The phone rang. Bull went to answer it. Whitey put down the Post and picked up the Daily News. He flipped through the pages. Didn’t see anything in it today. He looked at the smoke curling up from the end of the half smoked cigarette in the ashtray. He pulled another from the pack and lit it, drawing the smoke in deep. Let it out and watched the smoke join the plume from the ashtray. Had to think. Needed to just think.
If he didn’t watch his back, no one would. Not Bull. Not the Reverend. Not the Reverend for sure. Why the hell had the Reverend given him the 45? Reverend didn’t do anything without a reason. Whitey didn’t trust him. Maybe the Reverend had something big in mind. Something big coming. Maybe that was it. But what?
He took a hit from the can of Bud and finished it. Crushed it in his hand and threw it in the general direction of the garbage. Took another deep drag on the Marlboro. Let the smoke rise from his nose and his lips. What the hell did he give a shit about the Rill for anyway? Went along with it because it was a connection, some backup. Money. But he was giving something up too. Didn’t like to be sucking up to the Reverend. Had to think about it.
Bull talking on the phone. Talking low. So Whitey wouldn’t hear. Didn’t trust that son of a bitch. Didn’t trust any of them.