At that point a tall young man reached us. He put his arms around her, and as I watched from shoe level, he dragged the screaming Eumenidie away.
Gene squatted down beside me.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
“No.”
“Listen,” he said urgently, “you gotta act like what happened to Franco is your fault. It’s real important.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I inquired.
“You know, act like what happened to Franco was your fault.”
“Who was that woman? Have they removed her for good?”
“That’s Mrs. Polatrano. She’s upset.”
“No shit.”
“So will you do what I asked?” he asked.
“Gene, you better explain what you’re talking about. What did happen to Franco?”
“You don’t know what happened to Franco?”
“How the hell should I know what happened to Franco? In fact, it better be something fairly horrible to excuse him for not being there.”
“Being where?” Gene asked.
“What are we, Jews? Every question gets answered with a question. Be Italian. Make statements. Use your hands for emphasis. But don’t touch me.”
“You didn’t know that Franco had a heart attack?”
“No more questions. I’ll do questions, you do answers. Later, if you’re good, we can switch.”
“Sure, Tony, sure.”
“Franco had a heart attack. You want me to say it was my fault. Why?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Stop that. Just do answers.”
“Yes, I want you to say it’s your fault.”
“I think that’s very dangerous. I assume the killer bag lady is his wife. I could die. Besides, it’s not my fault.”
“It doesn’t matter, Tony. I mean you can go back to New York. Franco has no escape.”
“Then he probably wants to die. Have you thought of that?”
“Yeah, but the poor bastard is gonna live.”
“How is he?”
“Oh, the doctors say he’s gonna live. He can live a normal life except for this, that and the other thing.”
“Good.”
“Will you do it?”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Tell Mrs. Polatrano that it was your fault and you talked him into whatever he was doing. You know, take the weight off him.”
“Yeah, I’ll do it. By telegram. I’m not going within pocketbook distance of that woman. Help me up.”
“You know, Tony, you don’t look that good.”
“No shit, Gino. The old bitch clobbered me right in the ribs. The ribs were busted last night, and I have a doctor who thinks aspirin is top of the line in painkillers.”
“Jeez, maybe I can get you some percodan.”
“Please do that, Gene,” I said, and my sweet brown angel eyes pleaded.
“Trade you,” the blackmailing bastard said, “you do the routine for the wife, I’ll get you the percodan.”
“Done. But I get the percs first. I’m not going back in the ring without ’em.”
He helped me up off the floor, then went off to find my pacifier. I went into the John to take a little toot. I carefully scanned the hall before I re-emerged. She was nowhere in sight.
I went in to see Franco.
“Hey, paisan,” I said, “you look like hell.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Didja get him?”
“No. He got away.”
“Damn. You’ll get him, Tony, I’m counting on you.”
“Sure, Franco.”
“It’s gonna be one damn big case, kid, the biggest.”
“Sure, Franco.”
The nurse came in. “It’s time for our rest now,” she bustled. “Can’t get too tired now, can we.”
“Jesus, you really do talk like that,” I said to her.
“What!” she bristled. “You. You don’t belong here.”
“Hey, Franco,” I said, “I’ll see you around.”
“See you around, Tony,” he said sadly.
When Gene got back with the percs, we went to a visitors’ lounge made entirely from torn green vinyl. First things first. I made him give me the percs. He offered to get me water, but one was down my throat by then. I dug through my wallet. The note was dirty and worn, but the name that Gerald Yaskowitz had given me, way back when it all began, was still legible. I gave it to Gene.
“I need some assistance,” I told him. “Would you call this guy? Then let’s find a relatively friendly cop who’s not going to bust my chops too much while I explain how I fucked up a murder investigation. Then let’s all three of us, the cop, the attorney and me, meet up at the same time and place. Can you do that?”
He read the name and appeared to recognize it. “Did you kill someone last night, Tony?” he asked with concern.
“What has happened to you, Gene? Why are you answering questions with questions?”
“Aren’t you doing the same thing?”
“Gene, snap out of it.”
“Yeah. Sure. I’m upset about Franco. Also, if you told me what was going on, it would be easier for me to help. I mean I’m kind of in the dark here.”
“Yeah, well, you come along and you’ll hear everything. I don’t mind you knowing, but I’m too damn tired to repeat it anymore than I have to.”
“I’m telling you it’ll be easier to help if I know what’s going on.”
“Goddamn it, Gene,” I flared. “I’m paying the bills. I got two busted ribs and a shot-up arm. I’m tired and I have a Demerol hangover. Now do what I tell you.”
His body tensed like he was ready to start swinging. Then he took hold of himself, gave me a look that said he didn’t beat up crips and marched off down the hall to a pay phone.
Seymour Whitaker had iron-gray hair swept back from his high forehead and spilling down over his collar. His sideburns were almost muttonchops. He slouched into interrogation with his hands thrust into the pockets of his chino pants so that his arms held his chino jacket back and open over a belly that lunged over his belt. Everyone called him Cy and he wanted cash up front, $300, against $150 an hour. He knew his way around the precincts and, I guessed, D.C. criminal court better than the cops, which is the way I wanted it, and I gladly paid his fee.
He kept a detective named Moynihan civil and pleasant while I summarized. The first thing Moynihan did was put out an all-points on Alexander Jr.. Then he called the D.A. for warrants to search his domicile.
When I described my assailant it seemed to ring a bell. There aren’t that many people who look like Dave Butz, except they’re black, like to use a silencer and work for Doc Wellby. I picked out George Roland “Peanut Butter” Bernard from the mug shots. He had once been a thirteenth-round draft pick for Buffalo but had been cut after two weeks in camp because of an attitude problem. He apparently liked collection work better than the offensive line, as any rational person would, since in one job he traded pain, in the other he only dished it out.
“I’m surprised,” Moynihan said with a certain grudging respect, “that you got past him.”
I was flattered. But I was also in pain. I went to the men’s room, swallowed a perc and snorted a couple of lines.
When I returned, the mood in the room had turned sour. I soon found out why. We all packed up, the four of us, and went to the morgue. There, I ID’d the remains of James Carlton Alexander, Jr.
Whoever took him out, got up close behind him with a shotgun. A large portion of the back of his head and some of the side was missing, but most of his features were still intact. Unlovely in life, he looked worse dead.
“This punk could have led us to Wellby,” Moynihan said across the corpse.
“Maybe,” I said.
“And he was ‘it’ on your Edgar Wood thing. You crapped up that case too.”
“Could be,” I admitted.
“I could keep you around and make life extremely difficult for you. …”
“But you won’t,” Cy cut in.
“But I won’t,” Moynihan said. “The hell with it. There’s plenty of harm done. What can be cleaned up, I’ll clean up. Your attorney assures me that you’ll be available to testify against Bernard …”
“I do,” Cy said.
“… and about anything else that comes out of this load of crap. You got a good lawyer, so I know it’s a waste of time to do a number on you. You wanna know why I would?”
“No,” I said.
“Cause you think I’m so stupid you can snort cocaine in my men’s room and I won’t know it … Get the fuck out of here,” he said and punched me on the arm. The wound opened under the bandage and began to bleed.
22
LIAR
I WENT FROM THE morgue to National, from National to LaGuardia. Snortin’ and swallowing percs, thinking savagely lewd thoughts about two out of four stewardesses. Slipping back to my same old used-to-be. From LaGuardia to the office. When I arrived, Glenda was there.
“I did something foolish,” she said.
“Oh? You too?”
“Well, you have to understand, when I didn’t hear from you, I began to worry. You didn’t call or anything.”
“Go on,” I said.
“I called Joey, and he hadn’t heard anything more than I had, so I came here.”
“Then what?” I asked, watching the tension in her slender body crying out.
“Then I noticed your answering machine. It’s none of my business, but I was worried, I thought you might have called and left a message for Joey. So I played your messages.”
“You played my messages?”
“Yes,” she said, biting her lip.
“OK, what was on there?”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I don’t know. Why don’t you play it, then we’ll both know.”
“I’ve heard it about twenty times,” she said.
Making no attempt to hide the effort it cost to cross the room, I shuffled over and switched the machine to play.
“Oh Tony,” Christina’s voice, all yearning and soft, came off the tape, “please, call me, please, as soon as you get in. I need to talk to you. To see you.” It wasn’t something to go to court on, but it was enough to shipwreck a relationship. My insides went hollow, but I played it poker-faced. She had played her card, I hadn’t. It was a game that I needed to win, and could, because she also needed me to win.
“So?” I said, looking square at her.
“What’s going on between you and … her?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s a client.”
“Don’t lie to me. I can stand anything, but not lying.”
“Oh, you can stand me being unfaithful?”
“I never said you had to be. I never said you had to be anything. I don’t tell you what to do. You make your own choices.”
“So what if I said yes, yes, I’m screwing her?”
“Then go right ahead!” she yelled. “Go right ahead, pack your bags, get out of the house and screw your little prick off!”
“I’m sorry,” I said, shuffling toward her. “Forgive me, I’m irritable, mean and nasty. I’ve got two busted ribs and a bullet hole in my arm.” Thank God. “In fact, if you’ll help me, I want to change this shirt. I’m bleeding through again.”
I started unbuttoning the shirt so she could see the contusions around the ribs. She looked at them in shock, then noticed the redness oozing from my upper arm.
“Are you all right?”
“I was just pissed. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that. You know how I get sometimes. Ms. Wood, as far as I’m concerned, is just a client. She is a very anxious little JAP. She has a tendency to hysteria. She hates her mother. She feels guilty about her father. She doesn’t trust her lawyer. She feels she has no one in the world to turn to except me. Sometimes she even says I’m an angel. But I can’t help that. It’s still a job. It pays very good bucks; we’re talking triple what I get from some people, which I deserve if people are going to shoot at me, and as far as I’m concerned that’s it.”
I got dizzy and let it happen and clutched on to her. A brief black swirl passed me by and her face was there, swallowing and blinking back tears, when it was gone. “Baby, I need you,” I said. That, at least, seemed true.
Glenda helped me get my shirt off.
“She’s the pretty one, isn’t she?”
“I’ll tell you a story about Ms. Wood,” I said. “I went to see her to give her an update. While I was there, her mother called and wanted to meet her for lunch. Christina got very upset, started yelling at the woman and said she had plans. She really got upset that her mother had the presumption to call at the last minute. I figured her plans must be something really important, so I asked her what they were. She says, very seriously, ‘I was going to Bloomingdale’s to buy bathing suits.’”
“I bet,” Glenda said, “she wears the kind I don’t dare.”
“That was not the point of the story.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have listened to your machine,” Glenda said, full of false contrition and real regret.
It struck me funny. I started to laugh. It hurt, of course, and I had to hold my ribs still against the laugh heaves.
“What?” she demanded to know, “are you laughing at?”
“Listening to other people’s machines,” I tried to explain. “As in ‘I’m worried about Harry, have you heard his machine lately,’ or ‘She looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but you should hear her machine.’” The laughter loosened fear’s clutch, and I wanted to feel warm and affectionate. “Why don’t you,” I said, “come here and give me a kiss?”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m glad to be home, and with the woman I live with and love.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure,” I said, and she came into my arms, carefully. “Will you help me get on a shirt and get home?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And hold me, don’t let me slip away back to my same old used-to-be.”
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Wait ’til we get home, and I’ll tell you and Wayne at the same time.”
“Why?”
“It’s great stuff, full of thrills, chills, car chases and stuff.”
“Better than The A-Team? she asked, knowing Wayne’s point of reference.
“It would be,” I said, “if it weren’t real.”
But Wayne seemed to think it was just as good. Except that I hadn’t caught the bad guys in the end.
“We have not arrived at the end yet,” I explained; “this is one of those shows with episodes; you have to wait ’til next week or the week after.”
“Like a miniseries.”
“Yeah.”
“Then are you gonna catch ’em?”
“That’s a good question.”
“When you say that,” Wayne said knowingly, “it means you don’t know.”
“Right.”
“But you’ll catch ’em. You’re Tough Tony.”
“You better go to bed now.”
“Can I see your bandages again first? Just one more look? Huh? Huh? Can I?”
After having his way with my battered body, he went to bed.
“Truth, Tony. Is there anything between you two? Don’t lie, you know that’s the one thing I can’t stand.”
“There is nothing going on,” I said immediately, before I had a chance to say something dumb, and I looked her squarely and honestly in the eye as I said it.
I was exhausted. My shoes felt like they were far, far away. Farther than effort could reach. The cocaine in my pocket would have picked me up. But I was home now and I didn’t need that shit. With Glenda’s help I undressed. She lay down beside me and, as we were talking, I drowsed off.
Christina was there. She said, “Arise and save what is beautiful,” so I followed the sway of her hips, downward, down the stairs. Her mouth car
essed me there. On the flight north, a stewardess named Laurie had helped me in and out of my seat, served me drinks, declined my offer to share a cab to the city, but left me her phone number. She walked into the dream. She lifted her uniform skirt to the top of long naked legs. The pubic hair was thick, curly and warm-colored. “You won’t mind,” I said to Christina as Laurie moved closer. “I’ll always, always hate you,” she replied, “and so will Glenda,” but her mouth grew bigger and took more of my body. There were shapes moving in from the walls. Big men muttering, “Who’s the heroine,” or “Where’s the heroin,” I didn’t know which, but wanted to find out. As they started jabbing the needles into my arm, I heard Sandy laughing and laughing. “You’re such a bastard,” she said. Then the sirens began.
They were real, coming up from the street through the open window. Glenda was real. She was stroking my erection.
“You really could do it in your sleep,” she said wryly.
“Yeah, but you better climb aboard if we’re gonna make the station.”
“All right,” she said and straddled over me. She moistened the tip and eased on down. Once she was in place she gallantly raised her hand, mimed the pulling of a train whistle and said, “Whoo awhooo.”
“Chuga chug, chuga chug,” I replied, and we were off and rolling on the giggle track. It can be found in Even More Joy of Sex in the index under funny fuck.
“I keep thinking about you and her,” she said afterward.
“Don’t,” I said, and passed out.
23
LOVE IN PAIN
THE RINGING PHONE THAT woke me at 11 A.M. was as vicious as a kick in the ribs. I had had the experience to make the comparison and it was not an exaggeration.
“You get your messages?” Joey D’ asked me.
“No, what?”
“The lovebird and the lawyer.”
“Ahh, my clients.”
“Clients, my ass.”
“What did they say?”
“They both appear eager for your presence. The lovebird breathes a little harder about it.”
“Are they both on the machine or did you take ’em?”
No One Rides for Free Page 16
