The Digger's Game

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The Digger's Game Page 11

by George V. Higgins


  “That’s two plus us,” the Digger said. “I can get the two.”

  “And a car,” Jay said. “The rest of it, there’s some other things, I can take care of them. A kid and some stuff.”

  “What’s it worth?” the Digger said.

  “You should’ve asked Mickey that,” Jay said.

  “I did,” the Digger said. “I’m not talking to him now. I asked you: what’s it worth?”

  “All in all,” Jay said, “I would say, a hundred and ten.”

  “Tell me how much for me,” the Digger said.

  “I ain’t Mickey,” Jay said.

  “You’re not Jesus Christ, either,” the Digger said.

  “I got trouble with the physical,” Jay said. “The guy and the guy and the car, you pay them out of yours.”

  “Right,” the Digger said.

  “Down the middle,” Jay said. “Just like always.”

  “Fifty-five,” the Digger said.

  “Plus the guy, and the guy with the car,” Jay said.

  “Must be pretty rough,” the Digger said.

  “Not for the right guys,” Jay said. “Look, Mickey’s stuff’s smoother. You get hooked, straight B and E. This is tough. All kinds of people around. It’s got some problems.”

  “Fifty-five,” the Digger said.

  “For the right guys,” Jay said.

  “I tell you what,” the Digger said, “I’m gonna talk to a guy. I think I know another guy, got a car.”

  IN THE DOORWAY of the Regent office the Greek said, “Where the fuck is Y. A. Tittle?”

  “Hey, Greek,” Schabb said, “who?”

  “Richie,” the Greek said. He shut the door. “Richie’s in Concord, I hadda guy, used to do some work for me, in Concord same time’s Richie, Richie’s onna football team. Quarterback. Tittle’s the big hambone with the Gynts, then, they all start calling Richie Y. A. Tittle. Where the fuck is he, still in bed? Man oughta be able to be around by noon, good night’s sleep, even if he does have a lot to do before he finally goes to sleep.”

  “Antigua,” Schabb said. “Called me up last night, said he wouldn’t be in, couple days er so. Lining up a deal down there.”

  “Broads,” the Greek said. “Richie never lined up a deal in his life. He’s down there getting laid.”

  “No,” Schabb said, “guy called him, really looks good. We need it to compete. The other outfits, they got Curaçao and Caracas. Those’re good items, you get the carriage trade with them, not just the hackers you get with Vegas and Freeport. Aruba, too. Richie’s going to fly down there and look things over. KLM, they practically pay you to fly people into Aruba.”

  “Beautiful,” the Greek said, “fuckin’ beautiful. He’ll fuck himself out down there. At my expense. I’m buying the bastard a third of ten pieces of ass and a tan he’ll use to get more ass up here. I’m losing my grip. I didn’t use to be such an asshole.”

  “Look,” Schabb said, “what difference it make? He said it’d be worth the ride to look into this. I agree with him. I don’t care if he gets laid. Nothing wrong with getting laid. We didn’t think it’d bother you.”

  “My friend,” the Greek said, “I’m up here working for a living. I got problems, which I got from the last great idea you two guys had. He’s down in the sun, goofing off, I’m paying for it. Who’s tending to business, we don’t all go to shit?”

  “Look,” Schabb said, “what’s the problem?”

  “The Digger,” the Greek said, “just like I said. I was over there yesterday, that tony joint he runs for hard guys, he practically told me: go fuck myself.”

  “He won’t pay?” Schabb said.

  “He’ll pay,” the Greek said. “Said he’s gonna pay, anyway. Gonna pay Friday.”

  “I still don’t see,” Schabb said. “I thought you figured, he wasn’t gonna pay.”

  “He’s not paying the vig, the first week,” the Greek said. “He’s not, he says he can get better’n the three points I hit him. He’s gettin’ it off of fuckin’ Bloom, that fuckin’ cocksucker. That shit Bloom, he cuts the fuckin’ rate, I always knew he was a goddamned chiseler. And then some stupid shit put it out we don’t have to pay juice, the hotel. I bet fuckin’ Bloom did that too. So, I get screwed the first week, I get screwed the price on this week, it’s getting out all over I’m high onna rate, and then the son of a bitch practically tells me: go fuck myself. I think he did tell me, go fuck myself. And you can bet, he’s gonna mention that around town a few times, told the Greek to go fuck himself.”

  “So what?” Schabb said. “What the hell you care what he says? We’re getting the money. That’s what we’re after.”

  “I got a regular business,” the Greek said. “I got money out from here to Worcester. The way I do business, I make money having money out at good points. I get them points because people know, the Greek don’t fuck around. Now, thanks to you and Richie and your goddamned fuckin’ bright ideas, I got this fat shit down to Dorchester running around, telling people I’m high, I scare, and go ahead, just tell the Greek, go fuck himself. That kind of thing, I came into this to get more business. I didn’t come into this, get a lot of shit stuck on me, fuck up my old business. I was after easy dough.”

  “Well,” Schabb said, “there’s all that other stuff. You must be doing all right on that.”

  “I am,” the Greek said. “The Jewish paper, fine, no sweat. Them guys go in for six points, they pay six points without a fuckin’ whimper. I like doing business with them guys. How’d you get them?”

  “When I was selling stock,” Schabb said, “I had a little red book. It had good names to call, when I wanted to move a large lot fast. Interested, and the money was right there. Then, when I had a good deal or something I knew about, I would also call one or two of them. I want to tell you, Greek, I had one or two good dinners on calls like that. I like an appreciative client, boy.”

  “Dinners,” the Greek said, “you must be an asshole, telling guys when to buy and then they make a mint and you get a dinner.”

  “Greek,” Schabb said, “the way things are, it’s not when to buy. Any jerk can tell you when to buy: buy when it’s low. It’s when to sell. When it’s not going higher. That’s what I knew, and that’s what I told them. Those dinners’re in Paris, and there’s six or seven of them, and they’re all at Maxim’s, get it? You check in at Pan Am, you don’t pay for anything. The girl that’s with you, your wife ever saw you, you’d be in serious trouble. On the way back she gets off in New York. You never see her again. You don’t pay her anything, either. You go down to Miami Beach, you stay at the Doral and you play golf. You don’t pay for that, either. When I went to dinner around here, I went in a Cad, and I didn’t pay for the Cad any more’n I paid for the dinners. There’re dinners, Greek, and then there’re dinners. It all depends where the dinner is, hack it?”

  “Oh,” the Greek said.

  “I didn’t get in the shit because I was crooked,” Schabb said. “I got in the shit because a guy that told me when the stuff was at the top, the guy that was making it go in the first place, got himself in the shit with the SEC. He was very tough, that guy. The minute they grabbed him he squawked like a chicken. I’m one of the guys he squawked about. They didn’t even prosecute him, just us. Bastard.”

  “I was wondering,” the Greek said.

  “Look,” Schabb said, “I was no more crooked’n anybody else. I was good and crooked. I just thought Mister Cool’d stay clear, and he didn’t, and I guess I thought if he ever got caught, he’d keep his mouth shut, and he didn’t. So, I took it right on the chin, and when I did I took that little red book with me. Those guys’re reliable. They always pay. It’s probably a good thing the bank examiners aren’t around too soon after they pay, too soon anyway, because I’ve got just the slightest idea it’s somebody else’s money they’re paying with. But you give one of them bastards a pen and a phone and the Market open, you’ll always get your money, and right off. A month later he’ll have that thing
smoothed over so fine nobody’d ever be able to pick it up. You got honest money on that paper.”

  “Pure gold,” the Greek said, “a hundred and eighteen thou, out in a week, two at the most, straight juice, a flat six K at least and we never loaned them guys a fuckin’ cent. That is my idea, a tit.”

  “How about my other friends?” Schabb said. “How you doing with them?”

  “The Protestants,” the Greek said.

  “Very few of them,” Schabb said. “Some, maybe, but very few.”

  “All of them think they are,” the Greek said. “Professional guys. Guy like that, starts in onna high living, he’s generally good for about thirty-five K a year, got the house and the car and the son of a bitch, never buys a suit, it don’t cost him two-fifty. There’s a certain kind of guy, don’t think he’s made it ’less he’s got on four hundred worth of knits and a twenny-dollar tie and he’s getting his hair styled. Once they get that old razor cut, they think they know fuckin’ everything. And boats, big onna boats.”

  “Those’re the ones,” Schabb said.

  “Right,” the Greek said. “I meet a little resistance, that kind of guy. He’s got a house, okay, it’s got a mortgage, he’s been paying the mortgage awhile, he’s run it down some, the house went up a lot. He don’t have no dough he can get his hands on, but he’s got the equity, you know?”

  “Regular margin accounts,” Schabb said, “that’s where I got them. They call up and buy eight K, then they want the certificate fast. They’re hocking it. Very little actual cash. Credit up the yin-yang.”

  “Sure,” the Greek said, “I got a regular sideline in that kinda guy. Take the honey down to Puerto Rico, don’t want the wife seeing no canceled checks. Okay, he’s into me for a grand, he pays it back. They got it. The thing is, you gotta kinda pry it off them, gotta make him understand, he’s gambling, okay, he got nothing for something. They’re not used to that. Used to seeing something back for two or three K. New boat, goddamned station wagon, three weeks in Europe. Cards, he already seen the cards, dealer had twenty, he had nineteen, they don’t want to remember that. Didn’t happen. I gotta convince them it did. Takes time. Gotta call at the office, frighten the little honey, call the house, scare the wife, you heard me onna phone, you’d think I had something wrong with the throat. ‘Where is he? I call him the office, he ain’t there. I call him the house, he ain’t there. He lives inna garage, that it? I understood he’s a respectable citizen, owes me some money. Better have him call me.’ They always call. Sooner or later, they call. They get used to the idea, they gotta pay. They go out, first they talk the wife down, Christ sake, I’m gonna kill them. Then they hock the Mastercharge and the stock and the insurance and they meet me and they pay off the whole nut. Them guys don’t haggle. They pay the rate. Just takes a little time, get them used to it. I’m doing all right with them.”

  “So,” Schabb said, “how much we make off my friends?”

  “Four-four out,” the Greek said, “five points a man, out by Labor Day. Eight, nine K.”

  “And you’re still bitching,” Schabb said. “We’re making out all over the place and you’re bitching. There’s things about you, Greek, I’m never going to understand.”

  “Mister Schabb,” the Greek said, “that wraps it all up. Lemme ask you a personal favor, all right? You just tell Richie that, okay? You just said the whole of it, right fuckin’ there.”

  “HARRINGTON,” the Digger said, “how you doin’ on that boat of yours, you getting anywhere?”

  “Look,” Harrington said, “everybody else inna world, it’s Friday night, they haven’t gotta go to work tomorrow. I got to go to work tomorrow, no Saturday for Harrington. You know why that is? Because I gotta, that’s why. Just leave me alone, all right, Dig? Lemme have a couple beers just like it was Friday night for me, too. No guy that’s gotta work six days a week to make the payments on what he’s got is gonna see a boat he hasn’t got already. I wished to God I never sold the boat I used to have.”

  “I know something you could do, ’d get you the down payment onna boat,” the Digger said.

  “Yeah?” Harrington said. “And then what about them others, I gotta stop going down to Saint Hilary’s for my laughs every Sunday, hear what the Portugee’s got to say this week about them poor unfortunate thieving Puerto Ricans that haven’t got no money, I can work Sundays too.”

  “Well,” the Digger said, “you played your cards right, might not be all that many of them, you know? You oughta be able to get a pretty good boat for thirty-five hundred or so, you could pay for more’n half of it right off.”

  “Oh oh,” Harrington said. “Excuse me, I think I’m gonna have to go home right about now. I gotta go to work tomorrow, you know. I’ll see you the first of the week, probably. I’ll come in for a beer, we can talk about how the Sox do Sunday.”

  “The fuck’s the matter with you?” the Digger said.

  “Look,” Harrington said, “I got a nervous stomach. I come in here a few days ago, your problem is, you’re inna hole eighteen and juice. Now you’re giving me, you’re saying you got a way, I can get about, what, two grand, I do something you got in mind. You’re talking about somebody else’s money, I think.”

  “How much you make inna week?” the Digger said.

  “None of your fuckin’ business,” Harrington said.

  “Not enough for a boat, though,” the Digger said.

  “Not enough for a wife and three kids and a car and a house in Saint Hilary’s,” Harrington said. “Not enough for no lawyer, either, and it’s a lot more’n I’d get making license plates inna can, too.”

  “Never mind the can,” the Digger said.

  “Right,” Harrington said, “and don’t do nothing that’s gonna get you put into it, either, that’s what I say. Lemme have another beer.”

  The Digger returned with Harrington’s beer. “You can make two thousand dollars for less’n three hours’ work,” the Digger said. “You’re sure you wanna turn that down, okay, I can get somebody else. I’m tryin’ to do you a favor. You like working six days, you don’t want no boat, okay, be a shit if you want, all your life. Just thought I’d give you the chance. Two grand for three hours.”

  “That’s more’n I make at the Edison,” Harrington said. He drank some beer. “The trouble is, the Edison never told me, go out and kill somebody important, and I never had the cops looking for me, anything I did at the Edison. Which is probably why it don’t pay as good.”

  “Nobody’s gonna get hurt,” the Digger said. “Nothing like that.”

  “Dig,” Harrington said, “my kind of luck, well, I didn’t go to Vegas, you know? Because I know what’ll happen to me, I got to Vegas. Same thing happened to you, only worse. I see the guys, I hear them talking, I know, they’re doing some things. Okay, and they got more dough’n I have, and they get away with it, too. But I, I wouldn’t. Something’d happen. I’d get caught.”

  “You get caught driving your own car,” the Digger said, “they don’t generally hit a man too hard for that.”

  “Sure,” Harrington said. “Of course while I’m driving it, the motor’s running and I’m outside a bank and you guys’re inside holding it up, and all the driving I got to do is get it in gear and make it go like a bastard and hope I don’t get shot. Like I said, I finish this beer, I’ll go home and say the Rosary with Father Manton onna radio, I think. Got saved from the temptation, there.”

  “Look,” the Digger said, “here’s what I want: you drive the car a place and you pick up a guy. Then you go where he tells you and you pick up two more guys. Then you go and you leave us all off and you drive to another place, and we come there and you drive us home. That’s all there is to it.”

  “For that I get two thousand dollars,” Harrington said.

  “Yup,” the Digger said. “I want a guy I can trust, do what I tell him to do.”

  “And that little ride and all,” Harrington said, “that’s gonna get you out of this hole you’re in n
ow.”

  “Yeah,” the Digger said.

  “And nobody’s gonna get shot,” Harrington said, “and there isn’t gonna be every cop in Boston looking up his ass all the time.”

  “Look,” the Digger said, “the only way you could shoot a guy on this job is, you’d have to bring a guy along to shoot, is all. If I ever see a tit, Harrington, this here’s a tit.”

  “What is it?” Harrington said.

  “Uh uh,” the Digger said, “that’s not the way it goes. I make a rule, long time ago, I don’t tell anybody what it is until after he decides, he’s in or not. You in or not?”

  “How can I, what do you think I’m gonna do?” Harrington said. “Say I’m gonna do something, I don’t even know what it is I’m gonna do? I never done anything like this before. Take pity onna guy, Dig, tell me what I’m gonna do, I tell you I’m gonna do it.”

  “Look,” the Digger said, “week from tonight, Labor Day weekend, right?”

  “Yeah,” Harrington said.

  “Week from Sunday night, you’re gonna pick me up and then you’re gonna pick up two other guys, and you take us, about a twenny-minute drive,” the Digger said. “This is before midnight. About two hours later, sometime around two in the morning, you pick up, you pick us up, and you drop us off. That’s it.”

  “For that I get two thousand dollars,” Harrington said.

  “Yeah,” the Digger said.

  “Right off,” Harrington said. “I finally get to bed Labor Day, I’m gonna have two thousand onna bureau I didn’t have when I get up.”

  “No,” the Digger said, “nobody’s got the dough Monday. You’ll have to wait a little bit.”

  “How long?” Harrington said.

  “Look,” the Digger said, “I dunno. It can take a little time to get the dough, one of these things. Inside a week or so, I guess. But I personally guarantee you, you get the dough.”

  “Yeah,” Harrington said, “but maybe something happens to you. I still get the dough? I mean, where’s that leave me?”

  “Better off’n I am, something’s gonna happen to me,” the Digger said. “Look, I get hit by a truck, you haven’t got your dough, you do the best you can. You might get fucked.”

 

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