5 Bad Moon

by Anthony Bruno

  Chapter 18

  Sal pulled the car over to the curb next to a dark loading dock, took it out of gear, and turned off the engine. He’d already switched the headlights off before he turned onto the street. It was one of those deserted blocks in the West Thirties, no apartments, just factories and warehouses from one end to the other. Sal ran his fingers along the bottom half of the steering wheel as he peered out the windshield at the red taillights moving slowly down the block. “A real freakin’ stud, this guy,” he muttered to himself.

  He shook his head at Charles’s shitty little Chevy as it crawled in and out of the streetlights. Mr. Badass Stud was checking out the meat. Hookers came out of the shadows as the Chevy approached, then disappeared just as fast when it passed them by. Charles was a fussy bastard. He didn’t want any black chicks, and brunettes didn’t seem to interest him very much either. It was the blondes he braked for. But he was being very picky with them, too.

  Sal shook his head. A real freakin’ stud. And a made man, too. A made man with a mouth to match his big moolinyam pecker. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking?

  Sal rolled down the window all the way and stuck his head out to get some air. He hated this fucking car. A goddamn Datsun, for chrissake. They didn’t even call them Datsuns anymore. The thing belonged to Lucy, the old lady who helped Cil out at the home, and it was a real piece of shit. For one thing, it was too small for him, and for another, it stunk of her perfume. He only hoped Lucy didn’t notice that it wasn’t parked where she’d left it in the alley out back of the home. Cil probably wouldn’t let her call the cops, though, because she’d figure he was the one who took it. But then who the hell wanted to hear Cil when he got back? She’d be all over him, screaming about how he should stay in and not risk being seen. She was getting to be a real pain in the ass with that. You’d think she’d just be happy that he was out of the nuthouse. She didn’t act happy, though, and she was getting a little too bossy with him. He was gonna have to set her straight. Not right now, later. There were a few other people he had to set straight first.

  The brake lights flashed on Charles’s Chevy as it passed under another streetlight. Two pros came out from the shadows. A couple of blondes.

  One girl could hardly walk, her heels were so high. She was wearing a long fur coat that went down to her ankles, and her hair was done up high on her head, sort of a moussed-up Bride of Frankenstein do, except that it also hung down long over one shoulder. When Charles came to a full stop, she opened her coat and showed her booty. She wasn’t wearing a thing underneath. Sal wasn’t impressed. She was long, tall, and bony. Nice tits, but too bony.

  The other pro had a perkier look to her. A punky haircut on a round face, a little more meat on the bone than the other one. She was wearing red spike heels, but she could navigate a lot better than her girlfriend could. She opened her white rabbit jacket for the customer and showed him some very nice cleavage under a skintight red halter top. Sal had to squint to see what she was wearing on the bottom. It looked like a red Ace bandage coming up under her crotch, barely covering the essentials. Sal wondered what the hell that thing was. He’d never seen anything like that before.

  The two blondes moseyed on over to the Chevy. The perky one leaned into the passenger-side window. The bony one hung back and stayed up on the curb. She looked like she wouldn’t be able to get back up on her stilts if she leaned over too far. The negotiations didn’t take long, but Sal was surprised when the perky one stepped aside and the bony one got into the Chevy. Sal would’ve bet money that Charles was gonna take the other one. Sal would’ve. Hands down.

  As he watched the Chevy’s taillights, Sal rotated his head and hunched his shoulders. He was tense. These broads out here were all Juicy Vacarini’s. If Charles opened his big yap and bragged to his pro that Sal Immordino had just made him, it could get back to Juicy, and the bastard could have a field day with that. Juicy would make a big stink about it, take it to the friggin’ commission. Sal could hear him now: Sal Immordino made a freakin’ nigger! Christ, there’d be an open contract on his head. Every family member around the world would be obligated to whack him if they got the chance. And there were always those ass-kissing go-getters who’d want to make their mark by hunting him down and bringing in his head. He wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

  Sal stared at the Chevy’s taillights as he rubbed the muscles between his neck and shoulder. They were like rock. The brake lights went out then, and the Chevy pulled away from the curb.

  Sal turned the key in the ignition and hit the gas pedal. The Datsun’s starter spun, but the goddamn engine wouldn’t turn over. He pumped the accelerator, but it didn’t do any good. Sal let go of the key and cursed under his breath. The friggin’ engine was flooded again. He’d have to give it a minute before it’d start now. Son of a fuckin’ bitch. The Chevy was already at the end of the block. He was gonna lose the bastard.

  Sal turned the key again. The starter whirred, but the engine wouldn’t fire. The Chevy was waiting at the light, the left signal blinking. Charles was gonna turn down Ninth Avenue. Shit! Sal would never find him once he got into the flow of traffic on Ninth. Charles could hit it up on the avenue, then disappear down another side street, which was exactly what he was gonna do, find some nice dark side street where he could get his money’s worth from the pro. Shit!

  Sal put his hand on the key again. He wanted to try it again, see if he’d get lucky, but he knew it wouldn’t start. You had to wait longer with this thing. At least a minute. But he didn’t have a fucking minute. The red light turned green. Charles was gonna be gone in a second. Sal’s neck muscles cramped. Shit!

  But as the traffic light turned and Sal was about to turn the key and try it again, the white backup lights on the Chevy’s tail flashed on.

  The Chevy went into reverse and rolled back down the block. Sal could hear the transmission whining. The car jerked to a stop under the streetlight where Charles had picked up the bony blonde.

  They were yelling, the two of them. Sal could hear them, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. The passenger door whipped open then, and the bony blonde got out in a huff.

  “Kiss my ass, you cheap son of a bitch!”

  She slammed the door and hammered the roof with her purse a few times before she clicked back into the shadows on her stilts.

  The perky blonde with the Ace bandage on her crotch peeked out of the shadows like an alley cat. She slipped over to the car and hopped in next to Charles. Sal could see their silhouettes in the front seat. A little talk, then two heads nodding. They were in agreement. As the Chevy took off again, the pro’s cigarette butt sailed out of the passenger window and hit the pavement in a spray of orange sparks.

  Sal tried the ignition again. The starter whirred. Sal kept his foot off the gas. It kept whirring, wouldn’t turn over. Fuck!

  He stopped, counted to five, and tried it again, foot off the gas. It spun and spun. Nothing.

  C’mon, dammit all!

  Suddenly the engine coughed and sputtered to life. Sal gave her gas and gunned it, afraid that if she died out on him again, that would be it. The Chevy was waiting at the corner. The light was red again. Sal pulled out into the street and drove slow.

  “Hey! Over here, honey!”

  The bony blonde was waving to him, her coat open, shaking her bush. He got a good look at her face. It was brutal. Too damn skinny. She looked like a goddamn skeleton with tits.

  “Hey, baby! C’mere! Wanna party?”

  Sal waved her off and kept going.

  She had one of those voices, too. Like steel wool and Ajax. Cil’s voice was sort of like that sometimes.

  The light changed and the Chevy turned left onto Ninth. Sal sped up to make the light. Charles was already cruising downtown in the right lane when Sal got to the corner, not too fast, not too slow. The girl was probably telling him where they could go park to do the deed.

  Sal veered around a double-parked cab a
nd wondered why Charles had changed his mind about the bony blonde. It couldn’t have been the price. Juicy’s street girls all charge the same—or at least they’re supposed to. Maybe Charles got a good look at her face in the car and realized that all blondes are not beautiful. A lot of black guys must think that because you see an awful lot of doggy blondes walking down the street, holding hands with black guys. Maybe Charles was smartening up and developing some taste. It comes with being a made man—you get taste all of a sudden. Yeah, right. Sal stared at the Chevy’s taillights and tried to grin. It really wasn’t funny. The moolinyam could be bragging to the girl right now.

  The Chevy hung a right onto Twenty-fifth Street without signaling. Sal stepped on the accelerator and raced down to Twenty-fourth, then Twenty-third, hung a right, went to the end of the block, hung another right on Tenth Avenue, then raced back up to Twenty-fifth. Cruising past the intersection, he looked up the block and saw a set of headlights going out. Charles was parked between the streetlights in the middle of the block in front of a loading dock. It was another dark factory street. Sal pulled into a parking space out of sight on Tenth and cut the engine. Charles and the pro needed their privacy.

  He sat there for a minute, keeping his eye on the rearview mirror, trying to figure out what he should do. Charles didn’t have much money so he probably wasn’t going for the deluxe job, not in the front seat of the car. He’d want to do it in a room if he were going for the deluxe job. He was a made man, after all. Sal looked at his watch. He wondered how long it took to get a little head. He wasn’t sure, but knowing that horny son of a bitch, it probably wouldn’t take that long.

  Sal got out of the car and started walking toward the corner, the oncoming headlights on the avenue shining in his face. There was a big mother of a pro hanging out on the next block, one of those Amazon girls. Sal spit into the gutter. Probably a guy in girl’s clothes looking to roll the horny assholes who come in from Jersey.

  As Sal turned the corner, he was suddenly startled by something moving in the shadows on the sidewalk next to a brick wall. He hit the pavement and scrambled to the next loading dock, thinking it was the shooter Juicy had hired to get him. But when he didn’t hear any shots, he peeked around the edge of the loading dock and saw what looked like a giant cocoon wrapped in plastic garbage bags. It was some homeless guy trying to get some sleep. Sal stared at the plastic cocoon for a second, waiting to see if the big moth inside was waking up or settling down or what. It shifted around, rustling the plastic, but it didn’t look like it had the energy to do anything more than that. Sal stood up slowly and moved on. His chest was pounding.

  He crossed the street and headed toward the Chevy, looking all around just to make sure. He didn’t think he’d been followed, but you could never tell. It was darker down this end of the block, and Sal’s eye kept darting into the shadows up on the loading docks, expecting to see a muzzle flash, ready to hit the pavement again.

  As he came up to the car, Sal could just barely make out Charles’s face. His eyes must’ve been closed because he didn’t react as Sal approached. His head was lolled back against the headrest. Sal looked in through the driver’s side window. The perky blonde’s head was in his lap. Charles was in ecstasy.

  Sal knocked on the window, and Charles jumped. “What the—”

  “Hey, calm down, Charles. It’s just me.”

  The blonde lifted her head and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as Charles rolled down the window. “You scared me, man. Whattaya doin’ here, Sal?”

  Sal smiled at the pro. She was cute. In a hard sort of way.

  “I be wit’ you in five minutes, Sal. Just go wait over there—”

  “Open up, Charles. It’s cold out here.” Sal pointed to the lock on the back door.

  Charles tried to cover his dong with the flap of his jacket, but he was too big. “But, Sal, can’t you see I’m busy here? I’m sorta in the middle—”

  Sal hunkered down and stuck his face in the window. “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be made, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “So now you’re a made guy. You forget who your boss is already?”

  “No, Sal, I didn’t forget. You’re the boss—”

  “Oh, so you do remember. Good. So what’s that mean, me being the boss?”

  “It means whatever you say goes.”

  “That’s right. What I say goes. So I’m telling you to open the friggin’ door.” Sal pointed at the lock.

  “No, no, bay-bee.” The blonde had a thick accent. She started jabbering then. It sounded like Polish or Russian or something. She sat up and shook out her hair, and Sal could see that she really was very nice. He wondered why Juicy had her working the street. She should be in a house, not out here. Too bad. She was nice.

  “Open the friggin’ door, will ya, Charles? I told you, I’m cold.”

  Charles twisted around and unlocked it.

  The pro started to complain. Sal could tell from the way she was jabbering.

  Sal got in back and shut the door. “Don’t worry about me, honey bun. Finish up what you were doing. I can wait.”

  “She don’t speak no English, Sal.”

  “Whattaya mean she don’t speak English?” He’d seen her and Charles negotiating in the Chevy.

  “All she knows is money.”

  The blonde smiled and nodded. “Da, moh-nee. Sohk, feefty. Fohk, one honndred.”

  “That’s very nice, honey. Now get back down there and finish. We gotta talk business here.”

  The blonde looked puzzled.

  Sal pointed over the seat, down at Charles’s crotch. “Don’t look at me. Look at him. Go on. Get back down there and finish up what you were doing.”

  She looked dubious, but she knew what he meant. Her head disappeared in his lap. Charles coughed and squirmed. He glanced nervously in the rearview mirror. Sal could hear her sucking up a storm down there, but the sounds coming out of Charles weren’t exactly the sounds of pleasure.

  The blonde started jabbering again. She sounded disappointed.

  Sal leaned forward and looked over the seatback. “What happened, superstud? I thought you brothers never had those kind of problems.”

  Charles muttered something under his breath.

  “Did you pay her, Charles?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then take a hike, honey bun.” Sal jerked his thumb. “He’ll come find you later when he feels up to it. Go ’head, go.”

  The blonde was puzzled, but she got the idea when Sal tossed a twenty at her and pointed to her door. Lucky for her she didn’t speak English. Pros usually keep their mouths shut anyway, and this one was probably here without papers. He didn’t have to worry about her. As she closed the door outside, Sal got a close-up of that red Ace bandage thing over her crotch. Weird-looking thing.

  The door slammed shut. In the quiet, Sal could feel Charles simmering. “Don’t get moody on me now, will ya, Charles?”

  “I was into something with her, Sal. Couldn’t you wait outside just five minutes?”

  Sal leaned over the seatback. “A boss does not wait, Charles. Not for nothin’. You’re a man of honor now. You got responsibilities. You got obligations, obligations to me.”

  Charles turned around and glared at him. “Yeah, I got all these obligations, but I ain’t got no pay, Sal. When do I get to see some cash?”

  “You got a fresh mouth, Charles. You don’t talk to a boss that way. You got a lot to learn, pal.”

  “Yeah, but what about—”

  “Shhh.” Sal put his finger to his lips. “Never mention money to me. It’s disrespectful. It’s out of line. You work for me and I take care of you. From now on I’m like your father, okay? Certain things you just don’t ask. When I have it, I’ll provide for you. That’s all you need to know.”

  Charles zipped up his pants and tucked in his shirttails. He was pissed.

  “Here.” Sal reached into hi
s jacket and pulled out the 380. He tossed the gun over the seat, then took the silencer out of his pocket and threw that over, too.

  Charles frowned down at the hardware. “What’s this for? What do I need this for?”

  “I got something for you to do.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t say ‘what?’ like that. You don’t say nothing when I tell you to do something. You just do it. That’s all. You’re lucky I’m such a fucking patient guy. You know that, Charles? Mistretta was your boss, you’d be facedown in the mud in Secaucus saying hello to the rats. You know what I’m saying, Charles?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.”

  “Now, listen to me. We got one more guy to whack. Vacarini. You know who I mean?”

  “Yeah, Juicy. I know.”

  “He’s not gonna be a big problem. I’m not worried about him. What I am worried about is what happens after we do him.”

  “Whattaya mean, Sal?”

  “I’m worried about Emerick. Oh, by the way, did you get me any more Thorazine for him?”

  “No, sorry, I forgot again. I’ll get you some this week. Don’t worry. I won’t forget.”

  “Jesus, Charles. My sister’s having a hell of a time keeping the guy under control. And he’s talking too much now. He needs his pills.”

  “I’ll get ’em. This week. I promise.”

  “Please. I don’t wanna wake up one morning and find my sister nailed to the wall, for chrissake. You know what I mean? Now, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. Emerick. We gotta do Emerick after we do Juicy. Can’t risk keeping him around. You know what’ll happen if the cops catch him? They’ll take him back down to the bin. What if he starts talking to the doctors down there? He knows them, he trusts some of them. What if he starts telling them things? What if he remembers too much about us and Mistretta? He could fuck us up. I was thinking maybe instead of just letting him go, we should do him, too, and make it look like he killed himself. Whattaya think? That fit in with his psychological profile? Would he do something like that?”