Oren

Twenty years ago

“The party for my granddaughter, it was nice?” Carmine Costello asked as he settled against the large chair in his office.

I was back in his home, back in Brooklyn. It didn’t matter that I had businesses to run and a wife constantly complaining that I wasn’t around. I was replying to a summons that had me trekking from Westchester to New York City, and from the city to Brooklyn. I needed a fucking helicopter to cut down on travel ...