“Hey asshole, you’re in my seat,” I say loudly and firmly.
Bino and some of the others look up, surprised by this unprovoked comment. The room is starting to quiet down a bit; I figure maybe half the guys know what’s going on. But for some reason, Bino looks perplexed.
“You ugly pale fuck, get out of my seat.” I stare at him intently, refusing to let myself blink. I just keep thinking about how that cocksucker has been giving me such a hard time, just for laughs.
Bino gives me a blank look. He has no idea what to do. The lounge is even quieter, and in his confusion Bino turns and looks at Sev. Sev is staring straight forward, trying to chew on his sandwich, obviously doing everything he can to hold back a smile at the same time. It’s not working, and Sev’s smile grows wider and wider. It’s getting pretty easy to get him to smile. Clearly, Bino ain’t getting any help from Sev.
With an open hand, I slap down hard into Bino’s plate of macaroni and cheese, sending the crap all over the guy. I know it’s more third grade than it is OK Corral, but fuck it. I’m gonna send a message that I can push back. Bino’s in a pretty bad spot. He should do something, but if he goes after me, he knows now that I’ll put the hurt on him.
Bino looks at himself wearing his lunch. He stands up and is trying to say something. The fucking guy is so embarrassed that his pale skin is turning red. Maybe I did him a favor here. Someone should screw around with him 24 hours a day; with the surge in blood flow to his face, he almost looks human. He finally blurts out, “Fuck you, man! Don’t think I can’t get you back.”
With that comment he storms out. The guys in the lounge egg him on, saying “Oooooooo” in unison.
When Bino is gone, practically the whole lounge is laughing. The guys who were sitting next to Bino scoot over a bit to make room for Felipe and me. I brush off some of the macaroni and cheese that landed on the long bench. I know the guys bitch about what an asshole Bino is. I have a hunch taking care of this will go a long way. Maybe it’s a stupid risk, but I think I just made life better. In any case, it feels real good.
I’ve just swallowed the first bite of my sandwich when Lily comes screaming into the lounge. She’s in a panic and wailing uncontrollably. Felipe turns to me and says, “Man, can she be dramatic.”
I can’t make out what she is trying to say but I’m sure it’s nothing good. Everyone is trying to go about their business rather than get involved with Lily. Finally Amy Horwitz from packaging tries to get her under control. Lily’s face is bright red and she’s breathing like a cow giving birth. I’ve never seen hysteria like this.
Finally Lily calms down enough to tell us what happened. She says she went to the women’s locker room to start her shift and opened up her locker. What she found was her boss Georgie and his hairy ears staring at her. The problem was, Georgie wasn’t all in one piece. His severed head was gazing at her from the top shelf. The rest of him was in her locker too. Apparently someone shot Georgie, hacked up his body, put him in garbage bags and stuffed him into Lily’s locker. They put his head in a clear plastic bag and left it on the top shelf of her locker for maximum effect.
It takes the police about 20 minutes to get here. They are taping off areas and questioning everyone. The police are amazed it took till noon to discover Georgie, as he’d been there overnight at least. The other women apparently smelled something rank in the locker room but just figured it was Lily being hygienically challenged. Kosher World is shut down for the day, but we all have to hang around in case the cops want to ask any questions.
The next day they get us working as soon as possible. Sev tells us, “Let the police do their job and you do yours.” It’s a surreal atmosphere. People are milling about like little kids at a party for adults. I stumble like a zombie to my spot in the Hotdog Room.
No one wants to talk about the murder. I’m getting the impression this didn’t come out of the blue. People are upset, but nobody’s shocked. No one will tell me anything, either. Just when I think Kosher World can’t get any weirder, it moves up a rung on the weird ladder. And while it was never really safe, it feels downright dangerous now.
So I just keep to myself and do my job, trying to pretend nothing awful has happened. People are doing their jobs and leaving me alone, so I can’t complain too much. Throughout the week some of the shifts are pretty thin as people go to Georgie’s funeral and pay their respects to his wife and two daughters. I am more relieved than ever as this week concludes.
CHAPTER 5
It’s only been a week since Georgie was killed and it’s already business as usual. Sort of. No one is talking about the murder, as if it didn’t happen. I don’t get it; not only was Georgie a co-worker, but he was also one of the guys in charge. I know less than everyone else, but one thing is clear to me: it’s not smart to talk about Georgie now.
It’s time for me to leave, and I can’t wait to bounce. By the end of a day here, I need a nice hot tub and massage. But I’ll settle for pizza in Hempstead and watching my mother stare at the stupid shows on the Game Show Network. Then I’ll crash for the night and do it all over again.
I leave the courtyard and lock eyes with a man in a light blue warm-up suit. He’s a strange-looking guy, sunburned with a bushy, bright-blond beard, big gold chains and a huge gut.
No doubt he is looking at me. I walk past him, but even with my back toward him I can feel him looking at me. What the hell is he doing?
As I turn the corner on Chet Boulevard, I forget about the guy. I must have just missed the bus. There’s only one person at this usually crowded bus stop. Standing there by his lonesome is one of my all-time favorite people, Sev Reynard. I know Sev doesn’t live in Long Island, so there’s no reason for him to be waiting for the Grand Central Express. Maybe I missed some corned beef scraps when I was cleaning up a room.
I walk up to the bus stop and without saying a word I stand behind Sev. We both stand there, weighed down by that awkward silence that is always found in elevators, at chance meetings with old girlfriends and in the company of factory bosses who torture grunts. We just stand there. The first person that talks loses.
“Hey, Kevin. You in a hurry or you got a few minutes to talk?”
I look at Sev for a moment and say, “I’m not in any hurry. What’s up?”
“There’s a bar two blocks away. You up for a drink?”
“Sure, but I never saw a bar out here.”
Sev motions with his eyes to the left. The outdoor light drains some of the contrast from his white eyes and dark black skin but he’s still got a commanding look. Sev starts walking past Chet Boulevard. and I follow without talking. We go south on Roogie Avenue. Sev says, “It’s in an alley next to Moonbeam Cheese. You won’t see it unless you know about it.”
But there it is, a simple red brick building with a neon Budweiser sign and, I have to admit, a pretty good logo painted on the glass. The logo is a huge blue train, but the front of the train has an angry human face. A cloud of green smoke billows from the irate mouth and in the smoke are the words “LOCOMOTIVE BREATH.”
From the inside, it looks just like the Blarney Stone I was at a couple of weeks ago. The only difference here is the rock star posters covering the walls. There’s Led Zeppelin, Grateful Dead, Eric Clapton and a bunch of others I can’t make out.
“There’s the guy that owns the place, Harv Hatch. We call him ‘H’.”
I turn around and see H standing behind the bar and pouring some pretzels into a bowl. He’s wearing a shirt with a Confederate flag and the name Lynrd Skynrd. H stands about six feet tall with a scrawny frame and concave chest that looks way out of proportion because of his bowling ball gut that protrudes above a large metal belt buckle. He has a scraggly beard that can’t cover all the places it’s supposed to on his face. His long, dirty-blond hair actually is dirty and doesn’t cover his head much anymore, either.
“H is a big rock fan,” Sev offers. “He mostly likes the classic rock crap, you know, like the Stones and the Do
ors.”
A waitress walks to our table and looks at Sev. “What can I get you, Sev?”
“Tina, I won $2,000 on my boy over here and it’s burning through my pocket. How ‘bout two beers and two shots of 151?”
“You actually bet on me?” I ask as Tina saunters away with Sev’s order.
“I didn’t have a choice. You were my guy; you know, from my place. I had to do it even though I thought I was donating it.”
It’s hard to imagine anyone making this guy do anything, but at five-to-one odds, Sev must have bet $400 on me.
Sev looks at me and asks, “Where did you learn to fight? You knew what you were doing with Butch.”
Tina shows up with her bar tray filled with goodies. There’s an entire bottle of rum, the 151 version – it’s as close to pure grain alcohol as you can get. She places two long beer glasses filled from the tap onto the table along with two shot glasses. She pours two shots of 151 and then clicks her cigarette lighter and touches the flame to the top of the shot glass. The rum catches fire and Tina says, “Enjoy,” and walks away.
“What’s with the fire?” I ask.
“It’s kinda gotten to be a tradition you know, working in the Kosher World freezers all day, the guys found this helps warm the bones.”
“Wait, you mean you guys think this warms your bones?”
“What are you a fuckin’ doctor now?” Sev snaps.
“I’m not saying anything Sev, it makes sense, I just never thought of it before.” Holy shit, just when I think I’m getting along with the guy.
Sev takes a sip from his cold beer, puts the beer glass down, picks up his flaming 151 shot and throws it down his throat. So I pick up my shot glass and I’m telling myself, no matter what, don’t cough or act like a pussy.
I swallow and real quickly chase it with my beer. It’s as rough as I expect but I maintain some degree of dignity.
“We got two more fights over the summer. You got any more in you?”
“I don’t know, Sev. I kind of did this one spur of the moment. I’m not sure how a planned one would work out. Me fighting...is that the only way the shit treatment is gonna stop?”
“No, that’s done whether you fight again or not.” Sev motions to Tina for more drinks. “You’re all right. The job’s tough enough and I piled a load of shit on you. You handled it, plus some. We couldn’t believe you didn’t bail. You do your job now and things are gonna be fine. If you want to fight, it helps us. If you don’t, we’ll just sew Hector Pinto’s finger back on and get good odds.”
Look at my boy Sev trying to tell a joke.
Tina walks over to the table and pours two more shots. Tina has a look like she’s seen everything ten thousand times. She doesn’t seem to have an attitude but she’s not too sweet either. Her face is hardened from too many asshole drunks, but you can see that once upon a time she was a looker. Yeah, I’m pretty sure Tina is attractive; I haven’t had enough of the 151 to distort her favorably.
Sev picks up his shot glass and I do the same. He says, “Nice win.” We just tip the shot glasses in each other’s direction because you definitely don’t clink glasses here. We simultaneously down our drinks.
“So where did you learn to fight?” Sev asks as he motions to Tina for some more rounds.
“It’s kinda weird. I blew my knee out during a game and couldn’t play hoops anymore. I used to play a lot of basketball. I even got a scholarship to play at high school.”
“Bullshit, they don’t give high school scholarships.”
“Yeah, they do and I got one. I got one to play at a real ritzy school in Locust Valley, Long Island. Before that I almost spent my whole life playing hoops in Hempstead Park.”
“I know Hempstead Park. It’s not Rucker Park or West 4th Street but it’s on the map.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Me and my boys were always there.”
“So how was the school?” Sev asks as we throw back two more shots.
“School was okay.” I hold back a 151 cough and say, “I got through it. I learned what I needed in class and saw a different way to live. We got a decent hoop team out of it and I had some colleges looking at me. But my timing sucked. I tore my knee up in the playoffs of my senior year. No time to show I could heal up and it killed the college interest I was getting.”
“Tough story about your knee. But Homer, didn’t I ask you how you picked up fighting?”
Wow, I’m rambling. I know what he asked me, but it’s the first time I ever really spoke to Sev. He’s the boss; why does he give a shit about me? Man, I’m getting buzzed. Tina walks over with two more shots. At this point I welcome the shots and damn, Tina looks good.
“Sorry,” I say. “They’re kind of related. Despite my knee injury, my high school coach put in a word for me at New York State University where he had some connections. They offered some financial aid and some bullshit job that I didn’t even have to show up for. It was enough to get me by. They called it a ‘soft scholarship.’ I was going to be a walk-on player. It was the best I could do with a bad knee.
“When I got to school, way the fuck up in Albany, the ‘soft scholarship’ got pulled from me and six other prospective players. Only one guy really had a shot for the team and the rest of us were like insurance. It’s the same as an airline overbooking a flight. So here I am; if I want college, I got to pay for it. If it’s not college, it’s back to Hempstead. So I started working a bunch of shit jobs to make tuition and pay bills. Then I lucked out. They had this crazy old coach who took guys like me and trained us for club fights. When we won, he got a third of our prize. I got to learn how to box and make some decent bucks. But to tell you the truth, I dug getting the attention again.”
I’m surprised Sev’s asking but more surprised he’s listening. I’m feeling weird telling Sev about this shit. I wouldn’t mind not talking anymore. As a matter of fact, I can use some answers myself. Fuck it, I tell myself. Let’s see if I can get some info; worst case, if he gets heated up, I blame the 151.
More of the liquor magically appears at our table. Tina lights them up. It dawns on me that she’s probably lighting them right at the table as opposed to the bar so that the blue flames won’t lap up the booze before we get our chance. It’s a pretty good observation. I’m thinking that this stuff might actually be making me smarter. “Sev, can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” Sev seems to be more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. His head is bopping slightly to the Allman Brothers song, “Sweet Melissa.”
“Who whacked Georgie Skolinsky?” I ask.
“Good question, but it’s not one I’m gonna answer. You got any other questions, wiseass?” Before I could ask anything Sev blurts out, “Say, how did you get into Kosher World anyway?”
“I got friendly with Rich Balducci, Jimmy Balducci’s son.” I told him how we started at the Remington Academy together. We both really stood out, I said, since everyone else there practically came off the Mayflower except for the two of us. “I got in for hoops and Balducci’s old man donated a building or something. The kids let me alone but they really hassled Richie. I kinda looked out for him and even got him on the basketball team. His father always appreciated that, and every now and then he did some nice things for me. I still stay in touch with Richie, and when his dad knew I needed some money over the summer, he did me this favor.”
“He gets you in Kosher World and considers that a favor?” Sev chuckles quietly.
“You laugh, but I’m always looking for money,” I say. “This is as good as it can get for me as far as the dough.” We both fall silent for a minute, and I figure I can try again. “How come nobody can give me a straight answer about where you were before Kosher World? Did you do any fighting?”
This question seems to intrigue Sev and I can see his normally powerful eyes are starting to get glassy. “I don’t know.... Is it just you asking?”
“Yeah, just me. Who’s gonna listen to me anyway?” I say.
“It�
��s funny, but no one’s really had the balls to ask me to my face for years,” Sev says. “I never told anyone before either. I just preferred it that way. Truth is, though, I can help you, and so I’ll tell you something. I was star linebacker at a high school in Detroit. I went to the Marines after high school, and if you think you got involved in a whole different world, it was nothing like I saw.”
“Vietnam?” I asked.
“Just after. As far as the world knew we weren’t fighting wars anymore. The problem was, we were fighting in wars and I was fighting in them. You probably don’t even know about Biafra, Congo or El Salvador, but I fought in places like that. We were trying to take out governments, and the shit I saw and did makes what happened to Georgie a walk in the park. The fucked-up thing is when we were finished we became a problem. The CIA didn’t want us around anymore. They couldn’t use us and they didn’t want anyone to know about us. So they started taking us out.”
“When you say out, you mean.... “
“Out is out. It was sick shit. Luckily, I did a few really big guys some huge ‘solids’ in my day and they ended up doing the right thing by me. They got me to disappear. You know, become invisible.”
“Invisible, like Kosher World invisible?”
“Exactly. Nobody here knows my past, so if somehow, someone has a great discovery, you and I are gonna do some discussin’ and I ain’t as easy as Bino.”
“Sev, I’m not gonna say anything, for real. Why do you think this can help me?”
“You remind me a lot of me. Different worlds but, at the core, more or less the same. You’re gonna have some choices, some roads are gonna fork. I thought I was a badass, and I ended up killing guys that I didn’t even know. Why? Because some colonel told me to. Then they turn around and try to waste me and my buddies. You can do better. Look at me. Do I look like I’m fulfilling my potential?”
Odd Jobs Page 5
