Vinnie And Mauricio Best Here

Mauricio made a small squeaking noise.

“No,” Vinnie replied, tucking the money into his shirt pocket. “I got documentation. Balls are for guys who don’t have paper trails.”

Slowly, Carmine reached into his jacket. Mauricio flinched. But Carmine only pulled out a thick roll of cash, peeled off nine hundred dollars, and slapped it into Vinnie’s palm. vinnie and mauricio

Then Vinnie did something unexpected. He smiled. “You know, Carmine, you’re right. Fine print. I respect a man who knows his contracts.” He folded the receipt, put it away, and pulled out a second piece of paper. “That’s why I brought this.”

Just then, the back door creaked. Carmine “The Lips” Scalise—so named for his habit of licking his lips before every lie—filled the doorway. He was a mountain of a man in a shiny suit, accompanied by two smaller mountains named Rocco and Joey. Mauricio made a small squeaking noise

“Conversation’s right,” Vinnie said. “I got a receipt here. Dated. Signed by you. Says ‘Watercraft vessel, guaranteed seaworthy, seven hundred dollars.’ The rowboat sank, Carmine. Sank in the pond in Juniper Park. With my new fishing hat on it.”

Mauricio stopped pacing. His mouth fell open. Balls are for guys who don’t have paper trails

“I can’t sit,” Mauricio whispered. “Vinnie, this is a bad idea. Carmine ‘The Lips’ Scalise doesn’t forget. You don’t just ask for your money back.”