Working for the Man

by Ralph Dennis

  “Falco’s too smart,” I said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He knows how we think. He knows we’ve been looking for him since yesterday. He knows step two is to widen the search area. That’s why he’s in Atlanta. He’s found himself a hole and pulled the shadows in over him.”

  Art said, “Something stinks.” His hard, narrowed eyes looked out at me from the flat Irish face.

  “It’s that goddam fig tree. It smells like cat piss.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Jim.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know they’re still in town and you’ve got a card you’re not showing me.” Art blew his cloudy breath at me. “We got to stand out here in the yard and freeze?”

  “I’m late getting somewhere.”

  “Really? Well, I’ve got an hour to waste. We go in my car or yours?”

  “Not today,” I said. “Later in the week let’s get together and ride around and yell nasty things at girls.”

  “Got a smoke?”

  I reached in the yoke of the topcoat. Art stepped in closer and held out his right hand. I was bringing the cigarette pack out when he slapped his left hand against my right topcoat pocket. The .38 banged hard against my thigh and there was a dull clatter from the handful of spare shells.

  “You still want the smoke?” I edged around until the right side was away from him.

  “I was right. Something’s going down tonight.”

  I shook the pack at him until one smoke popped out. “Nothing’s going down unless we have luck. You’ll be the first one I call.”

  He took the smoke and lit it. “I could bust you right here on the spot.”

  “Do it. Tonight might be shitty anyway.”

  He blew a curl of smoke at me. “Why are you carrying?”

  “Because I wasn’t Saturday night.”

  “You’ve got a better reason than that.”

  “Tell me what it is,” I retorted.

  Art’s got a temper. I could feel the rough edges of it. “You’re making this hard, Jim.”

  “That’s the way it is. Kiss me or leave me alone.” I walked past him and opened the car door. I left the door open while I started the engine and let it warm up a bit.

  Art followed me and said, “I could dog you all night.”

  “It’s your time. Waste it.”

  I closed the door and backed down the drive. When I reached the road, he was still there, head down, digging his toe into the dirt. A couple of blocks from the house, I looked back and he was tailgating me. He remained there for five or six blocks. Then, when I caught a light, he pulled up level, in the lane for a left turn. I looked over at him. He gave me the high finger.

  The light changed. I headed straight on and he took a slow wide left.

  “I thought you’d found better things to do,” Hump said.

  “I considered it.” I watched the black with the pumpgun. He placed my .38 on the bar counter before he ducked under the far end and placed a snifter on the bar. I said, “A short one.” He poured me about an ounce of the Hines. I took it and walked over and stood looking down at Hump. He was sprawled on the white sofa. “Anything yet?”

  “Nothing.” He nodded at a place next to him on the sofa. “What’s with Art?”

  “He thinks we didn’t invite him to the party because he still has pimples.”

  “Not enough girls to go around as it is.” He tilted his head toward the bedroom door. “Only one girl here and The Man’s got her.”

  “Nice?”

  “New girl from out of town,” Hump said.

  “Auditioning?”

  “Oh, shit, yes.” Hump put his head back and closed his eyes, a smile on his face.

  Exactly at seven the phone rang.

  The bodyguard answered it. I couldn’t hear what he mumbled into the phone. He passed us on the way to the bedroom door. He knocked once on the door, the discreet rap butlers make in English movies. A minute later The Man came out. He was wearing slacks, bedroom slippers and a red velvet smoking jacket.

  “You got here after all?” he said.

  “Thought I might as well.” I stood up and followed him into the kitchen-dining room. I looked back and saw Hump lean and look into the bedroom before the black bodyguard closed the door.

  The Man lifted the receiver. “Yes?”

  The tape recorder was running. It had developed a squeak, like the tapehead needed some work.

  Hump walked in, some spring in his step, and sat down at the table. I leaned toward him. “Prime?” He grinned and nodded.

  “For you,” The Man said.

  I took the receiver. “Hardman, here.”

  “You got the cash?” The mushmouth sound was gone. He was wearing his teeth or the bridge. The accent was southern, but flattened out some by time in other places.

  “It’s ready now.”

  “You’ve been making some guesses,” he said.

  “A few.” I decided I might as well hang some of it out on the line. It might be worth my life later. He might kill if he thought he could protect his identity. If he knew it wouldn’t do any good, maybe he’d settle for the hundred thousand. “The girl gave some of it away.”

  “What girl?”

  “The Clark girl. The afternoon at the dance studio when she talked to me and the cop she got rattled. She thought we’d boxed her in and she made up a lie to throw us off. Said there was supposed to be a poker game that night at Ronny’s. That was to get us running in circles. It did at first. Later on, it put me on to you. That and some other lies.”

  “Good help is hard to find,” he said.

  “That’s true enough, Falco. Where’s the drop to be?”

  “Same place. In front of the Omni.”

  “At the stairwell?”

  “At the curb. You’ll get your instructions there.”

  “When?”

  “Eight on the dot. Come alone and no iron.”

  “All right.”

  The Man leaned past me and grabbed the receiver. I backed away. The Man said, “You. You, Falco, this is the last payday. No more copies and no more phone calls.”

  I left the kitchen-dining room and slumped down on the sofa. Hump came after me and leaned an elbow on the bar. “On tonight?”

  “At eight.”

  “You need me?”

  I nodded. “You’re the lead-tag.”

  The phone got slammed down in the back of the apartment. Seconds later The Man stormed in and stood in the center of the living room with a clenched fist on his hip. “That one is dead. His hide is on the wall.”

  “One thing,” I said. “When I make the swap, I don’t want your boys shucking and jiving around me. You want Falco you do it on your own time, after I’m back home in my bed.”

  He didn’t want to agree to it. I could feel the hard breath he was holding back. I matched eyeballs with him and waited. I had all night and he knew it. When it came, I had to lean toward him to hear it. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “I’ll make you a promise. I see any of your boys tagging me and I’ll turn around and bring the money back here. I see any of them at the Omni and I might make a mistake and shoot one.”

  The black bodyguard looked at me and looked away.

  “All right, Hardman.” He banged the fist against his thigh. “But I want something for my money. I want that copy and I want to be sure it’s the last copy.”

  “I think it’s a straight swap this time. A one for one. No reason to do it otherwise. He’s overstayed himself. He’ll take the money and run.” I found my glass and tossed down the last swallow of Hines. “If Falco was really smart, he’d have taken the fifty thousand, written off the rest, and headed for the high grass.”

  Hump said, “That’s the way I read it. He’s taking a risk tonight that he won’t take again.”

  I placed the snifter on the bar. “Where’s the money?”

  The bodyguard leaned over the bar and brought up a Sam
sonite briefcase. After he placed it on the bar, I flipped the catches and ruffled the stacks of tens and twenties. I stepped away. The bodyguard closed the briefcase and pressed the catches.

  “Got an evening paper?”

  “Why?” The Man looked puzzled.

  “In the kitchen,” the bodyguard said.

  “Just the sports page,” I called after him.

  He brought it to me. It was opened to the right section. I found what I’d been looking for on the second page. It was a small block with a heavy black border.

  I passed the paper to Hump. Hump looked up from it. “That’s either smart or dumb.”

  “Let’s hope it’s dumb.” I put on my topcoat and dropped the .38 in the right hand pocket. I picked up the briefcase. “Wish us luck,” I said to The Man.

  He didn’t say anything. His eyes were on the briefcase all the way out the door, until the slope of the stairs dropped us out of sight.

  Out in the cold wind, Hump stood by while I unlocked the trunk of my car and tossed the briefcase inside. He slammed the lid shut and then we sat in my car and smoked a slow one while I explained the lead-tag and how I wanted it to work.

  We leapfrogged back downtown to North Avenue. Past the Varsity and a left onto Techwood. All that loop around was so we’d approach the Omni on the right side of the drive, the curb side instead of the parking lot one. The traffic was already bumper to bumper and I got some drivers mad by holding up the flow to let Hump move into a slot right ahead of me. From there on it was Hump’s job to jockey about and move up one car so he wouldn’t be directly in front of me.

  It was about a mile from North Avenue and Techwood to the Omni. The last half mile was slow going. It was that southern gentleman crap. Drivers dropping their wives and girlfriends off in front of the sports complex and then heading for the parking lots. All that so those delicate ladies wouldn’t get chilled.

  By five of eight, I was still a hundred yards away. It was stop and go. We’d shaved it close. Hump was two cars ahead, also in the curb lane. Off at about thirty degrees to the right I could see the flare of lights from the Omni. All that glass and the red rusting steel in a kind of desert.

  Fifty yards away. I got the piece out of my coat. I placed it on the seat next to me and looked around for an obvious and handy stash. Not under the seat. Too hard to reach when I needed it. Not in the glove box. That had the same problems.

  I settled on the litter basket on the floorboards between the driver and the passenger seat. It was the kind that had the heavy rubber flaps that anchor it. I pushed the trash forward and made an opening. I stuffed the .38 in and scattered cigarette packs and a waxed sandwich wrapper over it. Have to think ahead. I got out my pack of smokes. Half a pack left. I shook all of them out and put one back in. I stored the rest of them in the glove box. I tossed the pack on the dashboard next to a book of matches.

  Ready now? Not quite. I remembered the half a dozen spare shells. I scooped them out and dropped them in my left trouser pocket with my change. Now I was ready.

  The line of cars moved. Almost there. Hump was level with the Omni now and edging forward. The blue Mustang between us didn’t take much time unloading. Two young girls and a guy got out and hurried away, out of the wind. The Mustang whipped around Hump and headed for the ground-level lot. I edged up to fill the spot right behind Hump.

  It wouldn’t be long before the contact. It couldn’t be. Already the cars stacked behind me were hitting their horns. All around me people were streaming into the Omni. The Hawks don’t draw as well as the Flames but 8,000 is a fairly good crowd.

  More honking behind me. A stationwagon on my tailgate unloaded a woman and a couple of boys and whipped around me.

  A ribbon of people crossing ahead of me on a crosswalk.

  Hands on the curbside doors at the same time. A blast of cold air hit me from the side and the back. James Falco slipped into the seat next to me. I caught a blur in the rearview mirror. It was a woman’s face with a dark scarf over her hair. The doors closed. I could smell her perfume. Straw Hat. It was Regina Clark.

  Falco brought out a .38 with a two-inch barrel and placed it across his leg. “Drive, Hardman.”

  Ahead of me Hump pulled away from the curb. I gave him a beat of about five and followed. Half a block away from the Omni Falco said, “Take a look.”

  Regina Clark twisted around and propped her elbows on the back of the rear seat. She stared out at the drive behind us for half a minute or so. “Nothing,” she said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Careful now. I kept my distance from Hump’s car. Had to make sure that Falco didn’t make a connection between his car and mine. Had to keep him, instead, thinking of the empty drive behind us. No, not empty now. One set of headlights about a block behind. Doing it easy, casually, I reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror. Falco edged around and looked through the back window.

  “Car back there,” Falco said. “Keep an eye on it.”

  And that was fine. Let him watch that while I remained a hundred yards behind Hump. Close enough so that I could let Hump know when Falco ordered me one way or the other. Either by signal lights or by changing lanes.

  “He turned off,” Regina said.

  Falco said, “Is there a suitcase back there?”

  After some moments of feeling around, Regina said, “I can’t find it.”

  “Where is it, Hardman?”

  “Where’s the copy?”

  “Regina’s got it,” Falco said.

  “Let me see it.”

  A few seconds later, Regina passed the thick chunk of xerox pages over the seat back to Falco. The wide sheets were folded once and held in place by heavy twine. Falco showed it to me and dropped it on the seat between us.

  “Now, where’s the cash?”

  “In the trunk.”

  “Goddam it, why the trunk?”

  “Until I saw the copy, it was no trade. That’s the way The Man wanted it.”

  “Screw him.”

  Heading toward Marietta Street. “Where are we going?”

  “Don’t be in a hurry. You might not like it.” He grinned at me, showing the regular uppers with the browning crooked lowers. So it was probably a bridge. “Take a left on Marietta.”

  I hit my blinkers and moved into the turn lane. Ahead of me, without seeming to force it, Hump did the same. I slowed a bit and he speeded up. By the time the turn came, he’d widened the gap.

  “Check,” Falco said.

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s good.” Falco relaxed. “Hang a left on Peachtree.”

  We caught the red light on Forsyth. I didn’t see Hump anywhere.

  “Put your gun on his neck,” Falco said.

  A touch of cold metal on my neck, between the cords. I sat still, hands on the wheel, while Falco ran his hands over me. Shoulders and armpits, back, waist, my legs down to my shoe tops and even across my crotch.

  Falco leaned away from me. “All right.” The short-barrel .38 easy on his leg again.

  I got the green light and moved off. We were in the cruising section now, the area where the black pimps tooled around in their high wheel cars with the white fake fur seat covers. One of those in front of me and one behind. I hoped Hump was awake out there somewhere.

  I took the turn on Peachtree and headed back toward the center of town. We were making a kind of box step, a wide run-around, while Falco satisfied himself that we didn’t have a tag. “Where now, Falco?”

  “Aren’t you an eager one?”

  “You can sit on my lap and drive if you’d rather,” I said.

  “To the Strip.”

  “Noisy down there this time of night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And one more bit of noise won’t matter, huh?” I thought I could read him. He had a burn on against me and sometime in the last day or so he’d made out his own death contract on me. Just because I balled up a good score he had going. Just because I tracked the blood to him and wrot
e his name in the blood puddle.

  “Maybe you’re not as dumb as I thought,” he said.

  Regina put her hands on the seat back and leaned between us. “You said there wouldn’t be any more killing.”

  “Who said anything about killing?”

  That flattened out in the air around us. Regina Clark lifted her hands and backed away. “It sounded that way,” she said.

  “Watch the back window and shut up,” he said.

  Approaching Baker, I took the curb lane in front of the Regency and followed the northeast part of the Peachtree Street split. It didn’t seem to bother him. So maybe we were going as far as the Strip, the area around 10th Street.

  Passing 3rd Street Falco said, “You’re in no hurry, are you?”

  “No reason why I should be.” Bowels in an uproar. I needed to piss. A sickness in my stomach. Where the hell was Hump anyway?

  “You know the Follies?”

  I did. It was one of those expense account lunch and dinner places where all the waitresses were just about topless and gave you a thick serving of titty along with your prime rib. It was set back from the street, behind the Radio Shack on 8th and Peachtree.

  “Turn in there.”

  Nothing else I could do. I passed 8th and swung up the drive that cut into the sidewalk. A number of empty spaces were there.

  “To the back of the lot and to the left,” Falco said.

  It was dark back there, the long shadow of the building covering about half the lot. It looked like a mugger’s paradise. Maybe for that reason there weren’t a lot of cars back there.

  “That space against the building,” Falco said.

  I pulled in and braked. Falco reached across me and turned the ignition off and withdrew the keys. “Regina.”

  He didn’t have to tell her what to do. I felt the cold iron touch the cord on one side on my neck. He reached behind him and grabbed the door handle.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  It amused him. “Go ahead. It happens in all the best movies.”

  “The last smoke?” I got the Pall Mall pack from the dash and found the book of matches. I made a thing of trying to shake the one smoke out, at the same time pinching the pack so it wouldn’t. Finally I tore the rest of the top off and picked out the single cigarette.