now, he had a blue-collar streak Hunter had never picked up on before. Like an Impressionist masterpiece, the closer he got, the cruder it became. South Philly roots actually made perfect sense.
    “So right there, right in front of the registers at the end of the line, there’s an eyesore of a sign smacking every customer in the face.” There was no indoor seating at Vito’s. All the ordering and food consumption took place outside, which didn’t stop the legions of die-hard customers from braving the elements, come hell or high water. The pizza was just that fucking good. “You can picture it? Vito has that one section—his own personal political billboard.”
    Hunter knew the area. Like everyone else, though, he’d been either too famished or drunk to even notice.
    “The sign, posted right there at the window where the customers pay, says, and I think I’m getting this verbatim,” he said, arching his brows in mild disbelief, “‘Yo! Order in American. This is the USA, my friend.’” Mancini let the words sink in like an anesthesiologist administering the juice.
    It wasn’t until Hunter actually heard the words that the shock value registered. Although illegal immigration had been a hot-button political issue for a few years already, reaching a crescendo before the 2008 presidential election, it wasn’t every day that someone actually had the balls to take a stand. Mancini slid a photograph across the desk.
    Hunter scrutinized the image. It was a hodgepodge of right-wing conservative sentiment: the American flag, a “wanted” photograph of Bin Laden, and the World Trade Center. Some of the signs, more like handmade computer-generated printouts, were faded from the sun. On the local front, there were tributes to fallen officers and soldiers who had lost their lives over in the Middle East. Directly at eye level, sandwiched between the others, was the controversial sign du jour. It was arguably just an opinion, which everyone knows are like assholes—everybody’s got one. But something so radical in a place of public accommodation?
    “Needless to say, it’s been great fodder for the media. All the pundits and academics are duking it out over the sign’s potentially catastrophic impact.