“Sev, I went out there because I thought I was doing something for you.”
I tell him how I knew he was bummed because production was down and Balducci was thinking about closing the place. So I decided to figure out where all the extra merchandise is going. I’m thinking if I can figure this out, production goes up and they can throw something back to the fellas. “Who the hell thought Balducci was stealing from himself? I just wanted to help you. I’m not lying. Why would I?”
He digests this information. “Yeah, makes sense, I guess.” Sev’s cheeks puff up with air and he blows out a sigh that seems to release the venom he was holding toward me for the last few days. “Georgie was working for Balducci in his side business. Small jobs that didn’t take a lot of time, like collections and being a messenger. Some of the messenger stuff was delivering drugs. Georgie got in over his head. Does that sound familiar?”
“Go on,” I say.
“Problem is, some of the few police that Balducci doesn’t control pinch Georgie with a fair amount of Balducci’s heroin, enough to put Georgie away for awhile...unless, of course, he cooperates with the police.” He says that Georgie, a family guy, will do anything to stay out of jail and keep from embarrassing his family.
“So Georgie starts wearing a wire and gets the cops some information. But the fuckin’ guy is so sweaty and jumpy Balducci’s guys catch on. They can spot this shit a mile away.” Sev sees me thinking, then says, “Hope you enjoy your new career.”
The man is shedding some new light here. “I’ve changed my mind. Screw it Sev, you’re right. I’m not gonna work for these goons, and I’m definitely not going to throw any fight.” Just saying that was an unbelievable relief.
Sev is smiling, almost laughing. It ain’t a proud-papa smile, either; he’s laughing like I’m some kind of dick. “Did you tell Jimmy you would work for him?”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to do it. Jimmy will let me out. We go way back.”
“Yeah, Jimmy’s a great guy,” Sev mutters. “He bailed you out at the meat market when Zog was wrapping you up in plastic. You really think he’s going to let you go back to your frat parties now, after what you saw? You throw the fight and we’ll figure something out after that.”
“No Sev, that shit stops now. I’m not going to dive. I’ll just fucking get hurt before the fight. Shit happens.”
Sev tells me my plan won’t work, that the fight and the money mean nothing to Balducci. He says Balducci wipes his ass with money that would break the bookmakers. This whole fight flop is all about testing me, he says. It’s the first test of my loyalty, to prove that I’m on board.
“Well, I’m not going to pass his test,” I say.
“Listen, you don’t have a choice. There really is only one answer at this point, and I guarantee you the answer is not ‘no thanks.’ Sev looks like a storm cloud, he’s so serious. If you don’t play ball, you’re in deep shit.” I mumble some response about walking away from the whole mess but Sev isn’t buying it. “Look, we’ll talk more about this later. You’re fucked up right now.”
Something occurs to me. “Do you work for these guys?”
He shakes his head. “Naw, they leave me alone. I don’t make waves and I keep the place running. They talked to me once about it, but I didn’t take their bait.”
I’m not buying that one. “C’mon, Sev, they just left you alone?”
“The place runs better with me here and I don’t make waves. End of story.”
CHAPTER 11
I have one more day until my showdown at the Industrial Road bouts. There’s a lot of buzz in the factory. The guys are amped for it. I know Sev wants to talk to me today. He’s expecting to meet up with me at closing time, only this time it’s me who is avoiding him. I know what I’ve got to do now.
I spend the day telling everyone to load up on me and I’m feeling real good. Then I skip out early. What are they gonna do, fire me?
Better yet, I’m gonna take the day off tomorrow and sidestep Sev all together. I leave him a note saying, “See ya at the fight, and don’t forget to bet on the good guy.”
Then I go outside, take a breath of relatively fresh summer air and take the top down on my new Saab convertible. Okay, the Saab is used, very used, but it’s new to me and it’s mine. I made enough money this summer between the factory and the fights to help my mother with expenses and get a car. The Saab drained me, but after the fight tomorrow I’ll have enough cash for school and won’t have to work any more odd jobs, at least for a while. They take their toll on a man.
I drive to Westchester to see a friend but he isn’t home; I don’t know much about the place, so I just cruise around for a while. I get so lost I think I may actually miss my last fight tonight. Eventually I find the Whitestone Bridge that gets me to familiar territory. I’m laughing to myself because there are a ton of text messages and missed calls from Sev.
I finally park the car at the Moonbeam Cheese Factory as the first fight is beginning. I’m scheduled to fight the second bout of the night. The cheese factory doesn’t have the same courtyard as Kosher World, so they basically turned the parking lot into an arena. It’s even more crowded than the courtyard at Kosher World. The bookmakers are going nuts. There’s a lot of activity here tonight. I’m not 10 feet from the car when the Kosher World guys swarm me. “Holy shit, Kevin! Where you been?”
“Doesn’t matter where I been. It matters where I am, right fellas?”
Felipe yells, “That’s what I’m talking about!” Then he pulls me aside and asks if I’ve seen Sev. I shake my head. “Man, he’s been after you all day. You don’t owe him money, do you?”
I shrug my shoulders like I don’t know what’s up. “I can’t worry about Sev now. I got a fight to get ready for.” In the meantime the crowd lets out a huge roar as the bout going on heats up. I push my way through to get a look at the action. In the ring two fat guys are hammering the hell out of each other with all the grace of mating elephants. The fatter one is bleeding all over his face and I can’t imagine how he can see. But he’s a gamer. Just when you think he’s going down, he lands a great punch that catches his opponent square on his mouth.
The slimmer one reels back three steps. He’s both surprised and really pissed. He charges in and there’s no doubt from anyone that he’s getting it done now. He lands a few more punches and the fatter guy drops to his knees. The slimmer guy knows how helpless his rival is. He could just push him over to end this but instead opts to kick him right in the face. Man, that’s cold.
There’s a break in the action for everyone to collect money and to place bets on my fight. I’m on deck. I got to get my head right. I need to get into my own zone, so I start stretching out for a few minutes and then throw some punches in the air to loosen up. After a few minutes I’m starting to feel good. I take a brief break to catch my breath, and when I look up I see Sev and he’s staring at me. Shit, he is pissed. Really pissed, I’m thinking, Lighten up, Sev.
I make my way into the circle. Tonight I’m fighting a short, stocky guy named Vic Catino. Vic is already in there. Vic isn’t much older than me. He’s been in a few Industrial Road bouts and won some, lost others. The word is that he’s got a lot of heart and is as tough as nails. But he’s not that athletic and that’s why he has a mediocre record. I question how smart he’s gotta be. After all, fighting is the last sport you want to have a .500 record in. It’s not like a baseball game, when you lose and shake hands and move on to the next game. You lose in a fight and you got some other issues. You would think a guy could figure that out.
I take my shirt off and start flinging punches in the air again when three cops barge into the ring area. Where the fuck did they come from?
“Okay, everyone stay put and don’t move,” the larger cop says. “Everybody be cool, or we’ll take the whole lot of you in.”
It gets pretty quiet. I never thought about the police in this equation, but I guess these bouts are probably not on any approved recreation l
ist the cops might have. The taller guy is a 6’2” slender black man with tight curly hair that is grayer than black. This cop must be in his late 50s or early 60s. He definitely seems to be the leader, though. The other two cops are much younger.
The lead cop barks, “So you guys think you’re gonna be doing some fighting here tonight. I don’t think so.... ”
Bino walks into the middle of the fight area, joining three police officers, my should-be opponent, Vic Catino, and me. Bino stares at the head cop and says, “I don’t think you know what you’re dealing with here, Dick Tracy.” Bino starts dripping some attitude at the cop and says, “Look, this stuff has been okayed. Just do your homework. Why don’t you guys just kind of vanish? Trust me, in the long run it’s gonna be a lot less of a hassle for you.”
The head cop looks Bino up and down. He notices Bino’s fire-red hair and powder pale skin and then looks again, as if he needs to confirm that the data is registering in his brain correctly. The cop makes a quick and deliberate move I will never forget. “Yo, Red, you got a bad attitude,” he says. Then he snaps his arm and thrusts out the hard part of his palm, hitting Bino square on the bottom part of his nose. I can hear the bone shattering; blood is flying everywhere. I’ve done a fair amount of boxing before and I’ve also seen my share of broken noses, but nothing like this. It’s an awesome display of raw damage in a compact format.
Bino falls on the ground wailing like a bitch. His hands cover his face but a ton of blood is dripping through his fingers. The cop looks at him and says, “Quiet down. You’re giving me a headache.” But Bino just goes on screaming. He’s yelling something about there are witnesses here and something about how they don’t know who he is, but it’s mostly just aahh my nose, help, my nose.
The cop screams, “Shut the fuck up! I’m trying to get something done over here. Do I need to rip out your vocal cords?” That seems to work, and Bino brings it down to a whimper.
The cop walks over to me and says, “You one of the fighters?”
I nod my head. So here I am being all cooperative and everything and this cop snaps an uppercut into my stomach. Even if I were ready for the shot, it would do damage, but the fact that it surprises me causes all sorts of havoc with my body. I drop to my knees, wheezing for air. That was a sick punch. I’m on the ground and still trying to get some air while the cop takes his foot and pushes me over onto my stomach. I am totally defenseless. He drops down and sticks his knee in the back of my neck. The cop grabs my hands, puts them behind my back and slaps handcuffs on me. He grabs a handful of my hair and begins lifting me to my feet. When I am standing, I notice that Vic Catino is also in handcuffs, but it doesn’t look like he was hit. Bino’s in cuffs too, and man, he looks like he just lost a cherry pie-eating contest.
The lead cop instructs the other two officers to take Bino and Vic in their car; he will take me in his car. How lucky for me to be able to spend even more quality time with this guy. The cops push us through the now-quiet crowd and toward the police cars that are parked near the back of the lot. As we progress toward the cars I notice everyone staring, including Zog the Cellophane King. He knows he should be doing something here, but he has no idea what the fuck to do. I know he wants to be effective but not look like his pal Bino, so he just stays quiet and watches us being dragged away.
The head cop pushes me into his squad car and I kind a feel cheated. In all the police shows, the cop always reads you your rights and puts his hand on your head to guide you into the car, making sure you don’t bang your head. But this guy just shoves me and my head slams into the roof as I’m on my way in. Damn, where’s the protocol?
The cop screeches out of the area in a clear effort to put on a show. He gets onto the Long Island Expressway and drives for a while, and then suddenly pulls off near Hunts Point. We pass a bunch of factories that are similar to the ones on Industrial Road. We go deeper and then past rows and rows of warehouses. Some look like they are barely standing and some are empty shells, leftovers from a fire, maybe. Whatever the case, there’s no way we’re going to a police station.
Eventually we pull into an empty warehouse that looks as if it’s been vacant for years. The good news is I’m not about to get butt-fucked in some jail cell tonight. The bad news is, I might get butt-fucked in a deserted warehouse.
The cop slows down and makes a left turn into the parking lot of one of these warehouses. He then drives around back to the loading docks. A police car and an SUV are already parked in the bay of the loading docks, well hidden from the rest of the world. The two younger cops who broke up the bouts tonight are sitting in the front seat of this other police car. They are staring at me as we slowly park next to them, and there’s no sign of Bino or Vic.
Inside the warehouse it’s pretty dark. I suspect this place isn’t exactly up to speed on the electricity bills. We walk around a bend to an area with a few chairs and a table. On the table is a glowing electric lantern; some moths are banging into the glass, attempting to find their little piece of paradise. There are a few more battery-operated lanterns hanging from nails on the walls, offering barely enough light to see. And what I see is pretty interesting. Sev is seated at the table waiting for us. In this light and from this distance I can’t really make out his face, but his figure is pretty unmistakable.
“How’d it go, Curtis?” Sev asks the lead cop.
“It was pretty easy, like you said. We were in and out,” the cop replies. “Except for that alien-looking redhead. Sneezing is gonna hurt him for a while.”
“Fuckin’ Bino. Still, I appreciate it,” Sev says.
Curtis smiles. “Gotta get these cop cars back. Let’s talk later this week.” Curtis walks over and softly punches Sev in the chest. “Damn, it’s good to see you again.”
“Thanks for the favor, man.”
My new pal Curtis, the almost cop, leaves. When I turn around to my old pal Sev, I am met by his huge hand that wraps around my throat, with quite a lot of pressure, I might add. Sev screams, “Are you out of your fucking mind? What the fuck is wrong with you? You into suicide? Are you that crazy or are you just that fucking stupid?”
I’m thinking, damn, I can’t keep up with all these questions and even if I could he’s choking me. Eventually Sev lets go of my neck. I cough for a little while and look up and sputter, “What gives, man?”
“What gives? What gives?” Sev’s eyes are bulging and I see a vein in his neck dancing and flexing. I’m thinking that I may have found a whole new level on Sev’s snap-o-meter. This shit is ugly. “Man, you leave me a note saying bet on the good guy and then you fucking disappear. You don’t even return my phone calls. I got to chase you fucking down, and you just disappear.”
“Sev, I have it under control. I’m taking care of it.”
“You were going to fuck Jimmy Balducci, make him look like an asshole and then die. You don’t think you will, but I’ve seen guys do less and then take a cap.”
“Sev, I didn’t have a choice. 1 thought about all my options and believe it or not, this one made the most sense.”
“I can’t wait to hear this fucked-up logic. Let me hear this shit,” Sev commands.
“Look Sev, first off, think about what you told me. We were talking about the fights and me throwing this fight for Balducci. Remember what you said about the fight flop being a test? That I had to prove I’m on board, and then there would be more tests, harder tests?” Sev nods; he remembers everything. “I thought about what you said long and hard. It’s all I could think about. Obviously, Balducci ain’t the great guy I thought he was when I started to work here. He had this plan for me all along. I understand. They get you in deeper and deeper until you have no choice but to be on board.” Sev is listening, his eyes motionless, locked on me. “The one thing I’ve been hearing is that once you’re in, forget about getting out. So how am I supposed to not get in and stay healthy? I saw some stuff at the meat market when Zog wrapped me up in cellophane. I know some stuff I shouldn’t know. I don’
t want in on this shit. I’m not looking to be a wise guy. I work for him, shit, my life’s over anyway.”
Sev interrupts, “Yeah, we all know the problem. I still don’t know what the fuckin’ solution is.”
“Look Sev, there are two things you said to me that just kept coming back to me and wouldn’t go away. Balducci’s gonna test me and Balducci’s got people he’s got to answer to. You said it, right?”
“Yeah, I said that. Go on.”
“Well, nobody above Balducci knows shit about me. Hell, I bet no one even equal to Balducci knows shit about me. Why would Balducci even mention me before I went through all his tests? The best shot I have is to break away from Balducci before anyone above him is on board, you know, before anyone upstairs from him signs off on me. Then I’m their responsibility, too. You see, I have a shot if I make Balducci look like a dick to people under him, but make him look bad to people above him, no way. It’s now or never, now or never.”
Sev cocks his head and gives me a bewildered and amazed glance, like he’s watching a train wreck. “That’s what you got? You’re betting because people above Balducci don’t get wind of this slap in the face that you can slide? Don’t you think he’s gotta make sure the people below him don’t ever think about turning on him? You know, set an example.”
“I’m an outsider,” I say, “a family friend. No one else can claim that. I’m in uncharted territory.” Sev gives me another train wreck look. “I’m not saying it’s a foolproof idea,” I continue. “Hell, I’m not even saying it’s a good move.”
“So why the fuck do it?” Sev asks. “Shit, in the Marines you look at risk-reward profiles. You ever think about your odds of surviving this stunt?”
“Hell yeah,” I said, proud to have an answer. “Forty percent chance I get whacked. Fifty-nine point five percent shot I get beaten so bad I can’t even get a piss hard-on anymore. Zero point five percent chance you bail me out. Who were those guys that kicked our asses and dragged me here? Are they really cops?”
Odd Jobs Page 9
