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"Hold it right there, mister!" commands Buddy in a booming voice from his towering steed, stopping a man in a black leather jacket in his snowy tracks down a steep bank straight for Alice Finnerty backed against the wide trunk of an old oak tree.
"My old man owns this place now," the guy laughs, resuming his creep toward the Silver Saddle's terrified trainer.
"He doesn't own her," Buddy scowls, sliding down off the Appaloosa with surprising speed for a big man.
The hard leather bottoms of his boots hit the slick snow, propelling the prodigal son on his prodigious backside right into the blind-sided asshole, tumbling them both in a snowy heap at Alice's feet.
"Ah, that guy from the bar two weeks ago," he growls from atop his supine adversary.
"Yeah, the next drink is on me," wheezes the smaller man pinned down into the cold wet snow.
"If you stay away from her," Buddy bargains, catching Alice's eye and pointing with his head toward the waiting horse.
"Deal," coughs the defeated mafioso as his bulky nemesis eases back and the young woman leaps over them, scampers up the little hill, and takes the reins of the patiently waiting stallion.
"No deal, but we can work it out over that drink."
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Calories, after all, are the way to a hungry person's heart, and the empty ones and slow buzz of alcohol are a particularly satisfying Kerstfeest when one is alone. In this particular year, however, Buddy Beatty was better armed against the temptations of Christmas at the Silver Saddle. His beagle puppy, now officially named Little Buddy, had given him both a bed mate and a reason to get up every morning to let the little thing out to pee.
Meanwhile back in Manhattan, the elder Gambino was plotting his way out of the rat race. Snow was in the air in New York, only the white powder he was contemplating melted in the nose, not on the grimy streets. A retirement compound in the Okeechobee swamp would be his dual investment in his own demise and the family future.
Meanwhile back in Manhattan, the elder Gambino was plotting his way out of the rat race. Snow was in the air in New York, only the white powder he was contemplating melted in the nose, not on the grimy streets. A retirement compound in the Okeechobee swamp would be his dual investment in his own demise and the family future.
__________
"Now where were we?" begins Buddy with a snifter of eggnog in one hand and a double shot of Fleischmann's in the other as the Bound Brook boys croon It's a blue world without you.
"We could use a security guard at our Florida hangar," counters his new colleague in the league of lost first sons as the song continues The sea, the sky, my heart and I, we're all an indigo hue.
"We could use a security guard at our Florida hangar," counters his new colleague in the league of lost first sons as the song continues The sea, the sky, my heart and I, we're all an indigo hue.
"Now that's the best proposition I've had all day," laughs big Buddy raising a glass to clink on his new deal.
Reff reff barks Little Buddy poking his freckly snout up out of the suede vest as the plaintive song ends with Without you it's a blue blue world.
Reff reff barks Little Buddy poking his freckly snout up out of the suede vest as the plaintive song ends with Without you it's a blue blue world.
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