Odd Jobs

by Ben Lieberman

  I hear one word in the background: “Clear!” Again I hear it: “Clear.”

  I recognize the smell of rubbing alcohol. I feel my eyes flutter open and close. There’s too much light and too much pain to keep them open for long. In between flutters I see someone holding white paddles. I see his eyes, but the surgical mask is covering the rest of his face. I hear him screaming to the others, “I got something. C’mon, people, get the 12-lead EKG. Give me some numbers.”

  I can’t keep my eyes open.

  CHAPTER 28

  Sev and Curtis. I can’t keep my eyes open. Sev and Curtis. Again, I can’t keep my eyes open. I hear them talking. I hear the words but it’s too damn much work to open my eyes. The first words I can make out are, “It’ll be any minute now.”

  I feel my eyelids flutter and I see the doctor. I see Sev and Curtis. The doctor asks, “Can you hear me?” I nod. “Can you talk?”

  “Yeah.” My answer unintentionally comes out like a whisper.

  “Kevin, I’m Doctor Reddy. You are in a hospital. You are recovering from a gunshot wound. Do you understand everything I am telling you?”

  “Yes.” I try to say it louder than a whisper. A nurse offers me a straw so that I can sip some ice water. It stings going down my dry throat. After several minutes of staring at the ceiling, I notice the faces in the room. Sev and Curtis. I look at Sev and say, “Man, I can use an aspirin.”

  “Take it easy for a few minutes. Then we’ll talk,” Sev answers.

  As the haze lifts, the pain in my side rises. Sev tells me that I have been in the hospital for about two weeks.

  “Get the fuck out of here!”

  “You’ve been in bad shape, Kevin,” he says. “Shit, you were flat-lining, man.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, it was touch and go for a while. Once we had you back, the doctor thought you’d have the best shot to recover in a drug-induced coma. But I’m telling you, we thought we lost you. For a while, you were on the other side.”

  Curtis interrupts and says, “We got you up at a special hospital in West Point. Otherwise, I don’t think you would have made it. Shit, I still can’t believe you made it.”

  Sev says, “They say your life passes before you when you die.” Then he asks, “What do you remember?”

  I think and I concentrate. What the fuck do I remember? “I remember being in the Tongue Room. I remember charging at Balducci and I remember all the smoke canisters.” I try to remember more but I’m having trouble thinking.

  Curtis asks, “Is that all you remember?”

  “I don’t know. Everything is in pieces. Sev, didn’t you waste Bino? Put a bullet right in the center of his skull?”

  Sev matter-of-factly says, “Yeah, well it was a little off center.” Then Sev turns to Curtis and says, “But I’m out of practice.”

  “Okay,” Curtis says, “what else do you remember?”

  “Christ, I don’t know. Wait…I remember Bino nailing one into my side.”

  “Okay, we’re making progress.” Sev says. “What else do you remember?”

  “I don’t remember much else. Oh yeah, I remember being at the Locomotive Breath. Everyone was there. So was Bruce Springsteen.”

  “Kevin, listen up,” Sev murmurs. “The Locomotive Breath has been closed for weeks. No one in his right mind is going to hang out there during this job action. It’s too dangerous. Now let’s go back to the Tongue Room. Tell me about getting shot.”

  “I remember hearing it first.” I almost hear the crack-crack of the shot again.

  “And I remember telling Rocky to run. I was hurt and I wanted her to bolt.”

  Curtis and Sev cringe. “Kevin, you need to think more clearly,” Sev says.

  “I rushed at Balducci, thinking it was the only chance to cause a distraction. It worked. After I got shot, I told Rocky to run. She didn’t want to, she wanted to stay, but I got her to leave.”

  “Okay,” Sev says. “Tell me about that.”

  Crack-crack. I think back to the exact moment I was shot: I feel pain radiate up my left side, damn; I’ve been hit. “Rocky, you have to run. I’ll catch up with you later. Please baby, run.”

  “I can’t,” she pleads.

  “You have to,” I insist. I nudge her toward the door.

  Sev looks at me intensely and says, “Kevin, dig deeper. Think more clearly.”

  I think and I think some more. Then I understand what Sev wants. The reality rises up. The agony overwhelms me. Crack-crack. There was no echo. Damn it, that wasn’t an echo. There were two shots.

  Then I remember something else. After I nudged Rocky, I looked at her face. Her expression was blank, just like in the Locomotive Breath. I thought it was confusion but it was more. I remember tears streaming down her face. I tried to nudge her to the door to get her to safety. She took five steps and could take no more. She dropped down to the smoky floor. I never saw her make it to the door.

  Maybe she’s not dead. Maybe she’s in another room at this hospital. Sev and Curtis can see I remember what happened. “Is Rocky okay?” I ask.

  Sev answers, “Listen, we relocated your friends Loot and Carey. Your mother, too; we moved her to Arizona. We did what we could, Kevin.”

  “Sev, what about Rocky? Is she hurt? How bad?”

  Sev is poised and prepared. “Kevin, I’m sorry, we lost her. Rocky never made it out of Kosher World that night. Her funeral was last week. Curtis’s guys moved her body out of Kosher World, and we made her look like the victim of a random robbery.”

  I gasp. It’s hard to breathe all of a sudden. How did I let this happen? How did it get here? How the fuck did I let Rocky die? Her of all people. She had nothing to do with this. I try to say all this out loud, but I hear myself whimpering like a little baby. I try to cover my face with my shaking hand but I know it’s not covering anything. Tears are streaming down my face as the whimpering turns to full-force blubbering and I can’t control it. I’m confused and I’m angry, but most of all I am so guilty. I am the worst person in the world for letting this happen to the best person in the world.

  It’s awkward. Sev and Curtis may have been prepared for this conversation; after all, I have been unconscious for two weeks. But were they prepared for my complete breakdown?

  Sev and Curtis let me blubber and whimper. I don’t think they have a clue what to do. I don’t think they cover this in Special Service School. Sev and I have gotten close, but he’s not exactly the type of guy to hold my hand and give me a hug. So I lie in bed with my hands over my face and cry. Sev and Curtis don’t want to be rude and leave me like this, but clearly, they are squirming. I try to explain how bad I feel, but I’m sure they can’t even make out the words I’m saying. It’s all so frustrating. I try to ask them to leave me alone, but I’m not coherent. Finally, I simply wave my hand for them to leave.

  A nurse says, “Mr. Davenport, I need to give you this injection. It will relax you a little bit.”

  I blubber louder because I don’t want anything to help me. I don’t deserve anything to help me. Frankly, I don’t even have the strength to fight this nurse, and I’m sure if I did, Sev would help her anyway. She injects my arm and I am numb. My eyes close and I hope they never open again.

  CHAPTER 29

  I’ve fucked things up before, but this is off the charts. I can’t believe what an asshole I am. I feel helpless, frustrated, disgraced, guilty and incompetent.

  Sev visits me every day. He comes in and sits by the bed. He looks at me and I won’t return the look. So he sits and reads the paper. He talks to the nurses when they come in to medicate me or change my bandages. When he’s done reading and chatting, he excuses himself and says goodbye. This is kind of a cool thing. He’s showing that he gives a shit. He’s here for me, but he’s not forcing anything. I suspect he’s waiting for me to be ready to talk. Like I give a shit about anything now.

  After days of this charade, I break my silence. “What’s the situation now at Industrial Road
?”

  Sev folds the paper down on his lap and says, “Your boy Petro marched in there and set up shop. Business is going again and people are working.”

  I feel like crying again. But I won’t. I won’t break down like that again.

  Sev notices my frustration and calmly says, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Well considering how much I lost, is everyone much better off with Petro instead of Balducci?”

  Sev smirks. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. Petro is just our cover for a while. We’ll get him out soon, New Year’s at the latest. Whether we go in and arrest him or kill him is really up to him.”

  “Where’s Balducci?” I ask.

  “At his fishing house in New Paltz,” Sev answers.

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “He’s probably trying to figure out what to build with all the bricks that he’s been shitting.”

  “I don’t understand.” I ask him why they didn’t take out Balducci when they had the chance the night I was shot. What was the point in saving me if they let Balducci run off?

  “Kid, I hate to break this to you, but we weren’t saving you from Balducci. It was the other way around.”

  ‘‘I’m confused.”

  “We got wind that you were on your way to meet Balducci because he took Rocky. The bottom line is, we needed some more information before we could take him out. Mostly info about the guy Balducci was working with in his Iran project. I know it sucks, having Balducci in our crosshairs and not being able to finish him, but there are rules even for Special Service guys. Balducci has got some clout, but his partner has even more. When guys with those kinds of political connections get taken out, well, there better be plenty of proof documented.” Sev pauses, sighs and says, “Lawyers get involved. So not only do you need documentation, you need every ‘i’ dotted and ‘t’ crossed. By strict legal standards, we weren’t there yet. So if you were going on a kamikaze mission and Balducci accidentally died before it was his time, it would have caused irreparable problems.”

  “Sev, are you telling me we were this far along and everything wasn’t set up right? What were they waiting for? Why didn’t we wait longer?”

  “We didn’t wait because the time wasn’t right. As for getting all the documentation first, it could never happen. Curtis’s department probably has more rope to run with than any government agency. But there ain’t no government agency without its share of bureaucrats looking to cover their asses. To please them, you got to make things happen and convince them that you’re going to win. So we’re out there with our dick in the wind for a while. But you got to jump in at some point. Me and Curtis were almost done getting everything official when Balducci grabbed Rocky. Balducci was reaching for straws, acting more desperate than we ever thought. He almost got killed, and he almost fucked up this whole mission.”

  I ask if everything was legal, and Sev nods. Then I ask him what we were waiting for.

  “You. Yeah, you. Me and Curtis have been talking, and Balducci is our gift to you. It’s not like we need to, of course. We got everything we need from Balducci. We got wire conversations, pictures and cooperating witnesses filling up the house like it was the Playboy Mansion. Balducci is toast; it’s just a matter of how the toast gets served. If you want to be the chef, he’s yours. If you want to lie in this bed and feel sorry for yourself, we’ll just arrest him. It’s your call.”

  I pause as Sev’s words sink in. “Are you telling me you know exactly where Balducci is right now?”

  “Kid, I can tell you the brand of toilet paper he has in hand at this minute.”

  “And Curtis is okay with this?” Curtis never let anything take a backseat to a task at hand. “What gives?”

  “Well, me and Curtis know how bad you want Balducci. Shit, now probably more than ever. If Curtis needed him any more, yeah sure, he wouldn’t wait, but he appreciates what you brought him. This is turning out pretty good for Curtis. Before this he was chasing leads on a case going nowhere, and now you drop this in his lap. The whole Industrial Road manipulation was spreading to factories across the country, which in turn was affecting retail outlets. Think about this from the viewpoint of the bureaucrats upstairs. You have a corrupt situation that involved everyone from blue-collar workers to the ticking time bomb in Iran. With all the shit going down in the Mideast now, the brass is happy to stop this crap without sending troops overseas. When people get wind of who was involved in this little caper, everyone is going to want to be friends with Curtis.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better if Curtis took Balducci in himself?”

  “Hey, Curtis don’t want headlines. He’s looking for political clout on the inside. People on the outside can’t know his face. For a while he needed information on who Balducci was working with, but as far as Balducci goes, Curtis could give a shit. That brings us back to you; you want Balducci?”

  “I can do what I want with him?”

  “Yup.”

  “If I do nothing, will you arrest him?”

  “Yup, I already said so.”

  “Does he get life in jail?”

  Sev starts to answer the question but then hesitates. He thinks for a minute and then answers, “The system can’t be predicted. Did O.J. Simpson get life?”

  I want Balducci. I want him bad. I got no other reason to get out of this bed, but on top of that, I can’t let this thing go to trial and risk letting Balducci walk on some technicality. Fuck him and fuck me. I’m going fishing.

  The fishing house is an elegant log cabin. It almost looks like a hunting lodge. The wooded landscape is impeccably groomed. It’s like some Abercrombie & Fitch outfit that’s supposed to look rugged and athletic, yet they put the clothes on some prissy looking model. I’m sure when Balducci comes to this fishing house he feels all macho.

  I’m sitting in the back of a black Escalade; Curtis and Sev are in front. Curtis has a small television screen on his lap and he motions me to lean forward so I can view the screen. The screen splits into three windows, each showing a different location around the fishing house, each with a separate guard. Curtis says, “It’s like a fucking zombie movie here. These guys don’t know they’re dead.” He looks at his watch. “It’s time.”

  We quietly watch the screens. Two of Balducci’s guards are dropped with a silent pistol shot to the skull, and the third has his throat slashed while his mouth is covered. I ask Curtis, “Why cut one and shoot the other two?”

  Curtis answers, “Personal preference of my guys. I don’t like to micromanage.”

  Makes sense, I guess. I stare at the surveillance screen in Curtis’ lap. The Special Service guys have disappeared and the guards are lying where they fell.

  Curtis says, “C’mon, we’re on a schedule tonight. We got to make a big arrest after this. We kept everything on ice till you got ready, but we can’t fuck around anymore.”

  I guess that’s my cue. I get out of the Escalade. “Okay, Curtis, I’m ready.”

  Sev rolls down his window. He asks if I’ve got the gun he gave me, and I say yes.

  “You want me to come in there with you?”

  “No, thanks. I got this one under control. Is Balducci still getting my calls forwarded to Rocky’s phone?”

  Both Sev and Curtis shrug; they’re not sure. I ask to borrow Sev’s phone, and he tosses it to me through his window. I catch the phone and thank him. Then I say, “Mom and Dad, if I’m late, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

  Curtis says, “You got half an hour and then we come in and take care of business. I’m on the clock tonight.” When I hesitate, Curtis adds, “C’mon, kid, you can get this done in a half hour.”

  I expect I can. I walk toward Balducci’s cabin, stepping over one of his dead guards. I start to pass him, but I realize there’s enough light from the house to take a picture with Sev’s cell phone. I can’t resist snapping a shot.

  I wait by the window and look at my watch. Any minute now. I look toward the Escalade concealed
by bushes. While I’m waiting, I open Sev’s cell phone and change the wallpaper to the picture I just took of the dead guy lying on the lawn. Finally, the house goes dark. The power has been cut off; that’s my cue. I force open a locked window and crawl through. Balducci sticks his head out of another window, hollering, “Hey, Fleisher! What the fuck is going on?”

  Obviously, Jimmy is going to have to wait a long time to get an answer from Fleisher. I pull out Sev’s cell phone and dial my own cell number. I can hear it ring in the distance. It rings several times but Balducci isn’t answering. My phone calls are still being forwarded to Rocky’s cell phone. He still has Rocky’s cell phone. I hang up when I hear the beginning of my own voicemail. The house is pitch black, and the ringing must be driving Balducci nuts. I call again, and this time I call Rocky’s number. I’m assuming he is holding the phone, trying to get all the information he can if someone is calling me. I hear it ring from the phone I’m calling on, and I can hear Rocky’s ringtone coming from only a few rooms away. The unmistakable voicemail picks up. “Hi. This is Rocky, sorry I can’t get your call, but if you leave a message, I’ll call you right back.”

  Holy shit, I wasn’t expecting that. I dial the number again and I hear it ring in the distance. I miss her voice so much; I even missed her funeral. Her voicemail is all I have now. I dial it again just to hear her voice. I hear it ring again. Balducci surprises me; he picks up the phone. There is no greeting, only breathing from his side of the phone. If I can hear him breathing, his heart must be pumping through his skull. I let him breathe for another minute. After all, how many breaths does he have left? Finally I say, “Jimmy, it’s time.” He doesn’t answer. I still hear him breathing.