by LOU HOLLY
“Come on, this is what you do. That tow and snowplow business is just for show, a way to pay some taxes so the feds don’t get suspicious. You’re a drug dealer. That’s how you got rich.”
Starnes snorted the other line up his left nostril. His head flew back and his eyes closed. Composing himself, he said, “Even if I say yes, you gotta get this stuff outta here right now.”
“What do you mean, if? I know damn well you wouldn’t pass up a deal like this. And, no, if I leave with this stuff, the deal’s off. I’ll break it down and sell it myself, give you back your sixty and walk away with a nice profit.”
“This doesn’t smell right. Why don’t you sell it yourself? You tryin’ to set me up?” Starnes raised his voice. “After you leave I get a knock on the door?”
“I quit the business, that’s the only reason I’m offering you this deal. I did my time and I’m not going back. If I have to jump back in, I’m jumping in with both feet. I could make some real dough on this. Whack it in half and re-rock it, break it down into ounces and make buku bucks. Walk away with over three-hundred Gs. But I can’t take the chance of being separated from my son again.”
“None of this makes sense. Where did your broke-ass get the scratch to buy three kis? You steal this shit?”
“I was in the right place at the right time, just sort of fell in my lap. That’s all I’m going to say.” Trick gulped the rest of his drink, stood and put the kilo back in the bag. “You’re not the only person I can sell this stuff to. I’m just giving you first crack at it because I owe you and I want to get this stuff off my hands quick. I’m leveling with you.”
“Alright, take it easy. Sit down. You want another drink?”
“No, I’m going.” Trick grabbed the handles of the bag. “With or without this stuff.”
Starnes stood up and leaned forward on his knuckles like a gorilla. “If I get raided after you leave, I’ll have someone throw a stick of dynamite through your ex-wife’s front window while she’s watchin’ Johnny Carson.”
Trick acted as though he didn’t hear Starnes’ last remark. “I want to hear you say this makes us even. That you’re not going to come back later with some bullshit about interest or street tax or any other catches.”
“Yeah, even-steven. Square business.”
“Good. You and I don’t have anything else to talk about.” Trick pulled the three kilos from the black bag and set them on the bar. “That’s the last threat I’m ever going to take from you. We’re finished.”
Without another word or looking back, Trick walked up the stairs and out the front door with the empty bag, felling a great weight lifting.
***
Driving to Reggie’s condo that would be his home for the next few months, something nagged at Trick but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It just seemed too damn easy. “Quit worrying,” he tried convincing himself. “All your problems are solved.”
In the parking lot of the condo, Trick got out of his car and looked around. He could hear the laughter and shouts from older children playing at nearby Walker Park. It was close to 9:00 pm, all would be quiet soon except for the occasional barking dog or roar of a motorcycle from Cicero Avenue. He watched an elderly couple walk past holding hands on Laramie Avenue, each with hair white as cotton. When they were far enough away, he opened his trunk, loaded the cash back into the black bag and entered the condo, feeling as though he were walking through a dream.
Trick turned the stereo on and tuned it to the Oldie station. After making sure the drapes were completely closed, he unzipped the leather satchel and dumped the cash on the living room carpet. The Bombay Sapphire that Reggie left in the freezer seemed to beckon him, so he mixed himself a strong Gin and Squirt on ice while a love song from The Skyliners carried into the kitchen. Gulping half of his drink down, he topped it off with more liquor. Trick walked back into the living room and stared at the pile of cash.
Money by Barrett Strong came on next. He cranked it up and called out, “Perfect.” He gulped some more of his cocktail, set it on the coffee table and danced wildly around the pile of banded bills, laughing and singing.
When the song was over he did a backflip, landing on the cash, and rolled around in it for several moments. He lay there with his eyes closed and caught his breath before getting up and turning the music back down. “Down to business,” he said, grabbing his drink and sitting on the floor in front of his newfound fortune. One by one, he slid a band off a stack of bills and carefully counted before replacing it back in the band. Once tallied, they were placed on the coffee table in sections of 100s, 50s and 20s.
After making another drink, he sat on the couch in front of the coffee table with pen and paper and counted his windfall over and over. “Two-hundred-and-eighty-five-thousand dollars,” he said, dragging out his words. “Two-hundred-and-eighty-five.”
CHAPTER 10
Trick had forgotten how it felt. He was happy. No, it was more like giddy. He turned up the radio as he drove to Ginger’s apartment. “Ain’t nothin gonna break my stride,” he sang along, “nobody’s gonna slow me down.”
Trick shut the car door behind his back and felt a spring in his step as he crossed the parking lot. Multicolored leaves from ornamental pear trees lining the parking lot rained down as he tried to contain his excitement. After getting buzzed in, he climbed the stairs two at a time and pounded on her door.
“All right, all right.” Trick detected annoyance in Ginger’s voice as the chain unlatched. When they came face to face, she demanded, “What’s so important? You know Pat’s in kindergarten.”
“I came to see you.” Trick rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes. “Good news. Money’s not going to be a problem for us anymore.”
“Here we go again.” Ginger motioned with her hands in an exaggerated manner as though performing in a high school play. “What’s it this time? You borrowed money and invested in another oil field?”
“This isn’t some pipe dream. It’s already happened. No more risks. I’m done.” Trick pulled a Ziploc neatly stuffed with cash from the inside pocket of his brown leather bomber and held it out toward Ginger. “Here, get yourself a new car. Trade in that piece of shit you’re driving.”
Ginger took the money and asked, “How much is in here?”
“Fifteen-thou. If you want, I’ll come with you and negotiate the deal. I know how those thieves operate.”
“What did you do? You do something stupid?” Ginger tossed the money on a knick-knack shelf like it was burning her fingers. “You finally did it, didn’t you? Robbed a bank. You always talked about it.”
“The less I tell you the better. It’s unmarked, that’s all you need to know.” Trick pulled a folded wad of cash from the back pocket of his Jordache jeans and added, “This is for child support, for the next year.”
“Petros already told me he’d get me a new car when we get married. I really don’t need you to buy me one,” Ginger said, putting the loose cash in the pocket of her yellow terrycloth robe.
“Forget that Greek Mafia wannabe. He’s all talk, not who you think he is. Believe me.”
“You’ve been away. What do you know?”
“I know people. You don’t go through what I have without getting an education in people. Don’t trust this guy.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Of what? I can buy and sell that restaurant right out from under him now if I wanted.” Trick became annoyed with Ginger’s mocking expression. “Yeah, that’s right. Look at me like I’m crazy. I’m telling you, every dog has his day, Honey, and I’m barking.”
“You’re serious.”
“Damn right, I’m serious.”
“I trusted you before and look where it got me.” Ginger picked up the Ziploc of cash and held it out toward Trick.
“No. You keep it. Get yourself a dependable car to drive Pat in. No strings attached.” Trick started for the door but hesitated and turned. “Have you been to the doctor lately?”
“No. Why?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re getting too skinny.”
“I just haven’t had much of an appetite,” she said, tightening the belt of her robe.
“You look sick. Go see a doctor, will you? I’ll pay for it.”
Ginger looked at Trick’s concerned expression, biting her lip. He thought he saw tears welling up as she turned and walked into the bathroom.
***
Making way for a cocktail waitress zipping past with a tray full of drinks, Trick took a step back, turned and bumped into a very attractive young lady walking with a Manhattan cocktail. A cherry flew from her drink and landed in his beer glass. Trick took a second to compose himself, took the cherry from his glass by the stem and held it out to the young beauty, “Did you lose your cherry?”
She flipped a long lock of shiny black hair behind her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “Do you ask all the girls you bump into if they lost their cherry?”
“Only the ones I want to marry.”
“Whoa, slow down, buddy. You might get a speeding ticket,” she said, taking the dripping cherry and holding it away from her as though she might be holding a dead mouse by its tail. “Besides, I never marry guys unless they tell me their name first.”
“Sorry I bumped into you. My name’s Patrick. People call me Trick.”
Her clear alto voice seemed to cut through the loud music and clutter. “My name’s Collette. My friends call me Collette.”
“Can I buy you another cherry with a fresh drink around it?”
She giggled and dropped the beer soaked cherry into an ashtray on a nearby table. “No, thanks. It’s all right. I’ve been meaning to cut down on cherries anyway.”
Noticing two stylishly-dressed young ladies watching them intently, Trick motioned toward them with his thumb. “Friends of yours?”
“Oh, those are my girlfriends,” she said, waving to them. “They watch me like a hawk. Always think somebody’s going to try and pick me up.”
“Well in this case they might be right. Why don’t we grab a table … over here,” Trick said, taking her gently by the elbow. They sat at a tall, wooden table and set their drinks down. “You live around here?”
“Yeah, right here in Orland.” She opened her clutch bag, took out a cigarette and placed it between plump lips. “Did you say your name’s Trick?”
“Short for Patrick.” He pulled a cigarette lighter from the side pocket of his tight-fitting Perry Ellis sport coat and lit her cigarette. “Patrick Halloran.”
Collette slowly blew smoke from parted lips and held her cigarette up like a 1940s Hollywood star. “So, you’re Irish.”
“Think so?” He leaned in closer to hear better over the DJ’s blaring speakers.
“Well, sure. With a name like Patrick Halloran.”
Trick caught Collette’s girlfriends scrutinizing his advances from the corner of his eye. “I mean, do you think I look Irish?”
“I guess so.” She sipped her drink, studying his face. “Am I missing something?”
“No, forget it.” A young guy strutted by in a patterned polyester shirt, half unbuttoned, showing off gold chains. He bumped into Trick’s elbow as he was bringing his glass of beer to his mouth. Trick’s demeanor changed in a split second as he quickly shot up and glared at the guy. The young man pivoted, put his hands up in apology and kept moving away. Noticing Collette’s shocked expression, Trick sat back down and said, “Sorry, forgot where I was.”
“You looked like you wanted to kill that guy.”
Trick let out a long breath and dabbed beer from the front of his cashmere sweater with a cocktail napkin. “It’s OK, forget about it. Where were we?”
“You remind me of someone … that actor. What’s his name? Tough guy, did a lot of cowboy stuff in the 60s, cops in the 70s?”
“Yeah, I get that once in a while. I was born with a lucky face.” Trick did his best to lighten the mood and said, “You look like my second wife.”
“You’ve been married twice?”
“No, just once.”
“Oh … oh.” Collette giggled again and crossed her legs.
“I’d like to take you out. How about dinner tomorrow night? We’ll go somewhere nice.”
“Tomorrow? You’re assuming I don’t have plans?”
“No. I’m not assuming anything.” Trick examined Collette’s body language and studied her crossed leg swinging in short quick movements. “Do you have plans?”
“Maybe.” Collette put a hand to her cheek. “I just met you. Never had a guy ask me for a date … so quick.”
“I really like you. Why wait?”
Collette tilted her head to the side. “I don’t know. It’s just …”
“Look, it’s not that complicated. It’s a yes or no question,” Trick said with a smile. “I won’t be offended if you say no.”
“How about I give you my number and you call tomorrow afternoon?”
“Perfect.” Trick clasped his hands together as a sign of sealing the deal.
Collette’s girlfriends approached the table as she was handing Trick her phone number that she jotted down on the inside of a matchbook cover. “C’mon, Collette. We’re leaving.”
Trick stood and extended his hand to the closest girlfriend. “Hi, my name’s Patrick.”
She looked at Trick’s hand as though it might be a viper. “Hello and goodbye.”
Collette shook Trick’s hand as it hung there. “G’night, Trick. It was nice meeting you.”
The heavier-set girlfriend pulled Collette by the arm. “God. We leave you alone for a minute and you’re giving your number to some hooligan.”
Trick stood and waited as the three walked toward the exit. He watched Collette closely and got what he was hoping for when she looked back and smiled.
As Trick sat alone in a bar full of people, his sense of wellbeing began to ebb. He had every reason to feel great, but something kept gnawing at him. It was like that feeling he got when he left the house knowing he had forgotten something, but couldn’t remember what it was.
CHAPTER 11
Trick stretched, his bare toes brushing against the cool smoothness of fine cotton sheets. His eyes shot open, realizing he was no longer in prison. How long would it take, he wondered. Weeks, months? Maybe years until he got used to waking up not surrounded by several other inmates, snoring, coughing, belching and farting. He got up, looked at the bag of cash on the floor next to the bed and walked to the bathroom. His own bathroom, he marveled. No waiting for a toilet. No watching eyes.
After taking his time shaving and showering, he walked back to the bedroom, sat on the bed and pulled the bag up next to him. He opened it and ran his hand over the pile of cash. He loved the texture, the way it looked and smelled. He loved everything about it.
Trick decided to head downtown to the Magnificent Mile. He needed some new clothes that fit the extra muscle he had gained lifting weights in prison.
***
After purchasing a couple of new sport coats, silk shirts, slacks and other items at Bigsby & Kruthers in Water Tower Place, Trick treated himself to lunch next door at the Ritz Carlton Café. As he sipped his Perrier with a lemon wedge, he smiled, taking in the animated conversation from the next table. Actor, singer and game show host, Bert Convy sat at a white linen covered table with several women who gushed over his thick curly hair and long eyelashes. He wondered who the ladies were, members of a fan club, hosts of a charity event? One table away was a different world.
Trick gathered his bags and left a fifty-dollar bill to cover his meal plus a healthy tip for the comely young lady who waited on him. Walking past the huge fountain in the center of the expansive lobby, he spotted a few pay phones near the elevators. He walked over, set his bags down and took out the matchbook containing Collette’s home phone number.
“Hello, Johnston residence. How can I help you?” Trick recognized Collette’s sweet, sexy voice.
“You
can help me by saying yes.”
“Is this Trick?”
“Is that a trick question?” Trick examined his fingernails, considering a manicure. “What time should I pick you up for dinner?”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Collette didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
Trick glanced at his watch and waited several seconds before responding. “I’m waiting. Going once, going twice.”
“You’re a real character, aren’t you? I should say no.” Collette manufactured her own uncomfortable pause. “OK, Mr. Halloran, you’re on. Come by and pick me up at 7:00.” She gave Trick her address and closed by saying, “And you better be on your best behavior. You’re not the only guy asking me out.”
***
Trick retrieved the bag of cash from the bedroom closet and sat in the living room staring at it. He knew he had to find a place to stash the money very soon. When he was shopping earlier that day, he kept worrying about who else might have access to the condo. Maybe Reggie’s old girlfriend, Tamla, still had a key. Safe deposit boxes, he thought, five of them. Probably get a false identity too.
As he freshened up and brushed his teeth, his concerns grew. He put on a new sport coat and grabbed the bag, deciding the money would be safer in the trunk of his Lincoln while he was out with Collette.
***
“Dinner was great,” Collette said, taking Trick’s arm as they exited Toby’s restaurant. Feeling the texture of his sport coat, she remarked, “You really dress nice. What are you wearing?”
“Armani. Thanks.” Walking across the damp red maple leaves that littered the parking lot, still wet from the night’s earlier rain, Trick was moved by the earthy aromas that filled the autumn evening air. He wanted to breathe in all the things he missed when he was locked up.
“What did you say to the hostess?” Collette leaned her body against Trick in a way that made him want to stop, put his arms around her and kiss her. “You got us such a great table and she took us right back while all those other people were standing around waiting.”
