Savoli shrugged his shoulders. Borrango was about to speak, but his chief silenced him with a gesture, and a word in Italian.
“Look here, Monk.” Savoli’s words were direct. “We can use a good man right here. We know plenty about you. You did a nice job two nights ago. We can give you some better ones. But tell me this. Why did you let those two gorillas off so easily?”
“You mean why didn’t I kill them?”
“Yes.”
“Killing is my business. It was not business the other night.”
Savoli looked at Borrango. The enforcer stroked his chin. He had received the cue to take over the conversation.
“We have some business for you,” he said. “It will lead to more. What do you say to that?”
Monk Thurman looked at Nick Savoli, entirely ignoring Mike Borrango.
“One thousand dollars a week,” said Savoli.
THE New Yorker retained his expressionless calm. Savoli had expected that the offer would meet with an instant acceptance; but in this he was mistaken. Thurman scarcely seemed to be giving it consideration.