Odd Jobs

by Ben Lieberman

  The game is about to start and I have never been more nervous in my life. I have over $200,000 and my precious ass on the line. Not to mention the precious asses of my friends. This is going to be a long night. I hope Loot and Carey did some damage.

  I grab a few beers and sit down in our living room in front of the TV. I hand Rocky a beer and begin to pour us both a shot of rum. Rocky gives me a strange look and I say, “These are supposed to be lucky.”

  Before I light the shot, Loot and Carey come through the door. Carey drops down on the couch, still in his winter coat and says, “Better pour me one of them.”

  I look at Carey and say, “You’re asking for one of these?”

  “Dude, I’ve had a hard night. Pour that fucker and light it on fire.”

  I crack open two beers and slide them across the coffee table. I try to pour Loot and Carey both a shot of 151 and they notice my hand shaking. In these situations you want to look like Clint Eastwood, but it ain’t happening.

  Carey grabs my wrist, which actually helps me pour the rum. I manage to fill two shot glasses, but my shaky hand leaves at least a shot of overflow on the coffee table. I got myself into this mess because I didn’t care if I got killed doing it. But now that I am at a crossroads, frankly, I’m scared. I don’t want to die. Loot continues to try to calm me. “Kevin, there’s some hope here. We might’ve done some damage.”

  I turn my attention to the TV and the game that is just starting. Gorilla Arena is buzzing as usual. Gorillas win the jump ball and score on a quick alley-oop to Homer Wingate and the place erupts. Jake brings the ball up court for Cleveland and fires a pass to Snake, but the ball goes right through Snake’s hands.

  Loot’s voice cracks as he asks, “Do we need to do another flaming shot?”

  “Maybe we should do shots of cyanide pills,” I suggest.

  Gorilla sharpshooter Darren Veal sinks one from long distance. The ref extends both hands in the air, signifying a three-pointer.

  “Fuck me,” Carey groans.

  The score is five to nothing and nobody’s even broken a sweat. Before I can complain, fucking Jake dribbles the ball off his legs and gives possession back to the Gorillas. Bam Graham slashes down the middle and converts for a seven-nothing lead. Jake gets a look at a 15-foot shot from the side. He lets it go, but it bounces off the inside rim and is grabbed by Veal. Veal passes it to Wingate, who dunks it one-handed. That’s all Cleveland University coach Bill Madden can stand. The coach calls timeout in an attempt to stop the runaway train. We’re just a few minutes into the game, but the score is already nine-zero. There’s a break for a commercial.

  Carey moans. “Those guys are still shaving points. You didn’t get to them, Kev.”

  “Guys,” I answer, “I honestly don’t know. Even if they are trying, they still have to play well. Shit, they’re playing on the road and against a ranked team, and it’s hard enough to deliver under these situations. Now Jake and Snake have to worry about who they are going to piss off if they win or if they lose.”

  “Yeah,” Carey says, “but the Gorillas look strong. Too strong.”

  “What exactly did you guys do when you got inside?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to tell you yet,” Carey states.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I don’t want to hear any fucking abuse about how stupid I am until it’s absolutely necessary.”

  I look at Loot, hoping he will be more reasonable. “So, what did you do?”

  Loot turns to Carey and says, “Oh, now all of a sudden it’s important to talk about everything.”

  “Fuck!’ I scream. But I catch myself and say in a normal voice, “Fine. You tell me when you are good and ready.” I pour myself another 151 shot and mumble, “Like any of it makes a difference.”

  The first half of the game takes an eternity. Each bucket New York State scores is like a shark bite. The 151 rum is dulling my senses and occasionally my mind drifts. I remember how much fun I used to have playing hoops in Hempstead Park with Loot and Carey. The great trash talk, the powerful summer sun and the first gulp of beer when we finished playing. But then Petro barges into my thoughts and I can smell his dragon breath as he is nailing my balls to a hotplate. The only thing worse than this image is the sight of Darren Veal sinking a beautiful jump shot that snaps the net and the nylon pops back up 90 degrees. That shot ends the first half with the Gorillas leading by 18 points. Fuck, we are dead.

  The second half opens with another nice drive from Bam Graham of the Gorillas. That makes the score 54-34, an even 20 points. A hopeless feeling overwhelms me. My eyes start to swell with tears. I look over to Loot and Carey and say, “This is killing me because Jake and Snake are playing okay now. They both have 12 points, which is easily within their averages, especially when you consider they are playing against the tough Gorilla defense.”

  “That’s why we tried to take care of the whole problem,” Carey says cryptically.

  The Gorillas score on a rainbow jumper from Wingate and the lead widens to 22. Whatever they did doesn’t seem to be working. Teasingly, Jake hits a three-point shot to bring us within 19.

  Wingate throws a pass five feet over Veal’s head. Snake capitalizes on the error by driving through the lane and dunking like he was playing against an elementary school team. Down by 17.

  Loot looks at Carey and says, “That was kind of easy, don’t you think?”

  “Indeed it was,” Carey answers.

  “C’mon, guys,” I insist, “what’s going on? Did you pay some of the guys off?”

  “Naw, the Gorillas have too much depth. You can’t just reach a few guys.”

  Snake steals the ball from Wingate and bashes another monster dunk. All of a sudden we are down by 15 and the Gorillas call a time out. I cock my head, look at Loot and Carey and say, “What the fuck did you do?”

  Carey looks over at Loot, who nods. It looks like Loot just gave him permission to tell me. But before Carey begins, he points to the TV. “Holy shit!”

  Loot starts laughing. “It’s too good to be true.” They are laughing at the Gorilla huddle shown on the screen. The coach is drawing up a plan, but Veal is clearly aggravated. He is trying to concentrate on the strategy, but Wingate keeps putting his arm around Veal’s shoulders. Veal has shrugged off Wingate’s arm three times already. “Carey, this shit is working.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” I demand.

  Carey smiles and says, “We got to the water buckets before they were filled up. They store them in the equipment room. We didn’t need to get into the locker room. No one saw. We didn’t have any dope left in the apartment thanks to the flushing incident, but we got plenty of friends and we got all the Ecstasy we could. We put a ton of crunched-up X pills in the water buckets. You’ve been watching the game for scoring, but we’ve been watching the equipment manager hand out cups of water.”

  Loot stands on the couch. “Ecstasy, the club drug of choice. You know how it gives you that close feeling? You know how you need to touch someone? Look at fuckin’ Wingate touching Veal. These guys are going to be hallucinating. How are they going to make a pass, or a basket for that matter?”

  “You doped the whole team?” I ask in amazement.

  Loot, still standing on the couch, says, “I sure as fuck hope so.”

  “You know, X is also a stimulant,” I point out. “Did you ever think these guys might play better?” As luck would have it, Bam Graham scores for the Gorillas to end the N.Y State-scoring drought. The Gorillas are still holding on to a l0-point lead, and we are midway through the second half.

  “Well,” Loot says with a smile, “we had a backup plan. We didn’t have enough X to make an impact in all those water buckets, so we made a different cocktail in some of the other buckets.”

  “What did you use?” Rocky asks.

  “It’s a little hard to talk about it with a lady,” Carey says. At this moment, Snake banks a 15-footer from the side and Cleveland is down eight point
s. We are flirting with our magical eight-and-a-half point spread.

  “Carey, don’t you think we might be a little bit past the social niceties right now?” Rocky asks.

  “In the coolers we didn’t lace with X, we put in Bust-Ass,” Carey says.

  I interject, “What’s that?”

  Carey looks at Rocky and then, embarrassed, looks back at me. “It’s a laxative used by heroin addicts,” he says. “If one uses H, one gets constipated. That’s a known fact, at least according to my friends.”

  “Nice friends,” I say.

  “Oh, like they’re worse than your buddy Petro?”

  “Good point,” I say.

  “It not like I have a ton of experience with this stuff,” Rocky interjects, “but doesn’t it take a laxative several hours to take effect?”

  “Rock,” Loot explains, “this ain’t over-the-counter stuff. Bust-Ass is a synthetic street drug that works in under an hour. I imagine with ballplayers running around and speeding up their system, it should move even faster.”

  Sure enough, the Gorilla team is substituting players in rapid fire. Normally, players won’t head to the locker room unless there’s an injury that needs an X-ray. Yet Gorilla players are sprinting from the bench to the locker room. One is coming back and two are heading out, nearly knocking each other over.

  “Hey, Loot, why not call into the locker room now and talk to one of your buddies?” I ask. “Let’s see what they know.”

  “Good idea.” Loot and Carey can reach an equipment manager or trainer even during a game. It was always helpful getting some inside scoop on Gorilla injuries. Obviously, being in the heart of Albany, our bookie business takes in a lot of Gorilla bets, and we take second-half bets as well. Knowing any inside information was pretty valuable.

  Loot is on the phone and he is stunned. He is screaming in the phone, “Get the fuck out of here! Fuck you! You’re pulling my leg!” He listens some more and says, “Okay, okay, I understand ... sure, man, get back to what you got to do.” Loot snaps the cell phone shut and smiles toward the sky.

  “Well,” Rocky insists, “you are going to share the news, aren’t you?”

  Loot lets loose a mighty sigh and with an ear-to-ear grin says, “My man in the locker room had to get Bam Graham into the shower ‘cause Bam took a dump in a big garbage can and got crap all over hisself. Talk about shit-faced!”

  “Wow,” Carey says. “Bam must of drunk from both buckets.”

  “Hey Kevin,” Carey says, “You want to pour a few more of those 151 shots?”

  “Indeed I do.” I pour the shots, light them up and proceed to watch the last eight minutes of the game, the most enjoyable eight minutes of basketball I have ever experienced. Every bucket Cleveland University scores is loosening up my body. I can almost feel the throbbing veins in my temples relax and retreat back into my skull. The Gorillas are throwing ridiculous passes, the ball is uncatchable and they sometimes run into each other. All I can think is, What a beautiful thing. Jake and Snake have both scored career highs. Cleveland upsets the Gorillas by 15 points.

  Rocky says, “You know, we could have given someone a heart attack out there.”

  Carey says, “I’ve seen those guys take in a ton of substances before, a lot worse than this. Partying is one thing; playing is another. I guess we’re lucky.”

  The mention of a heart attack jolts my mind and I think of Ray. I make a quick call to the hospital and find out that he survived, that he’s going to be okay. I tell the others, and everyone sighs in relief, in unison.

  “Thank God. After a day of pile-on, we were due for some good luck.”

  “And there’s more,” Loot says. “Because of all those unusual bathroom runs, they’ll probably blame the poor performance on a stomach virus or something.”

  “And not on two pushers spiking the punch,” Carey adds.

  We sit in silence, basking in Ray’s recovery and our newly found personal safety. “We were so worried about losing that we never thought about winning,” Loot says. “Since we were naked on that bet, is it my imagination or did we win 200 grand tonight?”

  I laugh and say, “Yes. Yes, we did, so why don’t you call Petro up and make arrangements to collect?”

  The thought of collecting from Petro doesn’t appeal to Loot. He looks at Carey but before Loot can even begin the question, Carey blurts out, “No fucking way am I collecting from Petro.” They both look at me.

  “Well, guys,” I say, “we still won a hundred grand from the Senator.”

  “That’s right!” Loot exclaims. “Not a bad night’s work.”

  Carey looks at me and says, “Okay, motherfucker, come clean.” I look at him, puzzled. “I remember when you explained about Petro,” Carey continues. “You told me you were going after Balducci and I said ‘You and what army?’ You remember that?” I nod. “Well,” Carey goes on, “you said, ‘As a matter of fact I need two armies, and the first one is Petro.’ That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  Carey is determined. “Who is the other army you referred to? Let’s go, there’s more here. What’s your plan to get Balducci? When is this all going down? C’mon, asshole, it’s time to come clean.”

  “Asshole?” I ask. “You’re calling me an asshole? Aren’t you being a tad harsh?”

  Still determined, Carey says, “Just because this turned out okay doesn’t mean you were right. We came pretty close to being a memory tonight. And you are an asshole.”

  “Look, things got hairy tonight, but how could I imagine shit would have gone so off course?”

  “That’s not the point! We’re your brothers and you blindsided us. It’s one thing if we knew what was up, but you fuckin’ hid shit from us. That’s the wrongest thing of all this shit. What’s supposed to become of us when you’re done with your search-and-destroy mission?”

  I take a deep breath, sigh and say, “Yeah, I understand where you’re coming from, but I didn’t see it that way.”

  “Well,” Loot jumps in, “which way did you see it? Did you think we were pussies and that if we knew what was what, we would run the other way?”

  “No, man, it was just the opposite. I know you guys have balls, but this Balducci stuff is over the top. No offense, but I didn’t want you guys involved because I didn’t want to get you hurt. I needed your help getting these businesses going so I could get Balducci and his corporation, but I wanted to keep you guys at a safe distance. After all that happened today, I’m sure that was the right way to go. I couldn’t live with myself if you guys got hurt. I fucked up because I never anticipated it could go down like it did tonight. Does that make sense to you at all?”

  “Yeah, I see where you’re coming from,” Carey drawls, “but what’s supposed to happen to us after this is over?”

  “Dude, you were working in a dry cleaner,” I say to Carey. “And Loot, you were a busboy in Hempstead. My plan was to give you some choices. It’s the least I can do after turning us all into scumbag crooks. The bookie and drug business will be history. We all agreed that doing this for any length of time is pushing our luck. I needed some money and I needed something to dangle as bait; and that’s what these businesses provided. I became one of these scumbags, and that could be the biggest insult to my father compared to anything else. Believe me, I’m not proud and I’m not kidding myself. I know I’m no better than any of these lowlifes right now, but I don’t have a choice. Balducci doesn’t go by any code of honor or follow any rules. He and his assholes have to be stopped, and working with the police got other people killed. Maybe I’m rationalizing, but I don’t think so. I’m determined to do this job and put it behind me. But I will put it behind me. I might not end up being much, but I won’t become this.

  “I never had intentions of keeping the money. It’s all fucking blood money. I expect to have a decent chunk of dough when the dust settles, and I will try to put it to good use. My mom was a big victim of Balducci, and I will set her up better. If my plan works
, you guys will be instrumental in bringing Balducci down. That’s certainly worth a lot. I’m giving you guys the rest. Maybe you’ll open a restaurant or something like that, but I hope you do something good with it. I’m not taking a dime. You ask what’s going to become of you? It’s hard to say exactly, but you’ll have some money and you’ll have some choices. My gut tells me you guys will do the right thing.”

  More than anything else, I’m glad they’re going to be okay. Despite what Loot and Carey say about how much fun they are having, these guys aren’t meant for the drug and bookie business, and I should move them away from it. In retrospect, while I needed their help, I shouldn’t have involved them. It was too risky.

  Loot looks me up and down and says, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’ll talk some more about this. But for now, it’s only 10 p.m. and I just realized that my life isn’t over after all. How ‘bout we go out and par-TEE?”

  “Amen to that, Brother Loot,” Carey adds.

  I look at Rocky and she glances back. She coyly smiles and then shakes her head. I recognize that coy look, and the only place I want to be is alone with her. I look at Loot and Carey and say, “Pass.”

  Loot glances at me and then looks at Rocky and smiles. He nods in approval.