Shakedown on Hate St

by Matthew Copes

  “That's not what you do to someone you love goddammit!” she screamed louder than I would've guessed possible. I reached for her arm and found it trembling. With as much strength as I had I pulled her body to mine.

  That’s the last thing I remember.

  49

  WHEN MY LAWYER CALLED to tell me the sale of the business was a done deal I felt no more happiness than if I'd found an old five-spot in a pair of jeans I hadn't worn in a while. Looking back it all seemed so petty. Years of stress and sacrifice just to make a few bucks. Back in the day I'd been one cocky SOB. Look at me. I built this from the ground up with my own two hands. Big deal.

  James and Frank invited me out to celebrate, but I declined. I told them I had a sore throat and that we’d do it later, but I knew we wouldn’t. I’m sure they thrilled that I took a pass.

  La Lena called me that evening and said I sounded like I’d just lost my best friend. Her voice wasn’t the same either. It’d picked up a distant tone since our trip to the hospital.

  I told her the sale of the company had just been finalized.

  “Good news, right?”

  “Good news,” I said, but she was right, I sounded old and tired.

  “Are you down about selling the company?”

  I told her I couldn't have cared less about that. That all I could think her and Soul. How I’d let them down.

  “Soul’s already in bed and my grandmother’s here,” she said. “Can you come pick me up?”

  A thin layer of fog hovered over the ground as I pulled to the curb across from La Lena's apartment. She was moving toward me almost floating, and her feet and legs obscured below the knees. I reached across and popped her door without leaving my seat. The Jeep nearly drove itself back to my place.

  The moment we crossed the line separating us from the rest of the world I grabbed her from behind and pressed my body into hers roughly. I slid both hands under her sweater and I kissed her neck, just where it curved into her shoulder. She worked feverishly unbuttoning her jeans. They slid along with her panties down to her calves, and my jeans didn't make it past my thighs. We made love like that. Me behind her, our clothes down low, not three feet inside the door.

  “Can you stay?” I asked.

  “I can't. I want to, but I can't.”

  “It's OK. I understand,” I said. “You need to be there when Soul wakes up.”

  She nodded.

  On the way home I reached down into the console for my smokes and lighter. I lit one and sucked a lung-full.

  “Want one?” I asked.

  She did. I lit her one too.

  “If anything happens,” she said, “I'll always have nothing but perfect memories of you. You’re the love of my life. My knight in shining armor. You couldn't have been any more perfect.”

  Those words rocked me, and they were just what I needed to hear after the spectacular way I'd gone off the rails. I pulled over into the lot of an empty strip mall, and she slid over and buried her face in my neck. Her warm tears swirled onto my chest. I took the cigarette from her hand and flipped it out the window. I flipped mine too.

  “We're lucky,” I said. I started to another sentence but she pressed her index finger to my lips and kissed me between my neck and shoulder. We stayed like that until the question I'd been dreading reared its ugly head.

  “Dutch, what was that scene about the other night?”

  “I saw a guy I'd been in Vietnam with,” I said, giving her the answer I'd been rehearsing. “We went out for a few drinks. It brought back a lot of bad memories. Stuff I never told anyone about. Stuff that still fucks with my head every day of my life.”

  “Maybe tonight's not the right time, but someday, maybe it would help if you told me,” she said. “And please promise me you won't drink anymore.”

  She could've asked me to lasso the moon. That face and those eyes did it every time. I promised her. I knew right there I'd never touch another drop. I knew someday I'd take her up on her offer too. I'd tell her everything.

  50

  ON TUESDAY MORNING I was in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and feeling anxious. The destroyed cabinet was an ever-present reminder of my crash-and-burn, and I needed to get it repaired ASAP.

  When Gino called he had big news and was panting like he'd just run a 4-minute mile. Stein had an evening event planned for Thursday, and the limo was scheduled to be in the garage on Wednesday.

  He asked if I'd heard about the rally at the union hall that'd gone south a few days before.

  I told him I hadn't. That I'd sworn-off the news.

  When he filled me in the whole thing sounded like a scene from a Mike Hammer novel, but I hadn't heard him so enthused since the first time we met.

  “I'm no mechanic,” he said, “but the car needs a lot of work, and I’m guessing it’s going to take them all day to fix it.”

  Then he told me to meet him at JJ's for breakfast the following morning, and to bring the bomb. He hung up before I could protest.

  I DOUBTED IF ANYONE in the history of the universe had ever eaten at JJ’s more than once. How it continued to avoid detection from the restaurant police year after year was a cosmic mystery. Arthur C. Clarke material. Gino was such an impeccably dapper dresser and neat-nick, and I couldn't understand why he always hung out in such dumps. He was nowhere in sight so I picked one of the many empty booths and sat. The ugly, trailer park faux-marble table was tacky from years of accumulated grime, and the ancient bottle of ketchup by the ashtray was caked in a solid brown crust.

  “What'll it be?” asked the skeletal waitress who’d appeared at my elbow. She sounded like she'd be dead from emphysema by noon.

  “How about some antibiotics,” I said. It felt like a good morning to be an asshole.

  She said she’d check back in a few minutes just as Gino slid in across from me.

  “You buy a new VCR?” he asked, pointing to the box I’d brought.

  “Negative. The thing's in there,” I whispered. I slid it across the table, and he peered over the edge like it contained a venom spitting cobra.

  “Here's the deal,” he said. “The limo’s already in the shop and the guys are working on it. I was milling around making small talk earlier, and they said it’d be done by Thursday afternoon, no problem.”

  “So how are we going to get the thing in the car with them hanging all over it?”

  “I scheduled a diversion.”

  “A what?”

  “I ordered a birthday cake,” he said.

  He'd lost me, but for the next 15 minutes he laid out his plan in detail that would've made the generals at Normandy proud. There were three distinct takeaways that hung in my mind long after he'd moved on: balloons, birthday cake, and tits.

  “So what time is all this going down?” I asked.

  He said the mayor's function started at six-thirty, and that the car would pick him up at his office at about five-fifteen. Gino was giving me vital information. Real life and death shit, but I'd tuned out. I was thinking of every conceivable glitch that could trip us up, and how they'd affect my chances of ever seeing La Lena and Soul again. When he stopped talking the silence snapped me back into the present, and a few things popped into my head.

  “You said the mayor's events are usually planned months in advance, so why’s this one so last minute?”

  “It's not, it’s just that with all that's been going on with my mother I've been out of the loop. I missed a meeting or two when I was getting her moved into the old folk's home.”

  I nodded.

  “Everything's gonna start around three,” he said. “Sometimes the mechanics drag shit out, but only to a certain point. When the car needs to be ready it always is. They're on the gravy train, and they won't do anything to screw it up.”

  The more he spoke the more confident I got.

  “The girls will be there on time, so don't worry about that part either,” he said. “I'll let them in, then after the initial confusion I'll wrangle everybody
upstairs, so the garage will be empty.”

  I already knew I’d be the one planting the bomb, and it made sense. If I did it Gino could cover for me. He said that once the festivities had begun he'd tell them he had to take a shit and slip down and let me in. Once I was in he'd go back upstairs and do his best to keep everyone occupied. When I was done I'd let myself out and disappear like a ghost.

  “The thing will be in my locker,” he continued. “They’re against the wall next to the stairs, and mine says GINO in big, white letters. Can't miss it.”

  “Anything else I need to know?” I asked.

  “It'll be that night,” he said. “Turn on the news.”

  I should've asked him what he meant by turning on the news. I didn't. Duh.

  “And one more thing,” he continued. “If there's any chance of taking out children, bystanders, or even a litter of kittens I'll nix the whole thing.”

  “Agreed, but what about the driver and the mayor’s staff?”

  “I know who's who. Most of them are up to their necks in the racket. Bad people. Let me worry about them.”

  Before I took off Gino described how to lift the cover to get access to the damaged portion of the seat underneath. I needed to be waiting by the side door no later than three o'clock. He'd excuse himself, let me in, I'd do the deed and let myself out. He'd return to the party. Bing, bam, BOOM. He told me to wear something I wouldn't normally wear. Glasses, a stocking cap, some old clothes from Goodwill. Anything that would make it hard for someone to identify me later. If we ever got that far.

  51

  CURTIS POPPED THE TOP and took a healthy swig of Colt 45. His first taste of the sweet nectar in more than a year. He'd been out of town working. Family speak for in prison. A nine month stretch for breaking-and-entering. He set the sweaty can on the coffee table to answer the ringing phone.

  “Guess who?” La Lena asked.

  “Hmm?” he said. Her mind's eye saw him scratching his balding head in mock contemplation. “My beautiful niece La Lena?”

  “How'd you know?”

  “I'm smart, didn't anyone tell you?”

  “Nope. Nobody said a word.”

  “How's that cute baby girl of yours?” he asked. “I miss you both.”

  “She's perfect, just like always. We want to see you. We need your help.”

  When Uncle Curtis opened the front door three hours later the heavenly aromas of fried flounder and French fries instantly triggered memories from La Lena's childhood. She remembered all of them crammed into her great grandmother's tiny kitchen in Crisfield on the eastern shore. She would've been just about Soul's age.

  Aunt Gladys ran from the kitchen in her apron and gave them each a hearty hug, then wrangled everybody into the dining room. The food was ready, she said, and if they didn't eat right away it'd get soggy. She'd made her famous coleslaw and lemonade too.

  After Dinner La Lena had a private word with her uncle while Soul and Aunt Gladys washed the dishes.

  Before she left she told Soul she was going to stay with her aunt and uncle for a day or two, and to be a good girl. When she hugged her baby her body trembled.

  From there she took a bus across town, then walked the last half mile to Jefferson's house. She was pretty sure that after that night she'd never set foot in it again. She was pretty sure nobody else would either.

  She'd called the meeting with Jefferson and Arnold because there was something important she needed to tell them, and it needed to be done in person. She arrived deliberately late, hoping to be the last one there.

  As she approached the house she clenched the strap of the worn purse in her right hand and lowered it until it dangled near her feet. When she knocked Jefferson peered through the curtains like a paranoid crack-head expecting the SWAT team. He opened the door a hair and she slipped in.

  “Is Arnold here yet?”

  “Nope. I've been calling him for an hour. Nobody's home.”

  Conspicuously absent from the coffee table were the beer cans and pot seeds from her previous visit. Jefferson was trying real hard to make the place presentable for his boss. Arnold didn't tolerate drinking and certainly not marijuana. He'd have been pissed off at the state of the place last time she was there.

  “Well, let's. I don't wanna have to say the same thing twice.” She rubbed her temples with her middle and index fingers.

  She'd planned on them both being there. It would've made things a lot easier. No loose ends. She sat down at the end of the sofa near the corner table with the lamp and telephone. She twiddled her thumbs and stared at her shoes. They didn't have much to say to one another. Jefferson asked if she'd like a cup of coffee, but the last thing she needed was caffeine. He went into the kitchen on the pretense of making himself one, but probably more to escape the unpleasant silence. La Lena set her purse on the floor between the end table and sofa, and its fabric was a near match with the latter’s upholstery. She'd picked it up for a song at Goodwill the day before.

  When Jefferson came back with his cup of Folgers she looked at her watch. They'd been waiting ten minutes.

  “I'm starving,” she said. “I'm going to walk down to the corner store. Be back in a few.”

  The caveman-like, “uh huh,” he grunted sent a shudder of revulsion through her jittery body.

  As she walked away from the house she looked over her shoulder. He'd turned the television on. Its pulsing blue and white lights gave him away. When she was out of sight she ran.

  On the corner in front of the convenience store was a phone booth. She went inside and closed the shattered folding glass door behind her. Her right hand reached into her coat pocket, found a quarter and dropped it into the slot. It rattled down the stainless steel chute and landed on top of its brothers. She dialed the seven numbers.

  “Pick up,” she said. “Pick up the phone you lousy motherfucker.”

  52

  I DOUBT I SLEPT MORE than an hour Wednesday night. I tossed and turned, sweat profusely, and faded in and out of consciousness like I'd contracted some mosquito born river fever from Sumatra or the Congo. At four-thirty I gave up the fight. I forced down three scrambled eggs and a cup of coffee, neither of which did my distressed stomach any good.

  The rest of the morning and early afternoon were without end. Like some sadistic Swiss watchmaker had thrown sand into the gears of time. At two o'clock I couldn't stand another minute, so I donned my second hand duds and took a bus across town.

  At three o’clock I was pacing outside the garage. My body was restless, my mind exhausted. The day before I'd gone to Goodwill and bought a brown corduroy blazer, acid-washed jeans, and a Cleveland Browns stocking cap. I wore the extra thick bifocal reading glasses too. I couldn't see a thing with them on, but they distorted my eyes and face enough so that anyone who got a good look at me wouldn't have a clue what I really looked like.

  I'd smoked about a pack and a half of cigarettes over the last 24 hours, but cancer was the least of my worries. It takes years to kill you. Shrapnel blasts and gunshots kill you right now. I was halfway through another smoke about 20 yards down the sidewalk when the party van pulled up. The girls got out, and they were knockouts just like Gino said they'd be. Pointy, firm and curvy. One blond and one brunette. The driver helped them with the cake and balloons then pulled away leaving them on the sidewalk. The blond knocked on the steel door but nothing happened. She knocked again. Nothing. It was a cold and overcast day and they weren't dressed for the weather. They stamped their high-heeled feet impatiently.

  Then the door opened with an abrupt pop and Gino exploded out onto the sidewalk. He looked in the opposite direction then swung toward me, and our eyes met briefly before he ushered the girls inside. I took another drag and walked that way. When I got close I leaned beside the door, dipped my head, and placed my right foot on the block wall so my leg made a triangle.

  I heard voices inside but couldn't make out what they were saying. The steel door muffled everything just past the point of compre
hension, but revelry was definitely in the air. Then things got quiet. I hoped it was because Gino had gotten everyone upstairs.

  As far as I could tell he'd thought of everything. I was cautiously optimistic, but seeing the girls boosted my confidence to new heights. The plan was brilliant in its simplicity. There girls were from one of those raunchy, adult, singing telegram places, and they had a cake and a few surprises for Charlie. Charlie was a gooey fat, middle-aged grease monkey who Gino said probably hadn’t been laid in decades. Of course it wasn't his birthday, but it didn't matter. Things would progress according to the immutable laws that govern the actions of horny and sexless men. Gino said it would unfold something like this:

  Girls: Where's Charlie the lucky birthday boy?

  Charlie: I'm Charlie, but it's not my birthday. There must be a mistake. You got the wrong guy.

  But Gino had told the girls to expect this, and he'd coached them in the proper way to handle it.

  Girls: Hey buddy, it's already been paid for. The cake, the lap-dances, everything. We got the right address, says so right here. So, there's been a mix-up. So what? You're Charlie aren't ya? You like birthday cake don't ya? You like lap-dances don't ya? You like my tits don't ya? Well, what's the problem? Somebody else just bought you one hell of a mistake handsome. Might as well enjoy it.

  After a brief silence I heard loud female voices, but they weren't talking, they were singing a familiar song. A contemporary twist on an old classic. I didn’t catch every word, but it went something like this:

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday dear Charlie, you big strong buck,

  We're your birthday girls, and we like to...

  Two minutes later Gino appeared at the door opened and I entered. He positioned himself halfway up the stairs and I ran to the locker and grabbed the bomb. When I looked at him for the final go-ahead I got it.