The Theft of the Mafia Cat
EDWARD D. HOCH
Nick Velvet had always harbored a soft spot for Paul Matalena, ever since they’d been kids together on the same block in the Italian section of Greenwich Village. He still vividly remembered the Saturday afternoon when a gang fight had broken out on Bleecker Street, and Paul had yanked him out of the path of a speeding police car with about one inch to spare. He liked to think that Paul had saved his life that day, and so, being something of a sentimentalist, Nick responded quickly to his old friend’s call for help.
He met Paul in the most unlikely of places—the Shakespeare garden in Central Park, where someone many years ago had planned a floral gathering which was to include every species of flower mentioned in the works of the Bard. If the plan had never come to full blossom, it still produced a colorful setting, a backdrop for literary discussion.
“‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance,’” Paul quoted as they strolled among the flowers and shrubs. “‘And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.’”
Nick, who could hardly be called a Shakespeare scholar, had come prepared. “‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,’” he countered.
. . .
