Johnny Porno

by Charlie Stella

  “I was bleeding from the nose.”

  “Snorting?”

  “Once in a while your nose bleeds. It’s no big deal.”

  “Aside from the fact, like I said, he might’ve been tailing you, there are health issues like ruining your nasal passages.”

  “I’m not an addict, what Eddie thinks.”

  “You’re bleeding from the nose you’re well on your way.”

  She reached for his cigarette. He let her take it from his mouth. She took a long drag.

  “This porn thing isn’t working,” she said. “It repulses him when I talk about it and he isn’t going to tell me any names besides the one he already did. That Rothenburg guy.”

  “That name helped,” Stebenow said.

  “Well, he isn’t going any further than that. I keep pushing him, but this is what I got, a slap across the face.”

  “If you could get him on tape with Kelly, Mr. Horse, that might bring this to a close a lot sooner.”

  “The guy came over out of the blue the other day. Eddie never mentioned him to me.”

  “My point being, if the tapes are always fresh, you have the thing ready... he might’ve said something the other day you didn’t hear.”

  “That’s a lot more dangerous than you think,” Bridget said.

  “I understand that.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “You going back tonight?”

  “It’s where I live,” Bridget said. “So long as he pays the rent, it’s where I live.”

  She had an edge to her voice. He apologized about pushing her with the tapes, then added, “It’s just the sooner we have something concrete, the sooner you’re off the hook. I’d like to see that, believe it or not, you being out of this.”

  She had been snagged in a heroin deal two years earlier and had agreed to testify against her former boyfriend to avoid a prison sentence. When her boyfriend died in jail, Bridget was forced into a deal with the government gathering evidence against her boss, Eddie Vento.

  “He plays cards tonight,” she said. “If he doesn’t go straight home, he’ll be back around six. He’ll be drunk and horny, but that’s good for you because it’s the only time he name drops, when he’s drunk. He’ll want me to talk dirty to him, too, in case they haven’t let you listen to the tapes yet.”

  “I’m sorry,” Stebenow said. “I mean it.”

  “Right,” she said.

  She went to get out of the car and Stebenow stopped her.

  “What?” she said.

  He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, fingered a ten out and handed it to her.

  “Sure you don’t want a blow job?” she asked with venom.

  “Be careful,” he told her.

  Bridget forced a phony grin, lost it just as fast and then got out of the car. Stebenow watched her walk back up the ramp toward the boardwalk. He waited a full minute after she disappeared before driving off.

  Chapter 23

  Nancy couldn’t believe she was doing it, walking back into her bank to take another thousand dollars out of her safe-deposit box for Louis. It was money she had managed to squirrel away during her marriage to Nathan; excess grocery money as well as some of the child support she didn’t really need. She removed the contents of the box, two envelopes of cash and some jewelry, before she counted out ten one-hundred-dollar bills. She recounted what she had left and wrote the figure on one of the envelopes—$6,200.00.

  Lately, she’d thought about hocking the engagement ring John had given her. The one-carat pear-shaped diamond had been appraised for one thousand dollars two years ago, less than half of the value of the ring Nathan had given her. She had already lied about John’s ring, telling Louis her second ex must have stolen it. Louis couldn’t know what she had stashed in the safe-deposit box because then he’d ask for it.

  The diamond Nathan had given her made her rethink rushing a divorce too soon. She had been living good and no longer had to work since marrying Nathan. There was financial security and enough independence to maintain her affair with Louis. She had health insurance coverage that included dental, and should Nathan die, there was mortgage insurance to pay for the house and a life insurance policy that would keep her out of work for ten or more years.

  While it was true Nancy didn’t love Nathan and probably never could, and that she still loved Louis, it was equally true there was no way she could depend on Louis. Even if what he had told her the other night was true and they would soon have enough to start over, was there really a chance in hell it would work?

  She knew the answer without having to think about it. Louis would always be Louis. He would bet when he wanted to bet and he would fool around when somebody new caught his eye. Truth be told, if push ever came to shove, Nancy could count on being the one shoved.

  Still, the dichotomy wasn’t something Nancy could do anything about; she resented Nathan for all his decency and loved Louis for all his indecency.

  And here she was bailing him out one more time.

  Tomorrow she would use her only child to help Louis rob the boy’s father.

  * * * *

  Nathan was up early Saturday morning to babysit his stepson while Nancy went grocery shopping, to the bank and the butcher. He cooked bacon and eggs for breakfast and afterward pitched wiffle balls in the backyard.

  Nathan got a kick out of Little Jack’s announcing each batter in the Yankee lineup before making believe he was stepping into the batter’s box at Yankee Stadium.

  “Now batting,” Little Jack would say, “number seven, Mickey Mantle.”

  Nathan threw a few dozen pitches before the kid needed to use the bathroom. He used the opportunity to call an attorney to confirm an appointment he had made the day before. He had just hung the phone up when Nancy returned carrying a shopping bag filled with fresh meat from the butcher.

  “There’s more in the car,” she said.

  Nathan retrieved the rest of the groceries, thanked his stepson for holding the door open and set the bags on the table.

  Nancy told Little Jack to play in the basement for a few minutes while she talked to Nathan. The boy headed downstairs. Nathan sat at the table.

  “I know you mean well being friends with Jack’s father,” she said. “And I appreciate all you do for my son, but what you did the other day, letting him in, making him coffee, upset me.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “I know you don’t and that’s just as upsetting.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re my husband,” she said. “And John takes advantage when he knows he has allies.”

  “Did you ever stop and think I do it for your son?”

  “I know that. I understand you mean well, but that only encourages his father.”

  “Encourages him how? To do what?”

  “To be late paying his child support, for one thing.”

  “Oh, big deal. He’s having a rough patch. You’re too hard on him for that. We’re not desperate for the money.”

  “That’s not the issue, Nathan. And you just proved my point. There you go defending him again.”

  “I’m not defending anybody. I’m just saying you should pay more attention to the boy than worry about his father or the money he owes. Big deal. Every kid needs a father, Nancy. Little Jack needs his. He loves him and your constantly knocking your ex in front of your son isn’t right.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And you’re still defending him. You invite him in the house and make him coffee and let him downstairs to play with Jack and he never has the money he owes or spends enough time with his son. I just wish you were a little more considerate about me in all this.”

  Nathan sighed. She had almost managed to make him feel guilty until that last comment about being more considerate of her. She was the most selfish woman he’d ever met.

  “You shouldn’t keep the man from seeing his son,” he said. “That boy loves his father.”

  “Maybe if he proved himself f
or a change, if John did, I wouldn’t feel this way, but your siding with him now just makes it all the more frustrating.”

  Nathan didn’t understand what she was getting at. “Prove himself how? For what?”

  “To me and his son,” Nancy said.

  Nathan waited for more.

  “Oh, what’s the point?” she said.

  “What?”

  “Not now. I can’t deal with this anymore today. We’ll talk about this later.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about and was grateful when she walked out of the house.

  * * * *

  The phone woke John at eleven o’clock. He saw double when he looked at the clock. He closed his eyes tight and counted to five before opening them again. When he did, his vision was still blurry, but the double vision was gone.

  He answered on the fourth ring.

  “It’s me,” Melinda said. “You okay?”

  “A little groggy, but yeah.”

  “How’s your head?”

  “Hurts, but not as bad as last night.”

  “I couldn’t sleep all night,” she said. “I was worried sick after you left. I should’ve gone with you.”

  “You should’ve made the offer. I would’ve liked that.”

  “Don’t make me feel more guilty than I already do.”

  John saw the time and knew he had to get moving. “I have to be on the road soon,” he said. “Can I call you later?”

  “You better.”

  “I will.”

  She kissed him through the phone.

  “That what I think it was?”

  “Yes.”

  “You use your tongue?”

  “Don’t push your luck.”

  He kissed her back.

  “That’s better,” she said.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said.

  “Don’t forget.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  He hung up before swinging his legs off the bed. Then he stood up too fast and had to sit back down. His head was swimming. He got up again, a lot slower this time, then headed for the bathroom to turn on the shower and start his day. He popped three aspirin, downing them with a glass of water. He drank another glass before he spotted the bruise on his forehead in the mirror above the sink. A small scab had formed. The wound reminded him of Nick Santorra one more time.

  “Fuck,” he said, then stepped into the tub and let the hot water do its work.

  * * * *

  Angela was busy putting away the groceries when Nick asked her for a cup of coffee. He’d been waiting on a call from Stanislaus Bartosz, but so far the phone hadn’t rung. It was a little after eleven o’clock and he would need to leave the house before one, Nick told his wife.

  “Eddie’s sending me on something solo,” he added. “About time, right?”

  “Alone? That’s good, right?”

  “Yeah, it is. You get the bagels?”

  “On the counter.”

  Nick spotted the brown paper bag on the kitchen counter and retrieved it. He set it on the table, opened the refrigerator and grabbed the cream cheese.

  “Means he’s giving me more responsibility,” he said. “Could mean I’m close to earning my stripe.”

  “That’s good, too.”

  Nick was bummed from her lack of enthusiasm. She had never paid close enough attention to understand street talk.

  “I get a stripe, I become somebody,” he said.

  “Great,” she said.

  “It means I get made,” he said. “I’ll be a made man.”

  She was putting a box of cereal on a high shelf in the cupboard. She turned to him and smiled when she was through. “I know that’s good,” she said. “That’s like the movie, right, The Godfather?”

  Nick stared hard at his wife.

  “What?” she said.

  Moron, he thought. “Nothing,” he said.

  The couple had coffee together when she was finished with the groceries. Angela complained about an upcoming barbecue on Staten Island they had to attend because her sister had come to their Fourth of July party the month before. Nick wasn’t much interested. He noticed the time and said he had to hurry.

  “You want me to make you something?” Angela asked.

  “Since when do I take lunch?”

  “I’m just asking. I can if you want. I bought fresh mortadella. I can put vinegar on the Italian bread the way you like.”

  Nick had a change of heart. “You know what? That sounds pretty good. Yeah, why not?”

  She got up from the table to make the sandwich. “Oh, and before I forget, the car was making a strange sound before. I couldn’t hear it when I slowed down, but it was loud when I was driving on Cross Bay Boulevard.”

  Nick felt his stomach drop. “What kind of sound?”

  “I don’t know, loud. Loud and high. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

  “That motherfucker.”

  “Nick, please.”

  “Cocksucker.”

  “Nick!”

  “Where is it, the car?”

  “Out front.”

  “I told you to put it in the driveway for now. Didn’t I tell you that? Where’d you find it, you went out this morning?”

  Angela was taking cold cuts out of the refrigerator. “In the driveway,” she said. “I thought you were going out so I left it out front. Why? What’s the big deal all of a sudden?”

  “Some piece of shit I think is looking to fuck with me.”

  “Nick, your language, please.”

  “Oh, fuck my language already. You smell anything in the car? Anything strange the way it drove?”

  “No, it drove fine. I didn’t smell a thing.”

  He crushed out his cigarette and got up from the chair. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He headed for the door when Angela shouted at him.

  “Nick!”

  “What!”

  “You want lettuce and tomato?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cheese?”

  “Provolone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the vinegar?”

  He had the door opened. “What?”

  “Vinegar?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said before rushing out to the curb to examine the Pontiac.

  Chapter 24

  They were sitting in Detective Brice’s yellow Ford Mustang Mach I. It was a few minutes before noon. The sun was strong. Detective Levin shielded his eyes from the glare.

  “Who’s this guy?” he asked.

  “We’ll know after we call it in,” Brice said. He wrote down the Buick’s license tags on his Daily News.

  Levin wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his free hand. He held a can of Coke in the other. “It gets any hotter, you’ll have to use some gas and turn on the air conditioner,” he said.

  Brice flipped down his sun visor. “It’s no good for the engine to run the AC sitting here like this,” he said. “Besides, you could always take off the shirt you’re wearing over a T-shirt.”

  “The T-shirt absorbs the sweat or I’d get stains like you.”

  Brice repositioned the sun visor and glanced at the sweat stain under his right arm.

  “That’s five cars so far,” Levin said.

  “And Berg was out to meet every one of them,” Brice said. “Change of plans, I guess.”

  “I wonder it has anything to do with that big, fat warning we gave him the other day.”

  “You’re still on that kick, huh?”

  “Where’s Kelly?”

  “Said he’d be here.”

  “Except he isn’t.”

  “You still out tomorrow?”

  “For my cousin’s wedding,” Levin said.

  “Since when do Jews marry on a Sunday?”

  “He’s marrying a shiksa,” Levin said. He saw Brice was eyeing him. “One of yours,” Levin added. �
�A gentile. They always get married on weekends. Sundays if they’re cheap.”

  Brice turned to watch the Buick again. “I’m not looking forward to this tomorrow, being alone with Kelly. He holds my age against me.”

  “Overbearing is he?”

  “He’s alright when you’re around, with me, I mean, but that’s because he doesn’t like you.”

  “Why they call us the chosen people,” Levin said.

  Brice was still watching the Buick. He pointed to it when it pulled away from the curb in front of George Berg’s house.

  “Whoever it was, the car can use some bodywork,” he said.

  They had been parked since nine o’clock in the morning. Levin finished his soda and put the empty can in a paper bag.

  “Really,” he said. “Either turn the air on a few minutes or I gotta go for a walk to try and cool myself off.”

  “In this heat?” Brice said.

  “I’ll walk in the shade.”

  “Good luck.”

  “That mean you won’t turn it on?”

  “I told you, it’s not good for the car running the air conditioner while it’s idling.”

  “That what Mach One means, you can’t run the air conditioner?”

  Brice turned to Levin. “That degree you got, it’s in ballbreaking, right?”

  Levin sighed, opened the door and got out. He stretched his arms over his head, yawned and stretched again. When he turned in the direction of George Berg’s house, he could see the owner waving to him from his stoop.

  “Nice work,” Brice said.

  Levin squatted down alongside the passenger window. “He probably spotted us two minutes after we got here.”

  “Yeah, well, now it’s official.”

  Levin winked before standing up out of his squat. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “While I do my job,” Brice said. “That’s great.”

  “I stay here we’ll both be jerking ourselves off,” Levin said. “I’m gonna find a bathroom where I can do it in private.”

  * * * *

  They were in bed after having sex first thing in the morning. Billy had been out late the night before and Kathleen had woken up horny. She whispered a dirty story in his ear about a hand job she’d given one of the football players when she was in high school, making up most of it until Billy was hard and then she climbed on top of him. They slept again afterward and didn’t wake up until it was close to noon.