Knockaround Guys Page #2

to be comin' across...

with a set amount every week

aren't hittin' their figures.

How are we gonna

kick it up above...

if it doesn't flow

into us first?

You figure they're holdin' out

or Just not earnin'?

Not earnin'?

There is no not earnin'.

You think people

stopped f***in'...

and stopped bettin' and stopped

borrowin' this month?

What the f***'s the matter

with you? You don't get it?

Someone's stealing from us.

Look, Pop,

is there anything l can do?

Nah. Nothin' for you to sweat.

We're workin' it out.

Come on. Teddy,

would you help me out here?

You said it yourself.

Outside of Brooklyn,

no one's gonna give me a shot.

What are you complainin' about?

You drive a Cadillac.

Look, Pop, l got a handle

on the low-level stuff...

keepin' the taxis running,

overseeing the crap games...

the odd union meeting,

but it's time.

I'm ready to step up.

If you're Jammed up here...

there's gotta be somethin'

l can do, right?

You brought us the sandwiches!

What else can you do?

Listen, l'll see you later.

Hey, Tony.

These ladies--their check

is on us today, OIK?

Of course.

For dessert,

you can go powder your noses.

Just leave your numbers

with Tony.

Listen, Chris,

not for nothin'...

but your old man's

not gonna like this.

He says no more checks

on the arm for random broads.

You're hurtin' him too much

ever since that bachelor list...

came out in the "Post."

What do you want me to tell ya?

The ladies love me.

What's up?

Why is it every Junkie

thinks newspaper cleans glass?

Couldn't tell ya.

Here ya go. Thanks, chief.

No, don't do that.

That's extortion,

for Christ's sake.

The window's even dirtier

than it was before.

Come on,

what's the matter with you?

Guy's got the worst Job

in the world.

Nah, worst Job has gotta be

mop boy at Show World.

I'll tell you what,

l'm not moppin' up spooge...

but it's not that fun

for me anymore.

I never thought

l'd have a f***in' Job.

My father wants me to have

5 days a week--Iunch and dinner.

Man, when l was growin' up...

I didn't see him running

no diner room lunch and dinner.

You got that right.

Man had crews running while

he sat there at the Bergen...

sippin' his espresso

and countin' money.

Yeah, but he had to get out.

You know that.

Another conviction,

he'd be gone for life, right?

But he's still named Scarpa,

and where does that leave me?

With a small piece

of a restaurant...

and all the hassles

of his old life.

Bad press. Fed surveillance.

Liquor board shakedowns.

Not to mention people whispering

when we walk into a room.

Face it, Chris.

To regular people...

we're stone f***ing goombahs,

you know?

But to knockaround guys,

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