by Andy Rausch
“She doing okay?”
“She's doing fine, living in Portland with her new husband.”
“Tell her hello for me,” said Brooks.
Dixie looked at him, her expression threatening bodily harm. “Why are you here, Brooks? What do you want? I haven't heard from you in nine years and now, suddenly, you show up out of the blue. Obviously you want something. What is it?”
“I got a job to offer you.”
She paused, staring at him for a beat. “What kind of job?”
“The normal kind,” said Brooks. “The kind we always did.”
“I thought you were through with all that.”
“So did I,” said Brooks. “Remember Spook?”
“Of course I remember Spook.” She turned and looked at Dave. “Spook was even worse than this piece of shit. And that's saying a whole lot.”
“Spook's dead now.”
Brooks thought Dixie might be moved by this, but she wasn't. “And?”
“His son came to see me.”
“Yeah? What about?”
“He's a hitter now, like Spook was. He told me about a job.”
“Why's he telling you?”
“He wants me to help him,” said Brooks. “His daddy told him if he ever needed help, he should look me up. So he did.”
“So what's this got to do with me?”
Brooks looked at her. “This is a special job.”
She was paying attention now. “What's so special about it?”
“The contract is for two million dollars.”
“Two million dollars? For one guy?”
“One guy,” said Brooks. He made a show of looking over at Dave in an effort to remind Dixie he was still over there.
“Don't worry about him,” she said dismissively. “What do you want with me?”
“I want your help.”
She looked at him with suspicion. “Why?”
“You're the best hitter I know,” said Brooks. “And I owe you.”
She stood there on the ledge for a moment in silence, looking down at the street below, mulling it over. “You do owe me. You owe me a lot.”
“You think $666,000 will cover it?”
“Not even close,” she said. “But it's a start.”
Brooks smiled, slightly relieved.
“What about me?” asked Dave.
Brooks looked at him. “Why do you wanna jump, Dave? What's the problem?”
“It's my old lady,” said Dave.
“She leave?”
“Yeah, and she took my kid.”
“Sucks about the kid. But you're gonna find that you're better off without the wife. I guarantee it. It may not seem like it now, but one of these days you're gonna wake up and realize that was the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Dixie gave him a disapproving look. “That how you feel, Brooks? You think my leaving was the best thing that ever happened to you?”
“In some ways,” admitted Brooks, nodding. “It's nice to not have to argue all the time.”
“I'm sure you're just out there sleeping with anything that'll have you.”
Brooks laughed. “You'd be surprised. I haven't had sex in a long time now. Years.”
“You know they got pills for that, right?”
“That ain't the problem. I'm an old man now. Girls aren't exactly lining up to sleep with an old codger like me.”
“There's your problem. You're looking for girls. You need to look for a woman.”
“Sometimes I go to the titty bar,” said Brooks.
“You take the strippers home?”
“I have, but it's been a long time.”
Dixie looked at him. “Why's that?”
“It's so impersonal,” said Brooks. “It ain't like it was with you.”
“Now you miss me?” she asked. “Maybe you should have tried not screwing my daughter.”
Brooks looked over at Dave. “She wasn't my daughter. She was from another marriage.”
“What the hell?” asked Dixie.
“I didn't want him to think I had sex with my own daughter.”
“Why do you care what he thinks?”
“That wouldn't be right.”
“Having sex with my daughter wasn't right either, Brooks.”
He nodded. “Okay, you got me there.”
“So where's this job?”
“It's in Detroit.”
“Detroit?” she asked. “No wonder it pays two million. No one would go there otherwise. Detroit is all kinds of nasty. It's a goddamn shithole.”
“Tell me about it,” said Brooks. “But that's where it is.”
Dixie sat down in the window, her legs dangling off the ledge. She looked at Brooks. “You got a cigarette?”
“I quit five years ago.”
“Figures,” said Dixie. She looked over at Dave. “How about you? You smoke?”
Dave nodded that he did. He reached into his pocket and produced a pack of Winstons. He handed the pack and a lighter over to Dixie. She took a cigarette out and held it up, lighting it. She looked over at Dave. “So what's up, Dave? Are you gonna jump today or what? What's the deal here?”
“I don't know.”
“Jumping seems like a shit deal,” said Brooks. “Think about your kid. What you got? A daughter?”
“No,” said Dave. “I got a son. He's twelve.”
“Do you remember when you were twelve, Dave?”
Dave nodded. “Sure.”
“What would your life have been like if your father had killed himself when you were twelve?” asked Brooks.
Dave said, “My dad died when I was a baby.”
“Let me rephrase that then. How did you like growing up without a father?”
Dave was considering this.
“You didn't like it, did you?” asked Dixie, taking a drag.
“No, I guess I didn't.”
“You like your kid?” asked Brooks.
“Yeah, I do,” said Dave. “And he likes me.”
“Well shit,” said Brooks. “That's half the battle right there.”
“Lots of kids don't like their parents,” added Dixie.
Dave nodded. “I didn't like my mom.”
“But I'll bet you still wanted her alive,” said Brooks. “And you didn't even like her. Just think about how your son, who actually likes you, would feel if you were gone.”
Dave was silent, an expression of uncertainty on his face.
“Goddammit, Dave,” said Dixie. “Let's cut through the bullshit. Are you gonna jump or what?”
“I don't know.”
“The clock is ticking, tick fucking tock, Dave,” said Dixie. “It's time to shit or get off the pot.”
Dave's expression was priceless. He didn't know how to react.
Dixie flicked the cigarette down towards the street below. “Fuck this,” said, rising to her feet. “I'm leaving. You do what you want, Dave. Jump or don't jump, it's up to you.”
And she left, Brooks following her.
Dave stood there, unsure what was happening. He looked to the sky and he started to cry.
After leaving Chase Tower, everyone was in the Cadillac. The two males were in the front, and the two women were in back. Lefty turned on the stereo and Marvin Gaye was there with them, singing “Trouble Man.”
Dixie looked at Layla, taking a break from her tablet. “What's your name, sweetheart?”
“My name is Layla. What's yours?”
“I'm Dixie.
Layla smiled big. “Pleased to meet you.”
“How old are you?”
“I'm seven. How old are you?”
Dixie looked startled for a moment. Before she could say anything, Brooks spoke up. “She's old as the hills.”
“What does that mean?” asked Layla.
“It means she's really old,” said Brooks.
Dixie said, “Don't you mind him, Layla. He's just a grumpy old man.”
Layla nodded. “I know.”
&n
bsp; This response caused everyone in the car to chuckle.
“So where do you live, Dixie?” asked Lefty. “I assume you want to go there and get some clothes together?”
“That would be helpful. Take a right up here at the corner.” She looked at Brooks. “So tell me about this job.”
“Let's not forget, Layla is in the car with us,” reminded Lefty.
Dixie snapped, “Says the guy who brought the little girl in the first place.”
Brooks grinned. “I think she likes you already, Lefty.”
“I've got nothing against you,” she said. “But if you're anything like your daddy…”
Lefty looked at her in the rear-view mirror. “I assure you I'm not.”
“Okay, good. Then we'll get along just fine.”
“We can still talk about the job,” said Dixie. “We can just talk about it discreetly.”
Layla spoke up. “I know what discreetly means.”
Dixie looked at her. Brooks said, “She's a smart kid.”
“So I see,” said Dixie. “So tell me more.”
“It's two million,” said Lefty.
“For one person,” Dixie said.
“One guy.”
“Who the hell is this guy we're, uh, going to see?”
Brooks said, “His last name is De Lorenzo if that tells you anything.”
An expression of realization appeared on Dixie's face. “The Don?”
“Not Don Antonio,” said Lefty. “It's his son, Bruno.”
Dixie nodded, taking it in. “And who, uh, who's behind this thing?”
“No one knows,” said Lefty.
“Then how do we get the money?”
“There's a guy in Detroit,” said Lefty. “A lawyer. A middle man. I'm supposed to meet with him to get the details. He's the same guy who pays the money.”
“Trouble Man” came to its conclusion and Lefty pushed the repeat button. The song started up again.
“That's a lot of money,” said Dixie.
“Sure is,” said Brooks.
“Daddy,” said Layla.
“Yes, Tator Tot?”
“How much is two million?”
“It's a big number.”
“How big?”
“Real big.”
This didn't satisfy her. “How many zeros are in a million?”
Lefty started to think about it, but Dixie blurted, “Six.”
“So two million has twelve zeros?” asked Layla.
“No, sweetheart,” said Dixie. “It still has six.”
Layla frowned. “I don't get it.”
“Sometimes life is confusing,” said Brooks.
Dixie made a face and looked at the little girl. “You want confusing, you should try being married to a jackass for twenty years.”
Layla frowned, not understanding.
Brooks said, “Don't listen to her. She's a grumpy old hag.”
Layla nodded again. “I know.”
Dixie told Lefty where and when to turn, and eventually they were in front of the Crescent apartment building. “This is your place?” asked Lefty.
“This is where the magic happens,” she said.
Brooks said, “It looks like a shithole.”
“Kiss my ass, old man.”
Layla frowned again. “She said a bad word, Daddy.”
“It's okay,” said Lefty. “Sometimes old people say bad things.”
Layla nodded. “I know.”
The four of them got on the road to Detroit around six. It was a fifteen-hour drive, so they decided to stop somewhere for the night. Lefty did all the driving, and they drove until just after midnight. When they pulled into the archaic little relic of a motel, both Dixie and Layla were asleep in the back.
Lefty and Brooks went into the office and secured adjoining rooms, each one with two beds. Brooks insisted on paying for both rooms, telling Lefty, “Don't worry about it. It's on me. But Dixie? She can pay me back.” They left wake-up calls for six in the morning.
“If we get on the road by seven, we should be in Detroit before evening,” said Lefty. They woke up the women and carried the bags to the rooms. Once Lefty and Layla were in their beds in the dark, Layla said, “What about my bedtime story?”
Lefty sighed. He had forgotten about their usual bedtime story, assuming it was late enough he wouldn't have to tell one. He felt tired and didn't want to come up with a story.
“What if I tell you a story?” asked Layla. “Would that be okay?”
Lefty said sure. He barely managed to stay awake, but listened to Layla concoct a story she called “The Clown of Death.” The story was about an evil clown who ate people's heads, ending with the gruesome death of the protagonist. After the story was finished, Lefty and Layla went to sleep.
Seven
The Champagne Room
The next morning Lefty, Brooks, and Layla walked over to the McDonalds across the street to get breakfast. Dixie didn't come, citing an intense dislike for McDonalds. The place was mostly full, as was any McDonalds at almost any time anywhere in this part of the country, where the restaurant was treated with an unrivaled reverence, an indicator as to why obesity was rampant in the fly-over states.
As the three of them sat at a table, Lefty and Layla on one side, Brooks on the other, they ate their Sausage McMuffins and conversed.
“I still can't believe I'm talking to Spook Collins' boy,” said Brooks.
Lefty nodded. “Funky fresh, in the flesh.”
“What does your mama say about Spook these days?”
“We don't talk about my dad.”
“Never?”
“Never ever.”
“They broke up on bad terms, I guess?”
“If you call him beating the shit out of her and breaking her collar bone and a couple of her ribs bad terms, then yeah, they broke up on bad terms.”
“Goddamn Spook,” said Brooks. “He always was a real sweetheart.”
“But you still liked him?”
“Sure, but that don't mean I approve of beating on women, because I don't. I don't think it's right. I've heard guys argue that women deserve to be treated as equals to men, but it's funny 'cause those same men only seem to say that when it comes to women getting their asses kicked. They don't seem to feel that way when it comes to anything that might actually be good for the woman.”
Layla looked up from her breakfast. “What are you talking about, Daddy?”
Lefty looked at Brooks, a wary expression on his face. “Don't worry about it, Tator Tot,” he said. “This is grown-up talk.”
“Why?”
“Some things are just grown-up conversations.”
She pressed. “But why?”
Lefty looked at Brooks, amused by Layla's questioning.
Lefty decided to let her in on it. “We were talking about when boys hit girls. You know that's bad, right?”
“Of course. Billy Cartright hit my friend Maddie on the playground one day. He pulled back his arm and punched her right in the tummy.”
“That's not good,” said Lefty. “Did Billy get in trouble?”
“No, but Maddie punched him in the Adam's Apple and kicked him in the nuts.”
Lefty and Brooks both chuckled.
“What did he do after that?” asked Lefty.
Layla beamed. “He fell on the ground and cried. He peed his pants, too. After that, everyone at school started calling him Billy Pee Pants.”
“Maddie sounds pretty tough,” said Brooks.
Layla said excitedly, “She is. She can fight like a ninja.”
“Layla here can fight pretty good, too,” said Lefty. “She's in Ju Kempo.”
“What's Ju Kempo?” asked Brooks.
“It's like Karate,” said Layla. “Only different.”
“It's a different martial art,” explained Lefty.
“Are you a black belt?” asked Brooks.
“Not yet,” said Layla, now deathly serious. “Maybe in a year or so.”
Lefty smiled. “It's probably gonna take a little bit longer than a year, Tator Tot.”
Layla ignored this, still looking at Brooks. “I'm a yellow belt.”
“Oh yeah?” asked Brooks. “Is that pretty good?”
“It's my second belt,” she said. “The first one was white.”
“How long have you been in Ju Klemto?” asked Brooks.
“Ju Kempo,” she corrected. “It's been a long time.”
“About a year,” said Lefty, smiling. He looked down at Layla's decimated Sausage McMuffin, lying there in pieces. “Why are you taking all your food apart?”
“I like to eat the muffin and the sausage at different times. Then it's like I have more food. And I eat the cheese by itself, too. I just peel it off the sausage and eat it.”
“That's a good way to do it, I guess,” said Brooks.
“Layla wouldn't even eat meat until about a year ago,” said Lefty.
Brooks looked at the little girl. “So what did you eat?”
“Pizza,” said Layla, nibbling on the sausage-less muffin.
Lefty looked at Brooks. “I need to ask you for a favor.”
“Another one?”
“I'm serious,” said Lefty.
“I may not do it, but you can ask.”
“I'm supposed to meet that lawyer, the broker. But Layla can't go with me. Could you and Dixie watch her for a little bit while I'm gone?”
Brooks looked at the little girl, unsure.
It was just after eleven when Lefty walked into the strip club. Stepping out of the bright sunlight into this darkest of dark places gave him the sense he was walking into a vampire's lair. “Welcome to Teaser's,” said the burly door man, sitting on a stool by the entrance.
Lefty looked around. At this time of day Teaser's was the refuge of the lowliest of the lowly and the loneliest of the lonely. There were a couple of sleazy-looking guys situated around the bar and the stage, probably capping off a long night rather than starting a new day. The place reeked of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. There was some kind of awful dance music pulsating from the overhead speakers. There was a solitary stripper onstage, who looked like she was forty-five if she was a day.
The bouncer took Lefty's twelve bucks and let him in. “You get two drinks with that,” he informed him.
Lefty walked inside and approached the bartender. “Excuse me.”
