by John Farrow
He poured. The two men clinked glasses. Together they said, ‘Salut!’ Then looked off elsewhere, then drank and savored the whisky.
Giuseppe Ciampini held out his hand.
‘One thing more,’ Touton said.
‘Don’t bust my balls, Armand.’
‘The Olympics are coming up. You control the unions and the contractors. You’re getting super rich off both. Do what you do. In the end, don’t stop the games.’
‘Not my plan to prevent.’
‘I believe you. But accidents happen.’
‘No accidents, Armand. Deal?’ His hand remained outstretched.
‘If the cop dies, no deal. The girl goes into hiding. Her tough luck. My retirement? I suspend. You and me, we go to war. Two old foes. I’m told his chances are fifty-fifty. If he lives? We have a deal.’
‘Done,’ Ciampini said. ‘May he live. Grace of God. If not, we fight.’
Captain Armand Touton shook the man’s paw.
Otto’s Pitch
(The swings)
The summer evening fell sweetly. As sweetly as the watermelons cracked open and sitting on a teeter-totter, one end propped up to serve as a table. Time for the youngsters to hurry home. After sinking their faces into the fruit, the kids laughed and squealed, then dashed to their beds chased by the sun’s last glimmer.
Summer excitement sang through their limbs.
Quinn Tanner leaned against the tall steel fence that encompassed Ball Park. She didn’t mean to present a look, a languid, autonomous pose in the fading light. She remained aloof from the bustle yet stood out. Set off that way, her presence amid the shadows suggested a suppleness and sensuality evident to her peers. A reaction she did not intend to provoke, though among her friends she did.
They spoke to her infrequently. She possessed a reputation for recklessness, and lately had overstepped even her bounds. Others were increasingly cautious around her now, for her experiences eclipsed their own imagining. Rarely did anyone breach Quinn’s solitude. Whenever she moved, eyes followed her. Young men and women pondered what they could not fully conjure. Strangely, she was less an object of desire than the embodiment of desire now. As though, for them, she nurtured life’s mysteries and shielded them within.
Quinn moved across Ball Park to the swings.
As he’d done before, Émile Cinq-Mars was seated there. He swiveled slightly, ankles crossed, a heel anchored in sand. Quinn sat in the swing alongside his, enfolding her fingers around the chains. She noticed his sandals, his dusty bare ankles.
‘What?’ he asked, puzzled by her disposition.
She wasn’t going to say. She asked, ‘Did you hear what happened with my dad?’
Work? The labor dispute?
‘I didn’t.’
‘This boy I know. Otto Braup. He was into me once, but shot off his mouth when he should’ve been super discreet. I guess he should be happy we didn’t stick it out. He might’ve been my getaway driver. That didn’t turn out so well, right?’
‘You’re dangerous. Very true.’
She liked the tease.
‘So, Otto came by. I figured – my dad did, too – that he was trying his luck again. I talked to him recently, when you asked me to check on my ex-boyfriends. Maybe that encouraged him.’
‘My fault, then.’
‘Totally. He thought my dad should hear what he had to say. Super weird, right? I think Otto was scared to be alone with me. He told me something he overheard.’
She’d been through a bad time. Talk was healthy for her now.
‘Apparently, some morons were talking about me. Until I become yesterday’s news, I’m like a celebrity for a week and a half around here.’
‘What did they say?’
‘A baseball coach was part of this group of guys. The rest were mostly his team, Otto an exception. The coach was drinking, the boys, too, and my name came up. The coach said he knew I keyed his car and stole his wallet.’
‘A lie, I suppose.’
‘Nope, I did all that. Fortunately, my dad already knew about it. He didn’t have a bird.’
Quinn dipped her hips, just once, so that her swing moved. Then tucked her lower legs under her and let herself be rocked by the easy-going momentum.
‘That’s when the coach bragged that he got even.’
‘How?’
‘The man’s a coward. He paid a couple of guys. That’s how it is around here. Everybody knows a guy who knows a couple of guys in case the need comes up.’
‘What did these guys do?’
‘You know.’
He thought about it. ‘The firebombing?’
‘The fucking baseball coach firebombed my house. Then he’s too much of a moron not to talk about it in public. Jeez. For him, moron is too nice a word.’
Cinq-Mars waited for her to continue. Her mind appeared to wander.
He asked, ‘What about your dad?’
‘Right. My dad. He’s amazing, you know.’
‘I know. He cracked that safe for you.’
‘Really amazing! He says my mom helped him out. Of course, I didn’t want him to get into trouble because of me, like beat up the coach or kill him. We talked about it. He pointed out that I keyed the coach’s car, stole his wallet, turned his money into confetti, blah blah blah, and threw it on the expressway. So we’re even-steven with the firebombing.’
Cinq-Mars nodded in the gloaming, not sure if the story had concluded.
‘I’m conflicted,’ Quinn continued. ‘I don’t want my dad to do anything rash, but I’m upset. I say, “Yeah, I guess.” And we sit there. And then I say, “Except …”’
Cinq-Mars repeated her word. ‘Except?’
‘The coach tried to feel me up, didn’t he? Top and bottom. That’s why I did his car. We weren’t anywhere close to being even. Me, I keyed his car. Him, he firebombed my house and messed with me sexually. He was the first to be in the wrong. I got back at him, then he got back at me. How’s that even? Dad, then, says that he’ll take care of it. Now I’m scared, right? I don’t want him in trouble. Do you know what he did?’
‘If it’s illegal, don’t tell me.’
She widened her eyes. ‘He went to see the coach. Dan-ger-ous! I tagged along. Instead of punching him out – which I guess part of me looked forward to – he told the coach that he was accepting his resignation on behalf of Park Extension. Like he’s the mayor or something. A bunch of people were listening. My dad told them the coach touched his daughter. He told everybody that the coach asked him – my dad – to be his third base coach, not because he needed a third base coach but because he wanted his daughter to come around more often. My dad told him that he – my dad – was the team’s new field manager. That the old coach won’t be permitted to watch a game, ever. Not if he wants to keep breathing. My dad is now the new field manager for the junior team. He said I can work out the pitchers when I want, but I said no.’
‘How come?’
‘Too much testosterone in one place. Keeping my distance.’
‘Yeah. Not the same, but maybe it’s similar. I love cops but sometimes I need to stay away from them.’
‘You visit a thief, like me, instead?’
They both smiled. They let that hang in the air.
‘How’ve you been, Quinn?’
‘Not bad,’ she said, not with any conviction.
‘Have you seen Leonard?’
‘We hang a bit. He’s totally Noel now. He digs it.’ They shared a laugh. ‘I think he might contact you. If he does, don’t complicate him,’ she instructed.
‘I won’t,’ Cinq-Mars agreed. Then asked, ‘What about Ezra?’
She was silent then. She dipped her hips a few times, swinging, letting herself glide back and forth, then her momentum gently slowed.
Quinn said, ‘I think he let me down.’
Cinq-Mars was thoughtful in his way, as if notions and conjecture needed a long time to work through his head, spilling detritus and picking up stray insights acr
oss a broad band of light and shade. He said, ‘People have patterns. That’s unavoidable. When they inhabit their patterns, rather than the other way around, people become fixed. Less fluid. That’s when they can let us down. He helped you big time but, I agree, not right down the line.’
Quinn considered what he said, doing her best to unravel what it all meant. ‘You think about things,’ she said.
‘People hate that about me.’ He smiled.
‘Mmm,’ Quinn murmured. Then she said, ‘Fuck ’em in left field. Up against a post.’
Cinq-Mars laughed. Then they began to swing. Quinn came to a stop first, then he did. ‘You should get up, get out, find yourself a girlfriend,’ she advised.
‘I’m looking.’
‘Good.’
‘When do you turn eighteen?’
‘Oh no. You’ll still be way too old for me,’ she told him.
‘That’s not remotely true. But you’re way too young for me.’
‘Not true either. Anyway, you’d still be a moron cop.’
‘True. Hassling delinquents like you. Will you still be a thief?’
‘I might be done. I’m not saying I’m a snowflake, but I met a couple of ladies recently … When it comes to being a bad girl, I don’t qualify.’
She easily made him laugh. ‘Could have fooled me, holding a pistol in Savina’s ear. Look, I had a reason to ask. Until you’re eighteen, you’re my case. Officially. I’ve decided, Quinn. I’m not turning you over to the juvenile division.’
‘Damn! I was looking forward to some serious jail time in juvie.’
‘Well, you won’t get any. And forget about me and you.’
‘You first.’
‘Sure thing.’
‘Done deal.’
She laughed. They began to swing again, going higher this time. When Quinn stood on the seat, Cinq-Mars warned her not to dare. She told him not to worry. Still, she swung higher in the dark of Ball Park, and he put his feet out and dipped his hips and swung higher himself. The swing set shook with their momentum.
‘I never thought about it once!’ Quinn called out to him in the dark.
He refused to answer back.
‘Moron!’ she shouted at him. ‘What took you so long?’
‘Traffic!’ he yelled back.
They were laughing when they stopped. Then went quiet. Their heart rates settled. Quinn answered an earlier question. ‘November.’
‘That far off? Eighteen. You should throw a party.’
‘Yeah, I should.’ They sat quietly. Then she said, ‘You should take me to a ball game sometime.’
‘Your dad’s team?’
‘Cheapskate. No, he’d clobber you. Not to mention me. The big leagues.’
‘Not a chance, Quinn.’
‘The time you buy for yourself, Émile, can be the time you waste. Something I heard once.’
She dismounted the swing to join her friends heading out for the evening. She stopped once, turned, waved, and walked backwards for several steps. She turned again, and Émile Cinq-Mars stood for a moment, then exited the park on the opposite side, taking the long way around the block to head back to his place. Working the day shift, that is what he was supposed to do. Sleep at night. Quietly, peacefully. If he could, sleep at night.
