THE VIRON CONSPIRACY (JAKE SCARNE THRILLERS #4) by Lawrence de Maria Read Free Book Online Page A

establishment. How about the Johnny Walker Black, on the rocks?”
    The bartender stammered, “Let me get you a fresh bottle from the back room.”
    “Nonsense,” Mack said, “that bottle right there will do just fine.”
    After the bartender poured, the men clinked glasses and Scarne took a swig, not noticing that his friend didn’t.
    “Jesus,” Scarne said, spitting out the liquor. “What the hell is this!”
    One of the drinkers said, “Fuckin’ pussy.”
    Mack laughed.
    “Who knows? Probably could take the camouflage off a Tiger tank. This is a funnel joint. Remember the old Red? Same routine.”
    The Red Lantern was a Staten Island pub Scarne and Mack had frequented when in college. Scarne had occasionally even tended bar there. One night he accidentally dropped a bottle of Canadian Club and it smashed. The owner was distraught.
    “I’ve had that bottle for five years,” the man wailed. “Now I have to buy another one.”
    He then took Scarne down to the Red Lantern’s basement, where gallon jugs of what was basically artificially colored rotgut were lined up next to the funnels that the staff used to refill the venerable bottles upstairs.
    “Three rules, kid,” the owner had told him. “Don’t clip too much from the register, only drink beer and never drop a fucking bottle.”
    As words to live by, Scarne thought, not a bad philosophy.
    “Those guys seem to be doing fine,” Scarne now said, nodding to the hard-core drinkers at the bar.
    “Their livers could cut a diamond,” Mack said.
    The door opened and four boys came in, noisily, and set themselves up at the bar between a couple of the drunks. They were big, all wearing Port Richmond football team jackets. One of them, a tall black kid with dreadlocks yelled to the bartender.
    “Yo, Pete, fuckin’ booze is flowin’ like molasses. Get your fat white-bread ass down here.”
    The other boys, all white, hooted. It was obvious Magoo’s wasn’t their first stop. Mack walked up to them.
    “You guys want to keep it down a bit,” he said pleasantly. “And watch the language. This is a family place.”
    The footballers looked at him as if he was from Mars. Even the resident drunks turned to stare at him.
    “Family place,” one of the white kids said, looking around, “this shit hole?”
    “Appearances are often deceiving. Why aren’t you boys home studying calculus?”
    “Why ain’t you in a nursing home, bro?” the black kid said.
    They all thought that was very funny. So did Scarne, who laughed. Mack gave him a withering look.
    “I don’t suppose you geniuses have any I.D.?” Mack said. “Some of the bottles in here are older than you.”
    “Hey, blow me, man,” a beefy kid, probably a tackle, said. He had arms like Virginia hams. “We drink in here all the time. Who the fuck are you?”
    “I own this fine establishment. And I told you to watch your mouth.”
    “Suck my two-pound dick. What happened to Magoo?”
    “Health problems.”
    “What was wrong with him ?”
    “Me.”
    Mack looked at Pete the bartender, who had drawn two beers and was standing by the cash register holding them with a frightened look on his face.
    “Pete, pour those out and give my friends here some Diet Cokes before they leave. On the house.” He turned back to the boys. “Then, don’t come back until you’re old enough. And when you do, talk to my staff like the gentlemen I know you really are.”
    The black kid took a swing at Mack, who knew it was coming and easily dodged it. He hit the kid two fast shots in the kidneys and watched him drop to the floor. Properly done, Scarne knew, kidney shots will do that. The tackle moved on Mack until he heard some squawks behind him. He turned to see his two other pals being held off the floor by their collars. Bobo Sambuca had one in each massive fist.
    “Saw them come in, boss,” Bobo said. “Looked like trouble.”
    “They wish,” Mack said. “But don’t hurt them. Port Richmond has a pretty