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Anthony Orsatti suddenly found he was interested, after all. "What three hundred thousand you talkin' about?"
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Anthony Orsatti was very interested.
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Joe Romano's office was modern, all white and chrome,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],Storm lashes California and leaves polluted water, 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, and on the way he had educated himself. He had an eye for paintings and an ear for music. When he dined out, he had long, knowledgeable discussions with the sommelier about wines. Yes,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], 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, 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."