Odd Jobs

by Ben Lieberman

  I can’t get a straight answer from any doctors or nurses. Shit, they told me how serious this is, so why aren’t they acting that way? When I first brought Ray in here, he was foaming and twitching and doing everything one would do to be taken seriously in an emergency room, but no answers. A guy came in here wailing like every bone in his body was just crushed. It turns out he fell off a ladder. Ladder Guy left an hour and a half later with a cast on his arm. Maybe Ray needs to be a squeaky wheel, but Ray can’t bitch and moan very well with all that foam he’s coughing up. I’m not looking for all the answers, but shit, they’re not even dealing with this. Meanwhile, I want my friend back and I want to go run my business. It’s not a ton to ask. Still, no matter how many different ways I word the questions, Nurse Katims is giving me the same standard answers.

  “Sir, you have stated you are not an immediate relative of the patient, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right but.... ”

  “Sir, I appreciate your concern. Please sit down and we’ll contact you when there is some information to share.”

  I can’t take this. I’m going outside to call and check in with Loot, Carey and Rocky. With my luck, just when I leave, the doctor will come out to speak with me.

  The moment I’m outside the door, my cell rings. “Kevin, where the fuck you been?” Loot sounds dramatic even by Loot standards.

  “I know, doesn’t it suck? I can’t get any reception in the hospital and they’re slow as balls here. How’s everything over there?” I ask.

  “Shit, you better get your ass over here, now! We got some problems, dude!”

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “No way, man, we can’t talk on the phone. You need to get here, and I’m not fucking around.”

  “I’ll call you right back,” I say. As I disconnect the phone I notice a bunch of missed calls and voicemails registered to my cell phone. They hit up in one fell swoop, but they must have been kept at bay all morning with all the X-ray beams and thick hospital walls.

  I frantically dial Rocky’s cell phone and before the second ring she picks up and blasts, “Hey, we’ve been trying to get hold of you!”

  “I know. I just hung up with Loot. He says he can’t talk on the phone and that I should get back. Do you agree?”

  “Without a doubt, you need to be here,” she says firmly.

  “Yeah, but I haven’t heard anything about Ray. I can’t just leave him here.”

  “Kevin,” Rocky says sternly, “I’m sensitive to your friend Ray, but my advice is that unless you have some medical experience that can help the doctors, you better get back over here. It’s bad.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell the hardcore nurse where to reach me and I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

  In the reception area of the emergency room, I recognize Ray’s parents. I never met them but I recognize them from the pictures that Cindy would always push in front of us. That is, until she came to the realization that her straight-as-an-arrow, church-going, cutthroat, soon-to-be father in-law would never let a waste product like Ray anywhere near the family business. That realization got Cindy cutting her losses and moving on to the next empire.

  Ray’s mother is a basket case. She’s weeping into her hands. Ray’s father is on the cell phone but is frustrated by the service. He’s doing better than I was with his cell reception, but only marginally. He is speaking too loud and has already called the person back three times due to an abrupt disruption in service. At least his conversations are giving me a chance to piece together some information I haven’t been able to obtain yet. His voice is loud and deliberate with no thoughts of privacy; his mission is to convey his information.

  Ray’s dad says, “No, it’s not the substances, although that couldn’t help matters, I’m sure.” There is a pause as Ray Senior listens to the other party, but then Senior says, “No, Stan, it’s alcohol poisoning.” Okay, so from listening to Ray Senior, I know he’s got alcohol poisoning, whatever that is. The fucking moron practically drowned himself in vodka. At least now I know what he’s got and I can go back and clean up the mess that Loot and Carey created. That is until I hear Ray Senior bark into the phone, “No, I can’t move him, not yet. He’s in a coma.”

  Holy shit, Ray is in a coma. How can you get yourself into a coma from drinking? “Damn,” I hear myself say out loud.

  Rays Senior continues. “I don’t know what to do. I want our doctors to look at him, but they are telling me not to move him out of here yet.” There is another pause as Ray Senior listens to the other end. Then he says, “They’re not being optimistic or pessimistic, but they told me this coma is as serious as if he got himself into a car accident. Hell, he might never be the same. Stan, I’m scared. What do you know about alcohol poisoning? Stan? Stan? Are you there, Stan? Shit!”

  I decide it’s time to leave. The l0-minute ride back to work gets more frustrating with each mile. What is going on here? You drink, you throw up and you feel like shit the next day, but you don’t die from it. Right?

  I get to Loot’s Action Sports, grab Rocky and pull her upstairs to Hempstead Equipment. The bookie room will be the best place to talk.

  Loot sees me, but he doesn’t look relieved. Loot, who is black, looks as white as chalk. As a matter of fact, Carey doesn’t look much better. “Spit it out,” I say.

  Loot, Carey and Rocky all exchange meaningful glances but no words. For the first time ever, Loot is speechless.

  In an effort to bail him out, Rocky says, “It started at Luke’s Action Sports.” I tell her to go on. “Two salesmen got into an argument. Apparently one guy was calling the other’s leads.”

  “This happens all the time,” I say, figuring it can’t be too bad. “It’s usually about a woman, though. There’s too much damn testosterone in that room when it’s cranking.” Everyone here thinks they had such a bad morning, but fuckin’ Ray is in a coma. That’s a bad morning.

  Rocky cocks her head and looks at me, “Fights break out all the time? So you let me volunteer knowing that could happen?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “that might have been bad judgment.”

  Rocky takes a deep breath and says, “I didn’t see how the argument started, but when I got there, one guy was stabbing the other with pencils. By the time I got there, one pencil was stuck in his neck and another was sticking out of his shoulder. There was blood, there was fighting, there were pencils flying…it was awful!”

  “What were the other salesmen doing while this was going on?”

  Rocky looks at me deadpan and says, “They were cheering and betting on the outcome.”

  Loot, Carey and I simultaneously catch each other’s eye and wryly nod to each other, noting, that kind of makes sense.

  Loot chimes in with, “Compared to fights in the past, this was pretty bad.”

  “Thank you,” Rocky says. “Knowing I was in over my head, I called Loot.”

  I look at Loot and say, “So, you couldn’t take care of this fight?”

  The three of them are visibly frustrated, and Rocky says, “Kevin, the problem isn’t over this fight. That’s just where it all started.”

  They do seem pretty rattled. “All right then, please continue.” I am trying to sound all poised and everything, but they’re taking so damn long to get to the point.

  Carey breaks in and says, “I had a problem with the law today. A cop came to the door and said he was going to bust us.”

  “Please define ‘problem’.”

  Carey hesitates and looks at Rocky and Loot, but then looks back at me and says, “They were going to bust us. They said so.”

  “Who said so?” I ask.

  “The cop said so,” he answered. “The one that kept coming to the door.”

  “Go ahead,” I encourage him.

  “The cop bangs on the door at 10 in the morning, again at 10:30, and by 11 he was pounding and screaming to open up or he’ll kick the door in.”

  I ask, “Does the cop have a tattoo on his neck?”


  Carey looks at me with amazement and says, “Yeah, how did you know?” I laugh a little to calm Carey down, but I should play this up and scare him. “What’s the deal? You know this dude?” Carey demands.

  I better let them in on this. “Hell yeah, you do also. He’s been over a bunch of times. He’s gotten stoned with us a bunch of times.”

  “Kevin, I don’t know any cops,” Carey insists.

  “Yeah, you do.” I inform them. “Bartner’s been in the apartment a bunch of times, lounging on our couch, watching ball games and getting wasted.”

  “He has?”

  I smirk and answer, “Yeah, but he’s usually in a tank top and jeans. Didn’t you guys know he was a cop? When he was banging on the door, he must have just come back from work.”

  Carey is still confused. “Why is your buddy threatening to bust the door down?”

  “He was busting balls. With all the confusion over Ray, I forgot to mention that I told Bartner to come over this morning. He’s taking a vacation to Florida and I told him I would give him some dope for his trip. He was leaving this afternoon, so that’s why he came back a few times.” I laugh and say, “It’s all good. We’re not getting busted.”

  “He was joking when he was pounding on the door?” Carey says incredulously.

  I laugh and start imitating Bartner, “Open up or I’ll kick this shit down.” I laugh some more and say, “Yeah, Bartner’s got no bite.” But Rocky, Carey and Loot still aren’t smiling. Hell, they don’t even seem relieved.

  Carey says, “Kevin, you should have told us.”

  “What’s up, guys? No one’s going to jail, so what’s the problem?” Why aren’t they laughing and ragging on each other?

  “The dope is gone,” Carey blurts out.

  “What?”

  “Kevin, you should have told us about Bartner,” Carey insists.

  “How much is gone?”

  “Kevin, you should have told us.”

  “Okay, Carey, you could have called me also.” It was clearly a mistake offering that suggestion because simultaneously all three of them scream in an off-key chorus how they called a bazillion times but the messages weren’t reaching me. “Carey, what happened to the dope? Did you eat 20 pounds of pot, a half kilo of cocaine and a thousand Ecstasy pills? You don’t look like you gained any weight.”

  The moment of truth comes when Carey says, “I flushed it, man. I’m sorry, Kevin, but I flushed it all.”

  “About $50,000 in street value? It’s all gone?” I calmly ask.

  “Yeah, man, it’s all gone. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

  It’s a banner day today. My friend is in a coma and I just lost 50 fuckin’ grand. I sit down at the chair in my barren office. I put my hands over my face and try to regain my composure. You know, try to make some sense of this. I am fuming but I am trying to rationalize how it’s just some money and that’s not what I’m really after. This setback will sting, but my plan to get Balducci is in motion. This won’t kill that. While I am coming to grips with this situation, I hear Carey, Loot and Rocky talking quietly, almost whispering. I look up and see them conferring nervously. There is more.

  CHAPTER 21

  “I had a big problem in the bookie room,” Loot admits.

  My left hand is covering my eyes while my thumb is massaging my left temple. I don’t know how to act as I begin to feel the weight of this garbage truck that is dumping its contents on me. I am doing everything to show grace under pressure because I have a hunch this is developing into a defining moment. I calmly smile and say, “Sure, lay it on me and we’ll figure out how to fix it.”

  “This one won’t be that easy, Kevin.”

  “Quit fucking around and tell me what happened.” So much for grace under pressure.

  Loot hesitates and finally says, “Senator Murphy was in this morning.”

  I need to find out what the fuck is going on. “So what? The Whale is in every weekend. He plays six favorites and bets against the Gorillas.”

  Loot can barely make eye contact with me. “Right before I left to help Rocky with the pencil-stabbing dudes situation, the Whale called in. And he called in big. He bet his six favorites, and took the Gorilla’s basketball team getting eight-and-a-half vs. Cleveland University.”

  “You mean he took Cleveland and gave eight-and-a-half,” I correct him.

  “That’s my point. He took the Gorillas,” Loot insists.

  “That’s strange. What made him change? Why today?” I look at my friends but they are silent. “How much did he play?”

  Loot meekly says, “10 dimes.”

  I feel my eyes widen. “You mean after 10 years of wagering, the Whale bets 100 grand in favor of the Gorillas? He hits his betting limit with us on that game? Get the fuck outta here!”

  “It’s true,” Loot says. “He wanted more, but I told him he was at his limit. He used his color and number: Blue-425, plus I recognized his voice. When it was over, I did our mandatory checkout process and went over all the plays, spreads and amounts. The Whale bet on the Gorillas.”

  “Okay, then what happened? Did you lay it off with Petro? You didn’t have us go naked on that big amount, of course. Tell me exactly what happened next.”

  “I went down to help Rocky.”

  “Before you laid off that big bet?”

  “Kevin, it was bedlam in there! The girl called up screaming!”

  I look over and Rocky is nodding to confirm what Loot just said. “Okay,” I say, “then what happened?”

  Loot says, “I broke up the fight and sent the kid that got stabbed home. I figured if I got stabbed with pencils all over the place I wouldn’t be a very productive salesman. So I kept the guy here that did the stabbing.” Everyone nods in confirmation and I have to agree that’s good business.

  I look at Loot and say, “So that’s when you laid off the bet?”

  “I was going to lay it off then because it was getting late. By now it’s 1:30 and the Gorillas play at seven and it’s a pretty big number to lay off. I thought I might need a couple of guys. I thought if Petro didn’t want all the action, I could maybe use some of the guys I told you about.”

  “Loot, did you lay the bet off?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Please explain this,” I plead.

  “Okay. I had every intention to come back and lay off the bet. But Carey was calling about the cops banging down the door. He’s freaking because he’s going to get arrested with a mountain of drugs. The dude’s about to kill himself and I am trying to calm him down. We can’t get hold of you, and we’re going off the deep end over here. Finally we agree to flush the dope.”

  “Go on.”

  “We get it done, and that’s when it happened. I am so bummed that I then proceed to fuck up. I was like in a trance. I call Petro to lay off the bets and I’m going through the motions. I go to lay off the entire Whale bet; we don’t need to let any of this ride today. Who has time to manage the book today? So, I’m laying it off.”

  “I agree, so where is the problem?” I ask incredulously.

  “Like I said, I’m really distracted, so I call Petro and lay off the eight favorites and then, like an asshole, by force of habit, instead of betting against the Gorillas to offset the Whale’s typical bet, I lean the way we usually do and bet with Petro for the Gorillas. So with the Whale’s action, add another $100,000 on the Gorillas with Petro.”

  “You bet the Gorillas for l00k?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” Loot states.

  His story takes a while to percolate through my brain. “So,” I say, “instead of offsetting the bet, instead of making that bet zero, you double it up. We actually have $200,000 exposure if the Gorillas cover the spread?”

  “That’s right,” Loot confirms. Then he bites his lip and says, “But it’s actually about $250,000 because a lot of other dudes bet on the Gorillas today. Even Stinkfinger hit his limit with a dime bet on the Gorillas.”

  “The gynecologist? C’mo
n!” I shake my head in disbelief. “Did Petro give you a hard time about the action?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, he was thrilled. They confirmed, but they were trying to rush through the checkout process. At first I thought it was because he must be real busy, but now I think they were pushing it through as fast as they could.”

  “So when did you realize that we were exposed to $250,000?”

  Loot says it was about an hour ago, just before he reached me at the hospital. “I was organizing shit around here and planning on how we were going to tell you about flushing all those drugs, and then I heard some guys talking about the Gorilla game and something clicked. I looked at my notes and saw how I confirmed everything with Petro. At first I thought my notes were wrong, then I started remembering my conversation and I thought it was possible that my notes were right and I fucked up. I called Petro’s office and they confirmed that we have Cleveland University getting eight-and-a-half from the New York State Gorillas for ten dimes. So at this moment we have $100,000 on with the Whale and $100,000 on with Petro, not to mention 50 grand with our regular customers.”

  “Did you try to lay off the big number?” I plead, “Tell me you reversed it. Tell me you got worse terms, but you got it done.”

  “Kevin, I tried,” Loot says apologetically.

  “What do you mean you tried?”

  “There are guys dying to get some of our lay off action. They’ve been bothering us for a long time. And I’ve been bothering you because I hate dealing with Petro. I called these guys up, telling them that this is their big chance.”

  “So what did they say?” I ask, trying to hide my desperation.

  “No line,” Loot answers. “They took it down. Everyone took it down because the game stinks.”

  “Loot, this is important. Tell me exactly what the guy said. Do you remember?”

  “Yeah,” Loots says. “‘That line went down faster than a priest at a Boy Scout jamboree.’ That was exactly what he said.”