 |
|||
|
"How about friends? Can I leave it to friends?”
“Anybody,” the guy said. “But let’s do it. I’m in a hurry.” He looked at the hoagie again. “Is there a limit to the number?” Frankie asked. The agent scanned the form. “Don’t look like it. There’s lots of space here. How many do you want? Remember, the more you list, the less each gets.” “Six,” Frankie replied. “Six!” the agent shot back. “Damn, we’ll be here all day. We’re talking money here kid. Nobody has six friends worth leaving money to.” “I do,” Frankie said quietly. “Six?” “Yeah, six.” The agent still looked annoyed, but resigned himself to the number. “Okay, who’s the first one?” “Johnny Francelli.” “Spell it.” “F-R-A-N-C-E-L-L-I.” “Next.” “Angelo Marzo. M-A-R-Z-O.” “Damn, kid, are they all Italian?” “No,” Frankie said. “But what’s the difference?” “Never mind, keep ‘em coming.” “Nick Hardings. Spell it like it sounds.” “Hardings, got it.” “Jimmy Wright. With a W.” “Damn right! Jimmy Wright.” The agent chuckled as he wrote, proud of his wit again. “Who’s next?”
|
||
