I’m thinking that this guy is telling me too much information, and I don’t think that’s an accident. But it’s not really a secret anymore either. The fact that an hour ago his guys were sending me to hotdog heaven kinda leads one to the conclusion that something’s not kosher in Kosher World. That being said, I think either I’m in or I’m out, and out probably means body parts filling Lily’s locker.
“Jimmy, I’m a big fan of markups, too.” Jimmy smirks and takes a sip of his coffee. “Doesn’t Kosher World mind selling shit for zero?” I ask.
“Kosher World has to live with a deal cut a long time ago. They were getting low on cash and taking it in the ass from the union. They were pretty close to shutting down. They came to us looking for help. Funny thing is, we were causing the union problems. Anyway, not only were we able to get them a favorable loan, but we put the union problem on the shelf. They were a lot smaller back then. Holy shit, the company got big. I was able to buy in as a partner when we loaned them the money. Guess how much it cost me to buy in?”
“Probably the same as you’re paying for the merchandise,” I answer.
“Now you’re getting the hang of what a good deal is. There’s a lot of money and clout backing us.”
“Yeah, but who is the ‘us’?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about that now. As far as you’re concerned, it stops with me. Just know that we got control of every union on Industrial Road and a ton of others. You’d be surprised by how well we stay under the radar. We got control of the books and that’s why, with some creativity, we pay zero. We’re not pigs. We take our pound of flesh and let the feds go after Madoff and Enron and we stay low. There’s a trail that says otherwise, but at the end of the day, we buy for free. This meat store isn’t the only retail store we got. Shit, we’re in the process of building our own mall and filling it with all our retail operations. We figure consolidation will help with some of the expenses. One must be prudent. We still need to show positive growth, and as they say in the business world, if you’re not going forward you’re going backwards.”
Is this the ticket I was looking for? Jimmy has managed a good life, and he’s right in the heart of the whole Remington Academy scene, even though his family didn’t come over on the Mayflower. This whole business is dirty, no doubt about that. But do I have a choice? Balducci’s giving me a chance to save my ass; that’s what this is about. That’s what he’s waiting for. “Jimmy, what can I do for you? How do I get in?”
Jimmy pauses, drinks some juice and acts like I just came up with a unique idea. “We’ll get you involved slowly. I might know you, but some of the others aren’t going to trust you. Believe me, if you’re not on board, we’ll find out. Plenty of people are cooperating and this whole thing is insulated airtight. Kinda like breathing through eight layers of cellophane.” Balducci lets out a big belly laugh and I politely smile and nod. “The truth is there are people involved you couldn’t imagine. Anyone finds out anything that I told you and it would be out of my hands. Understand?” I nod. “If the word starts getting out, we will find out. You can’t dent this machine.”
“Jimmy, I’m on board.”
“I know, you’re a good man, I just had to say it. But it’s real.”
“What about college?” I ask.
“You go back to school next month like you’re supposed to. When I need you, I’ll get hold of you. Getting your degree wouldn’t kill you. Plenty of us got one.”
Jimmy signals for the check. When it arrives he drops $50 for a $15 tab. It’s a pretty nice tip. I wonder if he’s trying to impress the waitress or me.
CHAPTER 9
Monday comes quick and my face isn’t as resilient as I’d hoped. The guys from Balducci’s meat market really banged me up. I have a shiner that’s probably at its peak for drawing attention. It’s still swollen but the dark black-purple color has faded into a greenish tone.
The real trouble for me here at Kosher World is that everyone saw me spank this guy on Friday. He didn’t touch me, so how’d I get the black eye? After what happened on Friday, I should stay low. It’s really one of those times I should use my head and keep to myself, but I know I’m going to draw some attention.
Sal and Frank greet me when I walk in. They, of course, immediately spot my swollen eye and start looking me over. It’s weird. Normally these guys will rag on me, but they’re not. They’re kinda just biting their tongue.
Lately I’ve been having breakfast with Sal, Frank, Ramon and Sev. They go over the previous day’s production and map out targets for the upcoming day. I sit down next to Sal and Frank. Ramon walks over and sits across from me. Although they don’t mention my black eye, they are pretty complimentary about the fight on Friday.
Sev walks over and unwraps a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich that he bought from the silver truck outside. He’s got a jumbo coffee and dumps four packs of sugar into his cup. If the sugar and caffeine aren’t enough to get his system going, maybe I should offer him some jumper cables from my mother’s car. Before Sev sits down he hands me a spreadsheet and says, “Yo, Kevin, can you check on how much we got out of the hotdog room last night? The numbers can’t be right.”
“Sure, Sev.” No one is talking and they’re all looking at me. “Oh, you mean right now?”
“Yeah, I need the numbers.”
“Okay Sev, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I leave my cereal and head over to the hotdog room.
Plenty of the guys are having a good time with me, but for the most part this whole ass whooping I took is helping me out. Some guys in the smokehouse tell me that they heard I got into a fight in a Forest Hills bar after winning my bout on Friday and that it happened after getting wasted at the Locomotive Breath. They think I’m some sick fuck. I just tell them that I won’t talk about it and don’t repeat that story if any cops ask any questions. And they’re like, “Holy shit! You must have fucked that guy up!” On one hand I want to stay low but on the other much more important hand, I can’t miss an opportunity to increase my status.
The hotdog room is in full swing. They started at 1 a.m. I figure the numbers can get screwed up pretty easy in here. At some point during the day, the big hotdog conveyer belt stops dead. They change the Kosher World packaging and insert another label into the machine. Magically out come the same hotdogs, except the packaging says Goldstein’s Finest. They sell the same damn hotdogs at 40 percent less. It’s a riot. Anyway, they probably got the numbers all confused, and Sev wants me to straighten it out.
Carl Gurdon is in charge of the hotdog room. Carl’s a thin guy, about 6’4”. Maybe he’s in his late 50s, but it’s hard to tell. He’s got that Lurch from “The Addam’s Family” look that makes him seem older than he is. His choppy German accent from the mother country doesn’t help him fit in either. Carl takes a lot of shit for being a “Nazi” playing with ovens in Kosher World. Carl always corners me in the cafeteria and tries to talk to me. He’s always trying to get me to help him straighten up his son.
I avoid the guy like gonorrhea, but sometimes he sneaks up and pins me. Old Carl gets an inch from my face and starts ranting. “My son was out all last night, he dropped out of school, and he won’t get a job. Look at you... you work, you go to the school. Can’t you help him?”
“Carl, people take different paths. School’s not for everyone,” I assure him.
“Yes, but he does drugs, he smokes cocaine. I fucking work my ass off in this factory and that kid just lays around and smokes the junk.”
I’m thinking to myself, Carl, your problems with this kid are just starting, but I say, “Yeah, it’s tough. Let me think about it a little, Carl.”
Now I have to speak with Carl, but I’m determined to keep this conversation to the absolute minimum. I’m just not going to get roped in today. Carl sees me walk in and beelines right up to me. I can see he wants to unload, so I act fast. I blurt out, “Carl, I’m in a bit of a hurry and Sev asked me to double-check these numbers from last night. He thinks there
may be an error.”
Carl takes the spreadsheet from my hand and examines the stats for a minute and then says, “Same numbers as always, no error. I do this room for seven and a half years and I know the numbers. No error.”
I ask him if he’s sure, and he is. I take the spreadsheet back from him and say, “Okay, thanks Carl.” I give a hard look at the spreadsheet, and I’m thinking Carl’s probably right. The numbers are in the same zone as any shift.
I’m confused. Why did Sev have me check these numbers? I’m walking away when Carl barks, “Kevin, I need to talk with you about my son.”
“Sorry, Carl, I can’t make it today. Sev has my ass all over the place and I’m already behind.”
“Yes, but yesterday the police take my son. They arrest him. I need to know what to do. Please.”
I’m almost at the door when I stop. I turn and look at Carl with his gaunt pale complexion and wrinkled face. Something about a father worried shitless angers and touches me in a strange way. Carl is a weird guy, but I’m actually jealous of his kid. It’s nice to have a father worried beyond belief about you. What a cock, to have a father and push him off the deep end. “Carl, I’ll come back later and we’ll see what we can do.”
The day goes by. I don’t get over to Carl like I promised and I feel pretty shitty about it. First thing in the morning, I call a friend who is interning for a lawyer who specializes in drug cases. He gives me his boss’s name and number. I bring it over to Carl and tell him I’ll check in with him and see how I can help.
Monitoring Carl’s numbers was a bullshit move; they were fine. But that was the first of several expeditions. Sev sends me on more of these wild goose chases to check on numbers he knows are right. Sev isn’t around much at all these days and when I do see him, it’s all short answers to my questions. He’s not pulling me into meetings any more or explaining different things. He definitely has me on ice. I didn’t say anything or do anything to get him heated, and even if I did, he’s never hesitated to let me know before. What the fuck is his problem?
The cold shoulder has been going on for a week now, with no end in sight. In my head I’m saying that Sev can screw himself. I’m here for three more weeks and then it’s back to school. I say it to myself, but I don’t really buy it. I like Sev and I miss spending time with him. Watching him operate is the one real pleasure I have in this place. I wonder if there’s an exit to Sev’s doghouse.
I buy lunch from the sandwich truck. I’m sitting down in the cafeteria when Bino blesses me with his pasty face. He’s standing right across from me. As soon as I unwrap the plastic I get a whiff of the turkey sandwich and there’s a 50-50 chance this thing is rank. It’s always a coin toss with the truck. I’m laughing to myself that I got this pale white turkey with a rotten smell and Bino is right here looking at me. The similarities are remarkable.
“Yo, Balducci wants to talk to you,” Bino barks at me. “And be careful with that sandwich. Sometimes the plastic wrap can be dangerous.”
“Hey, Bino, you delivered your message like a good boy. You did a real good job. Now go buy some sun block and fuck off.”
Bino smirks and starts walking out, but as he leaves he says, “Pretty touchy, kid. I was just looking out for you. Last thing anyone here wants is to see you get hurt.”
It’s about a l0-minute walk to Balducci’s office. Management offices are in a two-story building that is attached to the factory but separated by the huge warehouse. It’s right next-door, but there’s no shortcut.
Balducci’s door opens up. He is shaking hands and gently guiding a very large man toward the exit. The big man stops abruptly and says; “You’ll remember to call me about this idea?”
“Of course, Petro, I’ll call later this week.” Balducci practically shoves his guest toward the exit. When the big guy is gone, Balducci looks at me and motions me into the office. He looks toward the exit. “That’s Petro. He’s what the founders of Kosher World would call a real putz.”
I sit on the other side of his huge oak desk. It almost looks like the headmaster’s desk at Remington Academy. The factory is hardcore industrial, but this is a civilized office. Balducci lights a cigar and stares at it for a few seconds in appreciation. I’m not sure if he appreciates the cigar or how he got it-he only smokes Cubans-or the fact that he couldn’t care less about the laws against smoking indoors. Mostly, I think he is staring in appreciation of his own righteous indignation.
“Thanks for coming over here, Kevin. Listen, there’s something you can do for us. I know I said it may be a while, but I need something now. Ready?”
“Name it.”
“It’s real easy. Your last fight in the Industrial Road bouts is next Friday, and I want you to lay down for me.”
He’s not kidding. He wants to bet some wood against me and I’ve got to throw the fight. This sucks. Right now the guys love me. They’ve made a few extra bucks, and in a small, weird way I help give some pride to Kosher World. I don’t even know how to flop. Shit, I’ll do anything for a few bucks, but I don’t want to screw the guys. They’ve been talking about betting their whole month’s pay on me. I’ve gotten a lot of respect with the bookmakers now. I’m actually the favorite next week. The guys are gonna be bummed. Sev will be bummed.
Balducci looks at me and I think he’s surprised I didn’t snap an answer back at him. “There’s no problem here, is there, Kevin?”
Well, I’m not going to say ‘no’ to Balducci. I remember what it’s like not to breathe. “No problem, Jimmy. Consider it done.” I guess I just got on the train to Douchebagville.
Every time someone slaps me on the back, every time someone tells me how they’re going to spend their winnings next Friday, it feels like needles sticking into me. It feels worse than if all of a sudden I woke up and looked just like Bino, if you can imagine that.
I like what I got going here, but now I’m heading back to the proverbial Tongue Room again. Man, this sucks. At least I’ll be done here soon. It’ll be like a drive-by shooting. Fuck these guys and disappear. But what happens when Balducci needs me down the road? No doubt I’ll have to deal with Kosher World again. It’s Balducci’s HQ. Man, I don’t want to face these guys after flopping on their dime.
On the other hand, I don’t want to end up as hamburger meat. Haven’t I always said that I’ll do whatever it takes to get ahead? Now it’s time to shit or get off the corned beef. Fuck it. Kosher World guys don’t have any money and never will. So they end up with a few less shekels. So what? I never asked them to give me the red carpet treatment. Everything will be just fine. The guys won’t have an undefeated fighter to crow about at H’s place, and I’ll be on my way to the good life. So be it.
I say it to myself. I keep saying it to myself. But I’ve always imagined getting my breaks on my terms. I didn’t think it would be at the expense of factory workers. It shouldn’t happen at the expense of my integrity. But integrity is overrated. It’s not that big a deal. It’s just a fight and some money. Why does it bother me so much?
CHAPTER 10
Sev switched me over to the late shift again. I start tomorrow, 9 p.m. to 9 a.m., and this blows. Before, he just had me on the outside of things, just keeping me away, and now he’s busting my chops all over again. I want to straighten things out with Sev, but what’s the difference? In three days when I throw the fight, I’m going to be dogshit anyway. I’ll just take my shifts, do my time and then move on. It’s not like I have a ton of choices. But throwing this fight is really gnawing at me, and it shouldn’t. Should it?
I go out of my way to find Sev before I leave. I want to see his reaction to me. But when I find him, he looks at me and it’s nothing. When Sev shoots his angry glare at someone, the effects are immeasurable. As far as a mile away, children are crying for their mothers and German Shepherds are trying to crawl underneath beds. But the look that hurts me the most is this empty stare. It says I don’t give a shit.
It’s not like I have anything to lose. It’s t
ime to have a chat with Sev. This is enough already. “Sev, what’s with the all-night shift? I thought we had a deal. I do the Industrial Road fights and I don’t have the all-night shifts anymore.”
He looks at me and graciously acknowledges my presence, so I now feel that I have a pulse. “Kevin, you got the balls to talk to me about the Industrial Road fights?”
I’m not sure why he said that to me, and he said it in a strange way.
Sev stops looking at me. Instead, he looks over me. He says, “Tell me, Sugar Ray, how much should I bet on you this Friday? Should I load the boat? Maybe I should get my relatives to bet on you also?”
I can’t believe Sev knows that I’m going to dive. “Man, nothing gets by you here.” There’s no sense in playing like I don’t understand. “I don’t want to do it, Sev, I really don’t.”
“I told you awhile back. You’re gonna have some choices, some roads are going to fork. You picked a road, now live with it.”
“C’mon Sev, it’s just a fight and.... ”
“First off, it’s more than just a fight. It always was. Second, everything I did with you was a waste of time. You sold out to the soul snipers. Go live your life and make your mega bucks and have some laughs, while you can.”
“C’mon, man, how can you lay that on me? You said when you were my age you were taking people out in Special Operations for.... ”
“Hey, asshole, I thought I was working for the U.S. government. I got duped. Is there any doubt in your mind who you’re working for? I got an idea. Why don’t you ask Georgie Skolinsky who you’re working for?”
“Sev, every time I ask you about Georgie, you change the subject. Why did he get whacked?”
Sev’s eyes are flaring like lightning. “You don’t demand that shit from me! What were you doing following everyone around that night? How much further up Balducci’s ass you want to get?”
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