Hauling Ash

by Tonia Brown

  “Excuse me?” Maloney said.

  “You’re excused,” Waldorf said. He turned to his left and held his hand out to Chris. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Chris lowered his plate to the table and shook Waldorf’s hand. “I’m Christopher Johnson and this is Marvin—”

  “Don’t shake his fucking hand, you idiot,” Maloney said. “Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.”

  Chris obediently sat down and hung his head in defeat.

  Marv sat on the other side of his partner, looking just as crushed.

  Waldorf returned to his own seat, satisfied the introductions were done. “Now, if we can talk like civilized—”

  “Toney, honey,” Penny said as she sashayed up to the table. “They don’t have those bread sticks … you like …” Her words faded when she caught sight of Waldorf. Penny pursed her lips, put her hands on her ample hips and cocked her head at him. “Mr. Waldorf.”

  “Miss Lane,” Waldorf said. He stood again and nodded at her.

  Penny hugged up Maloney, pressing her breasts against his muscular arm and purred at the man. “Honey, they don’t have what you wanted. Would you like for me to see if the kitchen can make it for you?”

  Maloney wrapped a meaty hand around Penny’s waist, yanking her tighter to him. “That’s okay, baby. You’ve got what satisfies me.”

  “I sure do,” Penny said, and giggled.

  Maloney pressed his mouth to hers in a sloppy, exaggerated kiss. Banjo supposed she had to put on a brave face, though he could still see the hurt in her eyes. Meanwhile, Waldorf watched on with quiet dignity. When the lady seated herself, Waldorf also sat again, never releasing his grip on the bag. Banjo immediately felt a twinge of guilt for not standing himself.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Maloney said as he made himself comfortable beside Penny.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Waldorf said.

  “No. If it was fucking obvious I wouldn’t be asking the fucking question. Jesus, what a moron.”

  Banjo grimaced at the choice language, as did Penny.

  Marv and Chris giggled like schoolboys.

  “I am here to bargain with the devil,” Waldorf said.

  “Bargain?” Maloney said. “For what? You ain’t got nothing worth bargaining for, except maybe your lousy life. And from what Penny tells me, that ain’t worth ten fucking bucks, much less a million.” Maloney squeezed Penny’s hand.

  She smiled weakly at Waldorf.

  “I don’t think you understand how bargaining works,” Waldorf said. “I have something you want, and you have something I want. I propose a trade.”

  Spaghetti slithering back onto the plate from his open mouth, Maloney stared slack jawed at Waldorf. “Whaf fa fuh are you falkin’ abou’ now?”

  “I am talking about my dog.”

  “What about your fucking dog?” Maloney said after he swallowed.

  Waldorf frowned deeply. “I wish you’d quit using that word. It’s rude.”

  “I wish you’d fuck off and die. But you boys know what Mick says.” Maloney snapped at Chris.

  In a warbled, out of tune voice, Chris sang aloud, “You can’t always get what you want.”

  “Right on,” Marv said.

  The two bumped fists.

  Maloney laced his hands together over his plate and grinned at Waldorf. “Except for me. I always get whatever the fuck I want.”

  “And you want me to fuck off and die, do you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I won’t fuck off, as you put it, until I have my dog back. I know you have him. I plan on trading this bag of money for my dog and the promise that you will leave the pair of us alone, or I will go to the police with everything I know.”

  Maloney chuckled low and ominous.

  Marv and Chris joined in, laughing along with the boss in typical minion style.

  Banjo almost rolled his eyes at the exchange.

  “Is that right?” Maloney asked. “Unless you plan on making a trip to the bottom of the ocean, then you’re shit out of luck.”

  “Bottom of the ocean?” Waldorf said and blinked in mock surprise. “Why? Are you planning on sinking this ship?”

  “No, you dipshit.”

  “You must be. Because that’s the only way you’re going to get your man’s closet to the bottom of the ocean, along with my dog.”

  “What does Banjo’s closet have to do with your dead dog?”

  “Mr. Banjo’s closet contains my dog. Which is very much alive, from what I understand. And by alive I mean my dog, not the closet.”

  Very little shocked Mr. Banjo. His experience with his fellow man usually involved taking that fellow man’s life in brutal and often creative ways. As a result, his tolerance for surprise ranked a little higher than your average citizen. Banjo once handcuffed a man to a boiler naked, leaving the fellow to the mercy of countless hungry rats in an abandoned factory basement. When Banjo returned the next day all he found was a heap of gristle and bloody bones. Then there was the time he electrocuted a hit with a stripped down lamp cord, after which he stood across the street and watched the house burn down from the ensuing fire that flared up from the victim’s smoldering hair. Mr. Banjo had experienced the slippery warmth of life escaping from a slit throat, listened with interest to the last gasps of a drowning man, and rummaged elbows deep in the piss and shit and gore than can only come from a quickly eviscerated corpse. In short, he wasn’t easily shocked.

  That was until Octavious Waldorf mentioned the dog in the closet.

  Banjo sat ramrod straight and eyed the mortician. It wasn’t until he felt someone’s burning gaze pinpointed on him that he realized he had given himself away by his own actions. Banjo slowly glanced to his boss, and cringed when he saw the rage on Maloney’s face.

  “What the fuck, Banjo?” Maloney said.

  “Sir?”

  “Would you like to tell me what this little shit means?”

  Banjo didn’t know what to say. His chief concern wasn’t that Maloney had found out—though Banjo was hoping to smuggle the mutt off the ship and set the bastard free before Maloney discovered the treachery. Banjo’s real concern was how in the hell that creepy little mortician knew. Banjo had only told one other person. At the idea of his earlier confession, he glanced to the person he had confided in.

  Penny screwed up her pretty nose and shook her head, as if trying to say, Don’t look at me, big boy. I have no idea either.

  “What the fuck, Penny?” Maloney said. “You too?”

  Penny looked away.

  Banjo realized he had made a tactical error by shifting his attention, as well as the guilt, to Miss Penny.

  “Jesus Christ,” Maloney said. “I’m surrounded by fucking traitors.” He nodded to Chris and Marv. “Well, did you two know anything about this?”

  “No way, boss,” they chorused.

  “Good. It’s nice to have someone I can still rely on.” Maloney shoved a thick finger at Banjo. “What did I tell you to do with that fucking mutt?”

  “Throw him overboard,” Banjo said.

  “You were going to throw him overboard?” Waldorf said.

  “You shut the fuck up,” Maloney said, pointing to Waldorf. He shifted the finger back to Banjo. “And you tell me you did what I fucking paid you to do.”

  Banjo kept his mouth shut. Sometimes it was best to ride the storm out rather than rail against the wind.

  Maloney slammed his fist on the table, bringing unwanted glances from several dining patrons. “Banjo, I swear to god, the next words out of your fucking mouth better be I threw that little shit’s dog overboard, or so help me—”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Banjo said.

  “Shut the fuck up.” Maloney sneered at Penny. “As for you …”

  “Toney,” Penny started.

  “Don’t you Toney me,” Maloney said.

  Penny tried to touch his arm. “Please, I—”

  Maloney pushed her
hand away from him. “Shut your whore mouth while the men are talking, bitch. You better be glad there are so many fucking assholes watching or I would knock your goddamned teeth out.”

  Banjo balled his fists, ready to leap up and defend the woman. He didn’t get the chance.

  “Hey now,” Waldorf said, before Banjo could speak. “I don’t think I like the way you’re talking to her.”

  “I don’t think I like you stealing my fucking money!” Maloney’s shout brought a few disgusted looks from other passengers. The man didn’t seem to care. He breathed heavily through his flared nostrils, much like a bull readying himself to charge.

  Waldorf, however, remained unfazed. He sat quietly, staring at the enraged monster that was Maloney, never flinching, never blinking.

  “You are such an asshole,” Penny said.

  Sucking a long breath through his teeth, Maloney slowly turned his head to her. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. You are such a fucking asshole.”

  “You think so, huh?”

  “Yeah, I do. I sort of understand why you’re torturing poor Otto here. But drowning an innocent dog? What is wrong with you? Benjamin was right to ignore you, that dog ain’t done nothing to nobody. And while we are at it, neither has poor Otto there. The guy brought you back your damned money. Give him the dog and leave him alone so we can get on with our lives.”

  Maloney chuckled. Despite his apparent humor, he growled “Do you want me to fucking kill you? Because I will fucking kill you right here, right now.”

  Penny snorted. “No you won’t. You’ll get Christopher or Marvin or maybe even Benjamin to do it. You won’t because not only are you an asshole, you’re also a lazy son of a bitch.”

  Maloney drew back to strike Penny, and in a brazen moment of passion, Banjo reached across the table and grabbed onto his boss’s hand, holding the man still. It happened so fast, Banjo didn’t even have time to consider the consequences of such a thing. Maloney whipped about to face Banjo, at which Banjo shook his head, sending a clear signal of where his loyalties lay. Sure, Banjo was a contract killer, yet this kind of thing wasn’t in his resume. There was a huge difference between killing the madam of a rival sex ring, and beating a woman just for speaking her mind.

  “Boss,” Chris said.

  “Folks are watchin’,” Marv said.

  “You’re right,” Maloney said, jerking his hand from Banjo’s grip. “Too many witnesses. Last thing I need is a boat full of fucking pissed off women’s libbers getting all pissy with me over nothing.” He sneered at Penny. “I’ll deal with you later, bitch.” Maloney then nodded to Waldorf. “You I’ll deal with right now.” He flexed his hand at Waldorf, in a classic gimme fashion. “Hand over the bag.”

  “Why?” Waldorf said. “So you can use your dirty racketeering money to get more stolen goods?”

  “It’s not fucking racketeering money, dipshit. It’s good old fashioned drug money.”

  “Drug money?” Waldorf stuck his tongue out and shifted the bag away from him, as if it were suddenly full of shit instead of a quarter of a million bucks. “You mean you made this selling marijuana?”

  Banjo couldn’t help but smile at the way the man pronounced marijuana with far too many syllables.

  “No,” Maloney said in a long breath, as if talking to a child. “I made it selling coke.”

  “Whoa, boss,” Marv said.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t tell him stuff like that,” Chris said.

  Maloney snorted. “Why? Who the fuck is he gonna tell? His momma?”

  “He could tell the feds,” Marv said.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Maybe he already has,” Banjo said. “He could be wearing a wire.”

  “I said shut the fuck up,” Maloney said.

  Waldorf kept his eyes on Maloney, though the moment Banjo mentioned the wire, the mortician swallowed hard. The man’s tell gave away the game. There was no doubt in Banjo’s mind that the guy was broadcasting every word to Wallace and his partner. Yet what seemed so obvious to Banjo flew right past Maloney.

  This Goliath was too drunk on power to realize he was sharing a table with David.

  Maloney grunted as he looked to Waldorf again. “Look at him. Like he would go to the fucking cops. Even if he did, you know what they would fucking do? They sure as hell wouldn’t put a wire on him and send him to me. No. They would pin all of it on him because he’s an easy target. A weak little, shit sniffing, prick rubbing, perverted easy fucking target.” Maloney leaned across the table, toward Waldorf. “You didn’t go to the feds, did you? No. And why? Because you don’t want to get in fucking trouble. You’re too goddamned stupid and fucking scared to stick up for yourself. You’re only here with me because of your fucking mutt. Well he’s dead meat, just like you, unless you give me what I want.” He held his hand out again. “Give me the bag. Now. Or I’ll kill your fucking dog myself.”

  Waldorf handed Maloney the bag without a fight. Banjo was sort of disappointed in the mortician. All this build up, only to have the man cave at the first threat.

  The boss man snatched the bag up with a snort. “What a fucking amateur.”

  “Funny,” Waldorf said as he stood. “I was just thinking the same thing.” The mortician cracked a grin of his own as he turned and walked away, leaving everyone to wonder what he meant.

  “What’d he mean by that?” Marv said.

  “I don’t know,” Chris said.

  “Jesus, Banjo,” Maloney said as he pulled the bag into his lap. “I shouldn’t have brought you on this trip. You already ruined the pick up at the station. I should’ve known better.”

  “I told you the place was hot,” Banjo said. “The feds were already there.”

  “Yet somehow that asshole managed to walk in and out with my money and nobody stopped him. I should’ve left you behind. I had to go and give you another chance. Now this? A fucking dog? Really? I thought you were a professional.”

  “I’m sorry,” Banjo said. “I just, I don’t know—”

  “He did it for me,” Penny said.

  Banjo furrowed his brow at her. What was she doing?

  “For you?” Maloney said.

  “Yeah, for me,” Penny said, a touch of attitude creeping back into her voice. “I’ve always wanted a schnauzer and Banjo knew that because he’s my friend. The dog was supposed to be a present. We didn’t think you’d notice because you never pay attention to anything that doesn’t involve your gut or your prick.”

  “Present?” Marv said.

  “Why in the hell would you want to give a whore a present?” Chris asked.

  Miss Penny scowled at that. “You know, some guys do nice things for a lady because they are friends. Seeing as how you assholes don’t have any friends you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

  “Miss Penny,” Banjo said. “You don’t have to say—”

  “I don’t need anyone else when I got a quarter million friends right here,” Maloney said. “That creepy mortician and his fucking dog don’t know who they are dealing with. Little shit thinks he can fuck with me? I’ll show him.” Maloney pulled the zipper open and looked into the bag.

  Toney Maloney went through a myriad of emotions as he glanced into the duffle. A look of pure satisfaction came first, followed by a slow uncertainty. This tumbled into shock, surprise, with distress just behind. Quickly on the heels of this came frustration, aggravation and finally outright fury. Banjo had no idea what could’ve made the boss so angry, until Maloney dumped the contents of the duffle in front of everyone.

  Instead of money, a pile of wrinkled clothes flopped onto the tabletop.

  Marv and Chris both opened their mouths in surprise. Penny giggled while Banjo fought to repress a smirk and lost.

  Maloney got to his feet. He gritted his teeth and seethed with rage, soaking the clothes before him with flecks of spittle.

  “What in the fuck is this supposed to be!” he shouted.

  The outburst
brought everything and everyone to a grinding halt. Waiters paused around the dining hall in their various duties. The band went quiet. A few women gasped and more than one person started in surprise at the unexpected shout. Maloney’s angry question echoed around the room for a few seconds, then faded into the sudden silence.

  “You!” Maloney shouted as he pointed across the hall. “You are going to pay for this, you motherfucker!”

  Before anyone could say anything, before Banjo could try and calm the boss down, before Penny could begin giggling again, before Chris or Marv could make a stupid quip, before anyone could do anything else, the last thing anyone—especially Banjo—expected to happen, happened. A small circular missile sailed across the room and struck Toney Maloney in the face. The man stood open mouthed, a mess of cream and crust sliding down his chin and dripping onto his suit.

  It took Banjo a second to recognize the remnants as what was left of a pie. He whipped about in his seat, staring across the room to the direction the pie came from. In front of a cart filled to the brim with desserts, including a variety of pies, stood Octavious Waldorf. The look of surprise on the man’s face suggested he was as shocked as everyone else.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ball of Fire

  Five minutes earlier

  People often thought of Otto’s line of work as easy, simple, and even safe. Yet Otto worked on a daily basis with dangerous chemicals, dealt with constant exposure to biohazards, and routinely operated an oven roughly the size of a Volkswagen that required a state certification to even talk about, much less employ. He thought of himself as no stranger to danger. This experience helped Otto remain calm as he sat in the presence of Toney Maloney, drug kingpin and small time mob boss. Calm that was, on the outside.

  On the inside, Otto screamed blue murder.

  Maloney waggled his fingers at Otto. “Hand over the bag.”

  “Why?” Otto said. “So you can use your dirty racketeering money to get more stolen goods?” He knew it was a reach, a last ditch effort to gain the information the feds needed to nab Maloney. An effort Otto was fairly sure the man wouldn’t fall for.

  Maloney rolled his eyes at the question. “It’s not fucking racketeering money, dipshit. It’s good old fashioned drug money.”