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"He lie to me! I just found out he is leave for Brazil without me. Half of that three hundred thousand dollars is mine."
Anthony Orsatti suddenly found he was interested, after all. "What three hundred thousand you talkin' about?"
"The money Joe is hiding in his checking account. The money he--- how you say?--- skimmed."
Anthony Orsatti was very interested.
"Please tell Joe he must take me to Brazil with him. Please! Weel you do thees?"
"Yeah;" Anthony Orsatti promised. "I'll take care of it."
Joe Romano's office was modern,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], all white and chrome, done by one of New Orleans's most fashionable decorators. The only touches of color were the three expensive French Impressionist paintings on the walls. Romano prided himself on his good taste. He had fought his way up from the slums of New Orleans,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and on the way he had educated himself. He had an eye for paintings and an ear for music. When he dined out,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], he had long,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], knowledgeable discussions with the sommelier about wines. Yes, Joe Romano had every reason to be proud. While his contemporaries had survived by using their fists, he had succeeded by using his brains. If it was true that Anthony Orsatti owned New Orleans, it was also true that it was Joe Romano who ran it for him.
His secretary walked into his office. "Mr. Romano,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], there's a messenger here with an airplane ticket for Rio de Janeiro. Shall I write out a check? It's COD."
"Rio de Janeiro?" Romano shook his head. "Tell him there's some mistake."
The uniformed messenger was in the doorway. "I was told to deliver this to Joseph Romano at this address."

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