21
Angie sat alone at a table by the front window of Wings of an Angel, the restaurant owned by three ex-cons who had become friends, Vinnie Freiman, Bruce Pagozzi, and Earl White. She went there for lunch, a plate of spaghetti before her, but she morosely picked at it.
“How you doin’, Angie?” Vinnie said. He was short, stocky, in his sixties, and generally considered the brains of the operation.
“Not so good,” she murmured.
He nodded. “Yeah, Earl said you was lookin’ kinda glum. Anything you wanna talk about? Ol’ Vinnie’s here for you, you know?”
“I know, Vinnie. I appreciate it. Have a seat, please.” She gestured towards the empty chair at her table. He sat. “My friends think I’m crazy, and they may be right.”
“Miss Angie, we all know you always been a little wacky, but since when’
