Modern Masters of Noir

by Ed Gorman (ed)

  Johnny’s grin threatened to split his face in two. “Want me to do it again?”

  “No, that’s enough.” He pulled the page down and crumpled it savagely.

  They were both reluctant to have the day end, so on the way back to the city they stopped for dinner. The place Johnny picked was an old country inn, all stone and wood, with an enormous fireplace that burned cheerfully at the same time the air conditioner worked overtime to keep the room bearable in the summer heat. Mac, feeling out of place in his T-shirt and blue jeans, wasn’t even very hungry. Still, it was so nice being away from the city, just the two of them having a good time, that he managed to eat a little, as Johnny devoured prime rib. They shared a carafe of house wine and talked about everything except guns or Daniel Tedesco.

  Mac pushed apple pie around on the plate for awhile and finally gave up. “Hey, Johnny,” he said.

  Johnny looked up, a slight flush from the unaccustomed wine touching his face. “Huh?”

  “Did you ever get another dog after your old man killed Raffles?”

  He looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. My folks gave me another one. But it wasn’t the same. I just kept him because I had to. I mean, he needed to be taken care of. And I guess having him around was better than being all by myself. I never cared about him like I did about Raffles, though. Raffles really belonged to me, you know?” He licked ice cream from the spoon thoughtfully. “He finally ran away one day, but I didn’t care very much.”

  He shrugged and bent to finish the pie a la mode.

  At home later, Mac cleaned and reloaded the gun, while Johnny watched “Ironside” on TV. Mac picked up his beer and took a gulp, frowning at the snowy picture on the set. “You want a color TV for your birthday, kid?”

  “Yeah, that’d be nice,” Johnny said, not looking away from the screen.

  “Well, Tedesco should pay us plenty for this job, so I’ll get you one.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mac finished with the gun and replaced it in the box. He tipped his chair back on two legs, whistling softly to himself, wondering if he should go over to the game. Supposed to be some big uptown money in there tonight. Of course, after renting the car and paying for dinner, he was a little low on cash, but he had enough to buy his way in.

  A commercial came on. “You know something,” Johnny said as he went for a Coke.

  “What?”

  “I saw Chief Ironside on a talk show the other day, and he wasn’t in a wheel chair at all.”

  “Of course not, dummy. That’s just part of the story.”

  Johnny sat down again. “Yeah, well, I guess I knew that, but still, it was sort of strange to see him walking around like everybody else.”

  Mac’s mind wandered a little as he stared at Johnny, once again engrossed in the story. Hey, guy, he wanted to ask, what do you really think about this whole fucking mess? Do you think about it at all? Don’t you care? Why don’t you hate me? Or maybe you do. What the hell makes you tick, John Paul?

  The same old questions and never any answers.

  Johnny must have become aware of the scrutiny, because he turned around suddenly, the familiar smile on his lips. The flickering lights and shadows from the television were reflected in his glasses.

  Mac crashed his chair to the floor. “Going out,” he said abruptly. “Probably be late.” He was gone before Johnny could respond.

  Chapter 20

  “Will you for chrissake quit playing with that goddamned thing?” Mac spoke more harshly than he had intended, tension and a hangover making him short-tempered.

  Johnny looked up in surprise, then he carefully put the gun back into the box. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know.” Mac swallowed some more aspirin and gulped cold coffee. “I have a headache.” The remark served as an apology.

  Without replying, Johnny walked over and stood by the window, watching the traffic on the street below. Finally, hearing mumbling, he turned back into the room. Mac was thumbing through an old address book, the pages long loosened.

  “What did you say, Mac?”

  “I was just saying that I can’t remember exactly where the bastard lived. Probably moved halfway across the country by this time anyway.”

  Johnny sat down, watching him curiously. “You gonna call somebody, Mac?”

  “I’m going to try.” Mac was flipping through pages quickly, an idea that had been forming in his brain all day finally taking shape. “If we can just get out of the country for a while, babe, we might be able to dodge Tedesco.”

  Johnny frowned. “I don’t understand. I thought we were going to do what Tedesco wants.”

  “I can’t.” Mac looked up. “You don’t know how sick it made me to see you shooting that gun yesterday.”

  “Didn’t I do it right? You said I was a good shot.” Johnny leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “I could practice, Mac.”

  Mac tried to swallow down his sense of despair and speak quietly. “You did fine, Johnny. Really. I just don’t want . . . goddamnit, kid, you have to know what a terrible thing this is, don’t you? I don’t want us to turn into a couple of killers.”

  “But Tedesco will hurt you.” Johnny walked back over and sat on the arm of Mac’s chair. He reached out to touch Mac’s hand lightly, stroking absently.

  Mac had long since learned to accept the touching that Johnny seemed to need so much. When the kid got scared or upset or just seemed to be feeling lonely, he turned to Mac, seeming to crave the physical contact of a strong hand or maybe a hug. When Mac bothered to think about this at all, he decided that it all had something to do with Johnny’s childhood. Probably nobody ever hugged him much. Mac returned the stroking for a moment, until he felt Johnny relax a little. “He can’t hurt me if we’re not here,” he said, returning his attention to the phone book.

  “Where will we go?”

  “I don’t know,” Mac mumbled, running his finger down the page. “Mexico, maybe. Whaddaya think?”

  “I guess. Whatever you say.”

  “I don’t think even Tedesco can get us in Mexico. Yeah, here it is,” he said, looking up. “Robert L. Washington.”

  Johnny was rubbing the cast on his wrist nervously. “Who, Mac?”

  “Wash. You remember Sergeant Washington from Nam, don’t you?”

  After a moment, Johnny nodded. “Yeah. He didn’t like me.”

  “He lives way the hell out on the Island, if he’s still around, anyway,” he said. “That’s stupid. Why do you say he didn’t like you?”

  “He just didn’t. Why are you going to call him?”

  Mac stood, searching in his pockets for a dime. “To see if he can let me have some money. It’s gonna cost a bundle to get us to Mexico.” He went out to the hall phone and pulled some change out of his jeans. It took only a few moments before he had Washington on the line. “How the hell are you, Wash?” he said cheerfully.

  “Fine, fine. Didn’t know you were in the city.”

  “Yeah, sure. Look, man, I’d like to see you. Got sort of a problem and I need a friendly ear.”

  Washington seemed a little hesitant, but they finally set up a meeting for later that day, at the bowling alley in his neighborhood. He gave Mac directions on train and bus connections and they hung up.

  Johnny was standing in the doorway, watching. “Can I go, too?” he asked.

  “If you want to.”

  Johnny wanted to, so a short time later they caught a bus over to Penn Station and picked up the train out to Long Island. Mac read a Times that someone had left on the seat and listened to Johnny hum tunelessly.

  “He said I was crazy,” Johnny said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Washington. He told me I was crazy and should be in a hospital.”

  Mac folded the paper carefully. “Yeah? Well, everybody’s entitled to their opinion, I guess.”

  Johnny was quiet for several minutes. “Mac?”

  “Huh?” He didn’t look up from
the sports page.

  “Am I?”

  “Are you what, kid?”

  “Crazy.”

  He patted Johnny’s knee. “No, of course not. You act a little weird sometimes, but that’s okay.”

  Johnny gave a sigh and looked out the window again.

  They found seats in the snack bar of the bowling alley and waited. Johnny finished off a Coke and an order of french fries doused in catsup, then he looked up. “They have some pinball machines back there, Mac,” he said.

  Mac pulled some change from his pocket. “Okay, go ahead.”

  Johnny smiled and took off in the direction of the noisy games.

  Mac ordered another cup of coffee and settled back. In another moment, he saw a vaguely familiar figure enter and look around. “Wash,” he said, half-standing.

  The black man saw him and came over. “Mac, you son of a bitch, how’re you doing?”

  They shook hands and Wash sat down, ordering some coffee. Mac glanced toward the pinball machines, but Johnny seemed totally absorbed in his game. “So what’re you up to these days, Wash?” he asked.

  “Working in the Post Office, man. We just had another kid. That makes three.”

  Mac expressed the proper enthusiasm, and the talk shifted to Nam briefly, and the various fates of people they had known. Wash slowly stirred his coffee. “What ever happened to the zombie?” he asked suddenly. “Griffith?”

  Mac hunched over the table a little. “Nothing,” he said.

  “He’s probably living very happily in a padded cell someplace. You take my advice and dump him when the two of you got Stateside?”

  Mac shook his head. He didn’t realize that Johnny had approached the table, until he spoke. “I used up all that money, Mac,” he said softly. “Can I have some more?”

  Not looking at Washington, Mac hauled out some more change and handed it over. “But that’s all,” he mumbled, “so don’t come back looking for more.”

  “Okay, Mac.” Johnny hurried away.

  Washington released his breath in a long sigh. “No, I guess you didn’t take my advice.”

  “I couldn’t. He needed somebody to take care of him.”

  “Yeah, right. But why you?”

  Mac didn’t answer right away, as they both watched Johnny. “Maybe I just needed somebody, too, Wash,” he said finally, quietly. “Maybe I was just tired of being by myself. Johnny likes me. I like him. We get along okay when the rest of the frigging world leaves us alone.” He took a gulp of coffee. “I tried, Wash. I tried to dump him, a couple of times.”

  He looked across the room to where Johnny was bent over some damned game, his whole body tense with concentration. “He just couldn’t make it on his own.”

  “So you adopted him.” Washington took a roll of mints out of his pocket. “Trying to quit smoking,” he explained with a grimace. He popped candy into his mouth. “Why couldn’t you let the Army handle it, Mac?”

  “Hell. I know what they would’ve done to him.” He smiled a little. “Henderson thought we were queer for each other.” He shot Washington a look. “We’re not.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Yeah, well.”

  “So what’s the problem you mentioned on the phone?” Washington asked abruptly.

  “I owe some guys money, Wash. They’re starting to get nasty about it.”

  Washington didn’t look surprised. “You never got smart enough to give up poker either, huh?”

  “No. And things were going okay for a while. But then I had a run of bad luck and got in over my head.”

  The black man sighed. “Hell, man, you were always over your head.”

  Mac tapped the tabletop. “I know, but that’s all over now. What I want, see, is for the kid and me to get out of town and make a new start someplace else.” He wanted it so much that it hurt, deep inside his chest.

  “Sure. Find a new game, you mean, right?”

  “No, Wash, really.”

  They were quiet for a moment. “You ever think that maybe if you stopped treating him like a kid, he might grow up?” Washington asked mildly.

  “Johnny’s okay. I take care of him, you know?”

  “What’s with the cast on his wrist? He talk back to you or something?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Washington ate another mint. “Buddy, I’ve seen you smash your fist through a door because you couldn’t draw a good hand. I wouldn’t want you mad at me.”

  “You think I . . . ?” Mac glanced toward the games. Johnny had apparently spent all the money, because he was walking back toward them. “Jesus, Wash, what kind of a creep do you think I am? I wouldn’t do anything like that to him.” Then he lowered his gaze. “I told you these guys I owe the money to are starting to get nasty.”

  Washington’s glance was filled with scorn. “Oh, yeah, you take good care of him.”

  Johnny slid into the booth next to Mac. “I scored 70,000 points.”

  “Good, Johnny.”

  “How’re you, Griffith?” Washington asked.

  “Fine.” Johnny kept his eyes down.

  “Wash, we need some money,” Mac said urgently. “Johnny and I have to get to Mexico for a while.”

  “Mexico?” Washington gave a soft laugh. “Man, you don’t want much, do you? I deliver the mail, buddy; it’s nice, steady work, but it don’t pay much. Especially when you’ve got a wife and three kids and a mortgage. You know how much all that costs?”

  Mac shook his head wearily. “No, I don’t know anything about that stuff.”

  “Right.” Washington searched his pockets. “Damn,” he muttered. “I forgot. If I eat another one of those damned mints, I’ll throw up.” He looked at Mac. “Why don’t you stop being such a goddamned asshole and try earning a real living for a change? Lay off the cards, man. If you’ve gone and appointed yourself babysitter, then you damned well ought to do a better job of it. Shape up, Mac, and quit expecting other people to bail you out all the time.”

  Johnny leaned forward suddenly. “Stop it,” he said in a shakey voice. “Mac does the best he can. It’s not his fault if the luck just ran bad.”

  The three men were silent for a long moment. Mac spoke finally, his voice low. “Please, buddy. I’m begging you. We need the money and there’s no one else I can ask. Please.”

  Washington sighed. “I just don’t have it, Mac. I’m sorry.”

  Mac nodded, his fragile hope turning to ashes. He spread his hands helplessly. “Okay,” he said flatly. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”

  “You want some advice?”

  “What?”

  “Turn Griffith over to the V.A. and hop the first train out of town.” He tossed a dollar bill down onto the table and was gone.

  They sat there a few minutes, not talking. Mac rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s go home, babe,” he said finally.

  “Okay. I guess we’re not going to Mexico, huh?”

  “No, I guess not. I’m sorry, Johnny.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind so much.”

  Mac pushed himself to his feet. “You don’t mind much of anything, do you?”

  “I guess not. Except this cast,” Johnny said with a slight smile. “I’m kinda tired of it.”

  Mac dug into his pocket and came up with a quarter. “Here,” he said, “get a candy bar to eat on the train.”

  Johnny took the money with another smile and disappeared in the direction of the counter. Mac started toward the door. He wasn’t even scared anymore; like Johnny, he was just tired. So damned tired.

  Chapter 21

  Mike Danata looked more like a TV star than a two-bit hood angling for bigger things. Or maybe he only looked like TV’s notion of a hood. One of those actors who seemed to work steadily, always playing the bad guy, so that whenever he came onto the screen, you immediately knew that before the hour was up, the hero would have exposed the guy as the villain. Anyway, what Danata looked like or what he aspired to didn’t
matter much at this point.

  Mac slid the eight by ten color glossy back into the manila envelope. “So that’s him,” he said. “According to what Tedesco said, he’ll be alone after midnight.”

  Johnny was slouched opposite him in the booth, a sullen expression on his face as he ate a cheeseburger. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you told me all that before.”

  Mac leaned across the table and spoke in an icy voice. “John, this isn’t a game. It all has to be planned; the odds have to be figured perfectly. I don’t especially want to be cleaning your insides up from all over Danata’s hallway.”

  Johnny ate a catsup-drenched french fry, pouting. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to get so mad.”

  “I’m not mad, goddamnit, it’s just—” Mac broke off and took a deep breath. Christ. They were both on edge, in danger of becoming a couple of basket cases. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

  “Me, too.” Johnny took a long slurping drink of his chocolate shake and frowned. “Listen, won’t this guy get suspicious if somebody comes knocking on his door so late?”

  “No, because he’ll be expecting his broad. She’s a dancer at some strip joint downtown, and she comes over every night after the show. But tonight a couple of Tedesco’s creeps are making sure she’s late.” Mac finished his coffee and crumpled the styrofoam cup. “You done?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They left the fast food joint and walked three blocks to the outdoor lot where Mac had parked the rented car. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say and so it was a quiet drive over to Danata’s apartment building. When they got there, it was exactly twelve-fifteen. “Right on time,” Mac said, pulling into the alley and shutting off the engine. He turned in the seat. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah.” Johnny picked up the gun from the seat between them and shoved it into his jacket pocket, keeping one hand on the grip. “Need a holster for the damned thing,” he muttered. “How can I carry a gun without a holster?”

  “You remember the apartment number?”

  Johnny, his face patient, looked at Mac. “I remember everything you told me,” he said softly. “I’m not stupid, buddy.”