by Ivan Infante
The man in the nice suit strolled up and took Doug’s place at Mike’s side. He was a hawk-faced man with black hair, grey-patched at the temples, and a thick scar on his cheek. Despite the atmosphere of impatience, it took a while for him to speak. For a time, they both just stood there.
Finally, hawk-face broke the silence. His words slid out slow and icy. “My name’s Tino. I work for Mr. Spinelli. We’re looking for a girl, his daughter. You see her?”
Mike took a few puffs on his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “My name’s Mike.” He held out his hand.
Tino took a pass on shaking it. “I don’t care what name you’re using, grifter. Get with the answers.”
Doug chimed in nervously. “He’s a right, gee. He’s all right, Tino.”
Mike put his hand away. “I was driving down, taking in the view, when she jumped into the street. I hit her.” Mike let the last two words slide out carefully. Still, they cracked Tino’s icy surface just a little.
“She hurt bad?” Tino took the cigarette out of Mike’s mouth and puffed.
“Do I look like a doctor?” Mike could stomach his handshake being ignored, but this gag with the smoke almost did it. He thought about putting Tino down right there.
“No, you don’t look like much at all.” Tino blew smoke in Mike’s face.
Mike didn’t squint. He sized up his chances. The guys milling a few feet away were definitely carrying. Mike was sure he could take Tino and probably Doug, who was standing closest. But that would be it, the rest of them would have him. He’d have to hold this grudge for later. Mike cracked a smile and got out one of his own smokes to replace the one Tino had taken.
“You see who was taking her?” Tino’s question knocked Mike for a loop. The girl had been alone when he hit her. He kept that to himself.
“I didn’t see much of anything. I got out of the car to help her and someone clubbed me.” Mike could tell Tino knew something by the way his eyes twitched at the word ‘someone’. Maybe Tino knew the girl had run. If he did, the problem was probably what to tell old man Spinelli. The boss would probably take to a kidnapping, but he wouldn’t take to his little girl being a runaway. The thought of her being so desperate to escape that she’d go barreling down a steep canyon in the dark like a lunatic wouldn’t sit right with old man.
Tino started pacing, but he only mustered a weak shuffle. He couldn’t sort through the bad news fast enough. He had to create two versions of the same event in his head. One was based on facts that existed in reality. The other needed facts with special tailoring so old man Spinelli could wear them. They had to be facts his boss could fit in.
Mike recognized the look on Tino’s face. He’d been there. Mike knew guys like Spinelli probably took their facts on strict terms. Like most of these trouble boys, the old man probably couldn’t take blame. These guys were always like that and, the higher up in any organization you went, the worse it got. Everybody wanted their own facts. That was just one of many things Mike didn’t like about the organization. Still, some of these boys were worse than others. It was best to spot the bad ones early and get the hell out of the way. One way to judge the bad ones was by the heaviness of their crew. Mike looked over at Big and Bigger and Biggest. They all had one hand on a smoke and the other stuffed deep in their coat pockets. Only one of them was a lefty, but they were all murderers. Mike could smell a killer and these boys stank. This Spinelli was a bad one. He was going to be a problem.
Mike turned away from Tino and started walking. Tino watched him go. The crew mustered and started after Mike, but Tino waved them off. He wasn’t surprised that Mike didn’t ask permission and it was a small problem that he could easily swat aside. They knew each other now.
“If you find your car, you tell me where.” Tino yelled the words at Mike’s back.
Mike didn’t answer and he didn’t turn around. He had no interest in laying eyes on Tino or any of those guys again. When he rounded a curve and they couldn’t see him either, he breathed a little easier.
Mike trudged down hill. His mind went fatalistic. He thought about how he’d only been off the train for a few hours and he’d almost ruined the town already. This made him angry, but walking downhill in the cool night air took the sting out of it. His mind wandered back to the Now and to Benny. Mike wasn’t sure how he’d explain what happened to the car.
By the time Mike stood on Hollywood Boulevard at the bottom of the hill, he had run out of cigarettes. To his left, the rising sun cast a glow that burnished the tops of the palm trees. Up above him in the branches somewhere, the early birds started screaming at each other. He checked his watch. It had stopped hours ago. The little hand had crawled just past the 3 and died there. A newspaper delivery truck buzzed past him, then a cab turned left onto Hollywood Boulevard and came toward him. Mike waved at it and it pulled up next to him. He slid inside.
“Where we headed?” The driver spun around in his seat and bounced his words through a hoop. He hid his accent well, but Mike could spot the Greek.
“Near La Grande station.” Mike spat the answer and looked away. He covered the wound on his face with his hand. His head started aching the moment he sat down.
“At this hour, huh? You meetin’ someone? You got no bags for a trip.” The Greek turned back to the front and gunned the engine. His smile never faded and his big eyes kept glancing in the rear view. Mike was going to have to put a stop to that.
“What’s your name? Mike mumbled it low so the driver couldn’t hear it.
“Excuse me?” The Greek sat up in his seat and readied for conversation.
“I said, what’s your name?” This time, Mike said it a little too loud.
“Constantine.” The driver’s smile faded a little.
“How about you shut your mouth Constantine, or I’ll climb over the seat and shut it for you?” Mike strung out his words on a tight line. There was no give.
“Sure.” Before he finished speaking, Constantine caught a glance of Mike in the rearview. The last letter of his word barely made it out. He turned pale and faced forward for the rest of the trip.
When they pulled up to the La Grande station. Mike broke the silence. “Slow down, don’t stop. Go past and turn on 2nd street away from the station. You can drop me a few blocks up. There’s a pharmacy. Leave me in front.”
“Yes, sir.” Constantine made the turn. When he reached the pharmacy, he pulled up under the streetlight.
“You got cigarettes?” Mike lingered with his hand on the door.
“Sure.” Constantine held up his pack with a couple of cigarettes sticking up as an offering.
Mike took the whole pack and handed over a wad of bills, “You have a good night.” He hopped out and slammed the door.
Constantine looked down at the wad of bills in his hand. For some reason, the large tip bothered him almost as much as the threats of violence, but he didn’t stick around to mull it over. He drove off quick.
Mike stood on the sidewalk, lit a smoke and shook out the match. Then he slid out from under the glow of the streetlight and into the shadows up close against the building. He kept his eyes open. He couldn’t be sure some of the hustled players weren’t still lingering, licking their wounds, and making up stories to explain where their money had gone. That was the routine for a mark. A mark convinced himself that he had to look at all the angles and figure out things for the next time. This was never true. It was this thinking that made him a mark. He over-thought and looked for a desperate way out. This search for a way to save himself with something for nothing was the problem. It was a desperate search that always ended the same: the mark got nothing for something.
Mike walked around in the alleys for a while. He went through a couple of the Greek’s Chesterfields before he found Benny pacing in an alley half a block south of the pharmacy. Benny was deep in thought, but he still managed to maneuver in a circuitous pattern that avoided the dirty black puddles. He liked to keep his shoes dry.
Benny saw Mike
approaching on foot. “Where’s my car?” He asked with his brow furrowed.
“We’ve got a problem.” Mike answered.
“If you crashed the car, you’re gonna have to get me another one.” Benny didn’t sound too worried. Neither of them had ever paid for a car.
“The car’s not the half of it.” Mike leaned against the wall.
Benny’s face dropped. He covered it with his hand. “Don’t tell me you killed him, Mike. For God’s sake, you just got here. You’re telling me you can’t get to a new town and go more than three hours without putting someone down? He’s connected, Mike.”
“Take it easy, pal. I didn’t kill anybody. I wanted to, believe me, I wanted to. I didn’t like the way he was talking.” Mike blew a puff of smoke over Benny’s head. It hung there for a while before drifting down over Benny’s face.
Benny didn’t flinch. He stood stock still in front of Mike with his arms akimbo and his cigarette dangling from between his teeth. For the first time, Benny looked as tough on the outside as he was on the inside. He snarled. “Don’t try and stick up for me. I can take the hard talk when they toss it. I can handle myself.”
Mike brushed that off. “I’m not worried about you. Hell, I only worry about you when you’re on the other side of the card table.”
“Sometimes we gotta take the insults, Mike.” Benny shrugged.
“You got me wrong.” Mike said. “I wouldn’t kill him because he insulted you. I wouldn’t kill him because he insulted me. I would kill him because he deserves it.”
“We all deserve it.” Benny said as he tossed away his used-up smoke and took the one from Mike’s mouth.
Mike took out his pack and got himself another. “It’s the people that walk around pretending like they don’t deserve it. They’re the ones that need one last big reminder.
Benny shifted back to friendly and easy going. “Okay Sophocles, how about a little philosophizing about my car?”
“Stolen. When I left your boy Doug at the house of this Mr. Spinach...”
“…Spinelli.” Benny interrupted.
“Right, Spinelli. Anyway, I was driving back down the hill, admiring the view, when some girl jumped right in front of your car. She came out of nowhere.”
“You killed some broad with my car?” Benny had managed friendly and easygoing for half a second.
“No, she’s doing just fine. In fact, she was fine enough to whack me across the head. She suckered me good. Got me right on the coconut when I was bending down to check on her. Gumption, she’s got.” Mike leaned forward to show Benny the bump. It was blue and swollen and pretty bad.
Benny wasn’t impressed. “She’s got gumption like she’s got my car.” Benny walked away from Mike. He went out of the alley and into the street. He stopped on the center stripe and looked up and down the road. His eyes lingered on a few parked cars. He didn’t see one he liked, so he started back to where Mike leaned against the wall and asked. “You know who this mystery woman was?”
Mike could tell Benny wasn’t ready to believe him. He sensed the doubt. Benny had convinced himself Mike had stashed the car with plans to sell it. This drew a thin smile on Mike’s face. “Don’t worry, Benny, I got witnesses. Doug, some guy named Tino and a few others saw me. They were chasing her. They woke me when I was out.”
When he heard the word Tino, Benny snapped to it. He walked briskly the rest of the way back to Mike. On his way, he stepped in a puddle. He didn’t notice. “They say who she was?” He asked.
“His daughter.” Mike touched the bump on his head and flinched a little.
“Whose daughter?” Benny’s eyes knew the answer before his mouth asked the question.
“Spinelli.” Mike pushed off from the wall and started walking.
“You’re sure?” Benny’s worry faded back into toughness. He fell in beside Mike as they headed out of the alley.
“Doug told me. He was the one who woke me up. Then, his boss filled me in on the details.” Mike stopped in the street and looked at Benny for guidance.
Benny motioned right, but he let Mike take the lead, “I’m surprised you walked away from that conversation. You admitted you hit her?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s not like I killed her. She got me good and took the car. Can’t blame me for that.” Mike shrugged.
“Yes they can, these guys can blame anyone for anything.”
Mike shrugged. “Well, they didn’t.”
“Damn, you are the luckiest promoter I’ve ever met.” Benny shook his head with disbelief and patted Mike on the back.
“Well I might be a lucky promoter, but right now I just feel like a tired one, so tell me, am I’m lucky enough to have a place to sleep?”
“I got you more than a place to sleep. I got a nice set-up, all-in, safe and long term.” Benny smiled again.
“How big’s the price tag?” Mike knew Benny never had an answer for this question. Benny could answer any other question on any other topic with confidence, especially when the topics were things he didn’t know anything about. But anytime anyone asked him for a price, Benny’s mind went blank.
“Who knows? Forget about it. You just get some rest and make sure your head gets better.” Benny slapped Mike on the back. “Now, let’s find us a cab.”
“One more thing.” Mike sounded serious.
“What now?” Benny shifted a little in case this was some new trouble.
“Don’t call me a promoter. It makes me feel old. I’m a grifter now.” Mike mustered a smile. Benny matched it.
CHAPTER THREE
Benny and Mike slouched in the back of a Yellow cab as it puttered down the middle of Wilshire. The sun had risen and it hung low in the sky behind them. The driver faced straight ahead and made no attempt at conversation. He had turned away as soon as they got in his cab. He didn’t like the look of them and you could tell by the hunch of his shoulders that he was scared.
Mike sat behind the driver and stared out the window from under the brim of his hat. He took in the sights. They were too bright and too cool. Almost all the buildings were spaced a little too far apart. The few that were close together pressed up against each other unnecessarily. It was unseemly and a fraud. They’d faked this place and sold it off as a city.
He’d only been in Los Angeles for 12 hours, but he’d figured it for fake years ago. The realization had come to him one night when he’d stumbled onto an ad hailing the city as “Angel City.” He had read those words twice. They had the cadence of a hustle. Coincidentally, he had been seated in the backseat of a Ford outside a bar called The Los Angeles Room when he had read and reread those words. The coincidence between the ad and the name of the bar had rattled around in his mind. His thoughts then wandered from the ad to the real estate game in general and how it was the basis for some solid hustles. He remembered thinking back on the land title scam he’d run out of New Jersey. He had been trying to recall exactly how much that venture had brought him when the man he had been waiting for stepped out of the Los Angeles Room. Mike tossed the paper aside. The words ‘Angel City’ were the last thing he saw before he got out of the car. He didn’t remember much else from that night, but that was intentional.
Hours ago, when Mike first got off the train, he knew he’d been correct about Los Angeles. It felt like home. He was a fraud and Los Angeles welcomed him. He turned away from the window to look over at Benny and ask him about it. Benny was asleep.
A few miles west of downtown, the cab pulled to the curb and stopped. Benny woke up with a start. Mike was already out of the cab. Benny pulled himself together. He looked around for Mike and didn’t see him right away.
“That’ll be $3.50.” The driver shouted it.
“Fine.” Benny shoved a wad of crumpled bills at the driver as he stumbled out. Mike waited for him on the sidewalk and stared up at a well kept, high-rise apartment block. A bright neon sign on top of it spelled out ASHTON. There was a park to the west, right beside the building, both were on the north
side of Wilshire.
“You owe me for the cab.” Benny said.
“No.” Mike gave Benny his hardest look.
“Damn it.” Benny muttered it under breath, then stood up straight and wagged a finger as he continued. “You might scare the hell out of everyday people. That cabbie, for instance, you had him shaking. But I’m not regular people. Remember that.”
“You don’t think he was just as scared of you? Look at you.” Mike made a show of looking Benny up and down, then went back to staring at the building.
“I know who scared him.” Benny followed Mike’s gaze to the building. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“I thought you didn’t like flash?” Mike answered.
Benny ignored the question and gestured at the building like they were in a showroom. “I couldn’t get a park view, that was asking a little much, but you can see into some of the other apartments. I thought maybe you might like that sort of thing.” Benny glowed with pride.
Mike did like that sort of thing, but he stayed serious. “How long before you tell me how you swung this?” Mike knew the answer would involve a lot of details and quite a bit of dishonesty, but he needed specifics. He needed to know if the mark was lingering somewhere nearby in a dark room turning over tumblers to try and get even.
Benny ignored the question. Instead, he motioned for Mike to follow him. He didn’t walk up to the front door. He went toward the western side of the building.
“Extortion, Gambling?” Mike walked a few steps behind Benny and tossed the questions at the back of his head. “Blackmail?”
That one hit. Benny took a brief look over his shoulder and winked before he started talking. “I work the badger game with this little Mexican girl named Rita. Normally, we keep it pretty small time. She’s a nice kid and she’s not lookin’ for too much trouble. But the last time, we hooked a whale. He fell for her good and he let it drop that he owned this building. So I looked into that. Turns out he was puffing her, like they all do. You see, it was his wife that owned the building, she only lets him manage it. If there’s a divorce, he gets nothing. We hadn’t reeled him in when I got your wire, so I talked Rita into a little extra. She got him good. We traded the pictures for empty units. You got the seventh floor. Rita’s on five. It’ll be a long term lease.”
