“A charm?” I asked and Monty nodded.
“This,” said Monty, “is the tooth I went and had punched out of me mouth by the aforementioned bastard, Red Stuart. You see, armies can spring from the tooth of a beaten man.”
“Why for me?” I asked. “Why give the charm to me?”
“I might say it was an inducement for you to work behind the counter so I could get rid of that damn Gina, who is robbing me not quite blind,” said Monty.
So he knew about Gina.
“I aspire to better things,” I said.
“No doubt,” said Monty. He sipped at his gin and mixed up egg creams for the corner kids who had sat down at the front end of the counter. “Let’s just say I offer you the charm because I’m wondering if you’ll be smart enough to take it. If you’re not, you’re not. And if you are, well then, you deserve its magic.”
I was not quite sure how to pass this test of perception. “I’ll see you on this,” I said, and I slipped the chain around my neck.
Monty nodded and slid the egg creams down the countertop barroom style. “Tony, ya little bastard,” he called out to one of the corner kids, a dark-haired boy of thirteen or fourteen, “get them airplane models out of your pockets before you’re banned from this here store forever more.”
“I said I’ll take a chance on this magic of yours,” I told Monty.
Monty raised his glass to me. “All right, then,” he said. “I’ve done my part. Now, do what you will; it’s no business of mine.” He drained the glass of gin and returned to the sink full of dirty dishes and ran hot water so that steam rose into the air of the candy store.
“You’re crazy,” I said, but Monty ignored me, and the sound of his humming, and the sound of glass and water and porcelain, drowned out my words.
Monty was as bad as Danny the Sweet, maybe worse. Danny knew how dumb he was. Monty admitted he was a fool. A chocolate addict and an old gin drinker. What did they know? Why should I listen to them when they spoke McKay’s name? A fool and a dummy, both thinking they knew something about McKay, about the Orphans, about me. Why did I rate the worry and the charm? Could it be that Danny the Sweet was ready for worry? That he needed an object, a me, to center his codeine hysteria upon? Could it be that Monty had planned to give up that old tooth, and had planned to endow it upon the three thousandth patron of the candy store? Perhaps I just happened to open the door of the Chevy and to walk into the candy store at the moment of fear and of magical benevolence.
I sat quietly, smoking cigarettes and listening to the wildness of the corner kids who had been trapped in classrooms all day and were now making up for it. And then Jose walked through the door and swaggered past the corner kids. He knocked the hat of one of them to the floor and the kids quieted down, though some mumbled curses when they knew Jose was too far away to hear them.
“Meeting adjourned,” Jose said as he leaned on the stool next to me. “And a good thing too, man. I was freezing my ass off there. McKay says high-priority meetings are more secret when they ain’t secret. Next time, I hope we meet in a sauna, man.” Jose rubbed his hands together. “Old man,” he called out to Monty, “give me a vanilla Coke and a pack of Camels.”
“Did you see Danny the Sweet?” I asked Jose.
“Yeah, sure, he’s out there,” said Jose. “They wouldn’t let him listen to any business matters, but they need him for a ride to the hospital and to stand guard outside T.J.’s room.”
Monty slammed a glass of Coke on the countertop. “Drink up, fast,” he said.
“T.J.?” I said.
“Yeah,” said Jose. “He got it bad. Them Pack are something. Attacking a one-arm. Shit. A knife in the kidney. See, that’s one part T.J. can’t afford to lose. Now, Tosh, he got a tough wound. Knife mark down the side of his head. Since he bald, he now cool.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me. What would the Dolphin say if he thought I knew too much?”
“Girl, I could care less,” said Jose. “This is one Orphan who is his own man.”
The door of Monty’s opened and it was Tosh. Jose was right, Tosh’s shaven skull was now scarred with a long knife mark.
“Jose,” Tosh called, “who told you the meeting was over? Get your ass out here.”
Jose smiled at Monty and me, gulped his Coke, and walked toward the door.
“Your own man,” said Monty.
“Shut up, old man,” said Jose. “Duty is calling on me, hear?”
“Don’t say a word,” I told Monty. “Hear me? Not a word.”
Monty only smiled.
I could see now that the meeting was breaking up. The locket at my neck swayed slightly as I walked from the store. I watched McKay. I waited, smoking cigarettes and watching circles of air move above the Avenue. I touched the locket, the charm, and looked into the Avenue where, between the alleyways and the empty lots, there was said to be magic. Who said there was magic? Who knows? I said it, everyone did. Herbs that can be boiled down into tea serve as potions. They can keep away the bark of the dog at morning, the howl of the cat at night. Magic grows like weeds in the cracks of the Avenue sidewalk. It flowers there, and it goes to seed. But this is small magic, difficult to see, for it rarely grows strong enough to climb like ivy, like vines, over the glass of storefront windows.
The big magic is there as well. It is cheap, it is not difficult to find. It is patented in liquor stores, in drugstores, in uptown apartments where it is cut with strychnine or sugar. This magic is terribly easy to see, unless one is blind. And control of the spell, and control of the mood, is due to this big magic. It too keeps away the bark of the dog in the morning, the howl of the cat at night. Only much more effectively, much quicker, and surer.
The Avenue is littered with wizards. Sometimes, often, they are in disguise. A Cuban woman of eighty once sat blinded by some island disease in the doorways of abandoned buildings on the north side of the Avenue. But she was not Cuban, nor was she an eighty-year-old woman. She was the magic that sent Sandor Inez to the slammer for life on the charge of robbery, assault, and causing heart attacks by earthly forms of big magic.
Hard to tell—with magic, with charms. Some big, some little. Difficult to categorize, until, of course, the consequences are seen. The little magic only causes a smile, but the big magic always seems to end up in the slammer or at a wake.
I’ve seen through some disguises, I’ve known some magic. Look, who hasn’t? You see Monty and he’s a fifty-two-year-old drunk behind the counter of a candy store on the Avenue. So his name is above the door, and he calls himself by the name. Did you ever see his passport, birth certificate, proof of his brogue? But I had seen Monty add up the letters of my name and cast toothpicks upon the linoleum counter top to figure out my date of birth. So I laughed at the charm, but I didn’t deny its worth. I had no talent for magic, but I could spot it in others. To survive on the Avenue, there can be no tripping over the forms of sleeping wizards; there can be no stumbling on the cracks of the sidewalks.
About McKay? I didn’t know. He must have had some talent or else he would have tripped long ago over leather and bottles and witch doctors and dust. When I looked into his eyes I felt there might be some spell there. As I watched the Orphans gather around him, gutter smoke and steam hissing as it rose in the cold air, I thought there might be the whispering of chants. Although I had no talent in magic myself, I could spot it in others as a cobra spots a sparrow, as a sparrow spots a cobra. I could always see it in the eyes.
But about McKay, I didn’t know. I would have to judge the magic by the consequences. Those consequences which are the after-magic: the mood induced, the spell, the jail sentence, the act of falling in love, the words remembered. The way to finally tell the big magic from the little. The too late, the of course, the last step of the spell.
They were walking away. The engines of Orphan cars were started. The Dolphin moved away from McKay, and as he did shadows were cast that might have caused white magic to appear dark, and black magic
to glow blinding light. McKay was alone now. I threw a cigarette to the street, stepped on fire with my boot, and slipped the locket and chain from around my neck. I held the charm and waited. When McKay nodded I placed the tooth in the lining of my jacket pocket and walked toward him.
“I got some runs to do,” said McKay.
“All right,” I said.
“Alone,” he said.
“I’m no trouble at all,” I said.
“Honey, this ain’t no game. This is a condolence call to the Pack.”
“You’re crazy,” I said. “What was that talk about Clifton, New Jersey? What was that talk about safe territory?”
“No one messes with a condolence caller, that’s all there is to it. So it’s safe.”
“Anyone specific in store for your condolences?” I asked.
“Only Ralphie of the Pack,” said McKay. “Only the Christian Brothers Funeral Home across the street from St. Francis’.”
“What for?” I asked.
“Darling, it’s a wake I’m talking about,” said McKay.
“McKay.”
“I told you this weren’t no game,” said McKay.
“I want to go with you,” I said.
“You don’t want to go,” said McKay. “Because you don’t know what it’s like. You don’t want to go with me.”
“It’s not fair that you have to go alone.”
“It wasn’t fair that the boy got wasted, either.”
“But alone,” I said.
“Hey, that’s the way it is,” said McKay. “Someone gets wasted and I’m the one to go. And go alone.”
“Am I supposed to just wait for you?” I said.
“Remember. I never forced you to wait.”
No, he never did. But whether McKay knew it or not, he did not even have to ask me.
“Then don’t ask me to wait now. Take me with you.”
McKay lit a cigarette and was silent for a few moments.
“Get in the car,” he said.
I did and McKay started the Chevy and pulled into the Avenue.
“You got a black dress?” he asked.
“No. And no pearls either,” I told him.
“Gina will have one to fit you,” McKay said and he smiled. “You’ll do fine without pearls, but you be with the Orphans and you gotta get yourself a black dress.”
“I don’t like that talk,” I said.
“You want me to lie to you?” said McKay. I shrugged. Why not? I didn’t mind lies.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’m not with the Orphans. It’s only you and me in this car.”
McKay smiled at that.
I took the charm from my pocket. I opened the locket to show McKay the silver-edged tooth. “A gift from Monty,” I said.
“I seen that,” said McKay. “The tooth of a dragon fought by some knight on the west coast of Ireland, ain’t that what the old boy says?”
“No,” I said. “The story I was told was that it’s a tooth punched out of Monty’s very own mouth by your uncle, Red Stuart, aboard a ship in mid-Atlantic.”
McKay laughed. “I never did have no uncle by that name. And that sure wasn’t the story I got when Monty offered it to me.”
“And you turned it down?” I said.
“And you accepted it?” McKay smiled.
“Monty seemed to think I could use some magic.”
“Even if you could, that there tooth won’t be strong enough magic.”
“Maybe I won’t need no black dress after today.”
“Then that there dragon’s tooth is stronger than Monty thinks, darlin’. Else he wouldn’t dare be giving it away.”
“All this locket means”—I moved closer to McKay and touched my lips to his face—“is that if I’m protected by this charm, you are too, as long as you’re with me.”
McKay pulled the car off the Avenue and into an alley. We were going to T.J.’s apartment. “Is that a threat?” he said, and then McKay kissed me.
“No,” I said. “It’s only magic.”
2
Gina wasn’t at T.J.’s apartment, and we knew from the tear-covered Kleenexes in the corners of the room that Gina was most likely standing her own guard outside T.J.’s hospital door. McKay looked through the closet and found, finally, a black linen dress that was too large, and too short, and too lightweight for winter. I slipped the dress over my head in the darkness of the apartment and stared into a mirror. I could barely recognize myself in the darkness, but when McKay’s face appeared in the mirror near mine I saw mine smile at his.
“Won’t Gina mind if I borrow the dress?” I said.
“Nah,” said McKay and he placed his hands on my shoulders. We spoke to each other’s mirror images. “She’s grief-struck, and she shoplifts all her wardrobe from Robert Hall, so she don’t even know what the fuck she’s got in the closet.”
McKay had changed into a black suit and a white-and-black print shirt. He wore the Orphans jacket about his shoulders like a cloak.
“Tell me why,” said McKay, and he held his arms tight around me, and pressed his body close to mine, and spoke with his mouth against my neck, “I’m letting you go with me.”
I watched myself and McKay in the mirror. “It’s only love,” I said. McKay moved away from me and raised his head, though his arms were still around me.
“Don’t use that word again.”
“I didn’t know it would frighten you so.”
“I mean it. If we’re together for a while, then we’re together. It ain’t nothing more than that, and I want you to know that right now. I will tell you no lies. If you’re in trouble I’ll just turn away.”
An honest man, McKay. But I had taken no vow of honor, and so I said, “I’m not asking you for anything. I am not one of the Property, and I’ll be with you only until I want to be with you, no more. I can’t help it if you’re in love with me. That’s your problem.”
McKay laughed. “Think you’re smart,” he said, and he turned me around so that I no longer looked in the mirror. “You think you’re real smart.”
I threw my jacket over my shoulders to cover Gina’s dress, tied a scarf around my head, and let McKay know I was ready to go by walking from him and opening the door of the apartment. We walked into the street toward the Chevy that waited with engine running and exhaust streaming into the cold air.
“We hit the wake first,” said McKay.
We drove down the Avenue into the territory of the Pack. Far down the Avenue we stopped before a building of stone, surrounded by crosses and angels and several black Fords. A line of limousines waited in silence. I could hear organ music from some other funeral or wedding filter through the glass and cement of St. Francis’ as McKay double-parked the Chevy before the Christian Brothers Funeral Home. I walked away from the Chevy with McKay.
“Let me kiss you before you do this,” I said.
“Do what?” McKay stopped and let me kiss him, and he lit a cigarette to share with me before we entered the funeral chapel.
“Go to the wake of one of the Pack.”
“That’s what’s to be done,” said McKay. “I accept your kiss, but, girl, you don’t know shit. Anyone gets wasted and they are honored, they should be honored, even if they is one of the Pack. If I skipped out on the wake it would be defeat for the Orphans. I couldn’t walk the Avenue.”
“I see,” I said. “But you’d turn away from me any time there was trouble.”
“You fight like this Pack boy and I’ll sit in at your wake.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Then again”—McKay smiled—“I never fucked this dead Pack boy in the front seat of the Chevy.”
We walked on. I figured those were McKay’s brand of words of love. I was learning to leave love and honor out of the words I spoke to McKay. He didn’t want to hear love and I couldn’t understand his words of honor. So I kept quiet, and held McKay’s arm. We reached the steps of the chapel.
“I don’t expect anything from
you,” I said to McKay.
“Good,” said McKay as we reached the steps of the chapel.
“Except that you don’t turn away,” I said.
And McKay couldn’t argue that, for as we walked up the cold cement steps, Kid Harris sat upon the railing, guarding the door of the chapel with three of his Pack. In a shiny black sharkskin jacket and ruffled pink shirt, the Kid waited.
McKay only continued to walk up the steps. I could see now that the Kid’s hands were wrapped in white, covered with bandages like a mummy, encased in casts of plaster and gauze.
“Harris,” said McKay, and he nodded.
“McKay,” said Harris, and the Kid tipped his head of long orange hair.
I looked not at McKay, nor at Harris and the other Pack, but through the doors of the chapel at the rows of metal folding chairs.
“This is no longer a game,” said Harris.
“It never was,” said McKay. “You knew that.”
“But death is something else again,” said Harris.
“Cantinni was a death. T.J. may soon be a death.”
“Nothing was ever proven. Prove that the Pack was at the scene of Cantinni being wasted. Where’s the evidence? Some lousy brake fluid drained from his ’Vette? Anyone could have done that.”
“The evidence is in the air and it is common knowledge,” said McKay. “You knew this was no game, and you know it better now.”
“McKay, this is the beginning of the end for you, my friend.”
“Brother Wolf,” McKay said to Harris. “I can’t stand here all day and listen to your loose talk and your jive.”
McKay walked past Harris on those stairs and I followed. The Pack was ready to spring on a signal. McKay alone, there’d not be another chance like this for them soon. One wink, one movement of a finger from Harris, and McKay would not make it through the door of the chapel. I was, and had been, and would continue to be, ready to turn heel on a signal from McKay and find a bottle of Dewar’s, and forget condolences and honor.
But McKay walked on. Harris nodded and said, “Now we talk. Now you go through the doors of the chapel to kneel before a soldier of the Pack. You walk free through the door, and free out of it. I admit you got some guts coming here alone like this without your soldiers. But McKay, you’re going to lose anyway. You’re going to lose it all. Everything, including those guts of yours.”
Property of / the Drowning Season / Fortune's Daughter / at Risk Page 6
