Desperate

by Daniel Palmer

  “You must really want Lily gone,” Roy said, cracking a fractured smile. He gave Lily eyes that gave me the shivers.

  “I hope Anna won’t be too upset about this offer of yours,” Lily said in her lilting voice. “I really like her a lot. She’s been really nice to me.”

  My anger sputtered to life.

  “She’s not to know. You’ll say nothing to her about this. You take the money and you’re gone. That’s the deal.”

  “It isn’t enough,” Roy said. For a second, his defenses came down, giving me a glimpse into his private world. I saw fear in Roy’s eyes, an emotion I didn’t think he could feel.

  “Isn’t enough for what?” I asked.

  “Roy,” Lily said. “Don’t.”

  Roy flashed Lily an angry look. With a burst of movement he charged her. Red-faced now, Roy grabbed Lily’s arm with force and yanked her off the couch.

  “You said they had money!” Spit came out of Roy’s mouth. Lily flinched, but it hit her in the face anyway.

  Lily said, shaking, “I’m sorry. I thought he had more.”

  Roy held Lily’s arm as she writhed to pry it free. A look of terror stretched across her face. She knew to fear his rage.

  Without warning, Roy let go of Lily’s arm and lunged for me. He seized hold of my throat. Digging in with my heels wasn’t much help. Roy pushed me back until I crashed hard against the wall. My breath left me. Roy’s hands tightened, constricting my windpipe. My eyes went wide as my feet began to kick.

  “Roy! Stop it! Stop it now!” Lily shrieked.

  Lily had come to my rescue. Through my fading vision I could see her pounding her fists against Roy’s back. But she was a gnat on the hide of a bull, insignificant. He spun around to face her without releasing his crushing grip. My vision began to dim and soon my skin felt hot and cold, tingling all over. I heard Lily scream, pleading with Roy, but her voice sounded like it was coming from inside a seashell, distant and muted. I was struggling, kicking to break free of Roy’s grasp.

  I’m going to die here, I thought. This is where it ends.

  I was overcome by what I can only describe as an incredible feeling of peace. I’m sure I was still kicking, still clawing at Roy’s wrist, while he had me pinned to the wall by his powerful arm. But I also saw Max’s face, like a light, a guide, letting me know he’d be waiting. I wanted to reach for him, but the air came back into my lungs, the pressure on my throat went away. I sank to the floor, chest heaving, very much alive, and not sure I was grateful.

  “You’ll pay me the fifty grand,” Roy said. “But you’re going to do something else for me to make up the difference.” To Lily, he said, “He’ll do the Nicky Stacks job.”

  I was slumped on the floor, rubbing my aching throat and shaking my head to clear away the cobwebs. I didn’t think I could speak even if I tried.

  Roy crouched down in a squat, getting to my level, staring me right in the eyes. “You might not have all the money I need,” he said, patting me on the cheek. His touch was meant to rouse or patronize me. “But you’re going to pay me another way,” he said. “You see, now I have to make a delivery. Something I didn’t want to do, but I got no choice in the matter. So I’m going to need someone to help me with this exchange—a lookout of sorts—only you won’t be getting any cut of the action.”

  “You want me to be a lookout on a drug deal?”

  “I need to make more cash,” Roy said. “It’s no biggie. You’re just the eyes and ears.”

  “I’m not a drug dealer, asshole,” I said.

  “I think you should reconsider that position.”

  “Why?”

  “Things could get worse for you here,” Roy said.

  “Worse? How so?”

  “Well, let’s start with a phone call to Anna,” Roy said. Then he mimicked Lily’s voice, high pitched and girlish. “Hey Anna, it’s Lily. I don’t know how to tell you this, but something happened between me and Gage. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just sort of did.”

  “You sick bastard,” I said. “She’ll never believe you.”

  Lily stood, giving me a glimpse of her body, as if to say, of course she’d believe.

  “Even if you do manage to convince her otherwise,” Roy said,

  “there will always be a trace of doubt. It’s hard living when your wife doesn’t really trust you. But there’s more.”

  “More?” I said.

  Roy reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small plastic bag. The bag held something inside it, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Then Roy held it up, and the shape of the object was clearly unmistakable.

  It was a condom. And I was certain it was full of my DNA.

  “Maybe Lily will tell Anna how you two are really in love. Heck, she might even give her this little baggie here as some added proof. Go get the DNA tested, she’ll say, because it’s got your man written all over it.”

  No need to ask him where he got it. Obviously, it was fished out of my trash.

  The adrenaline rush made me light-headed. I felt unsteady on my feet. I thought about charging Roy. Maybe I could wrestle the bag out of his hand. But then I saw the knife he was holding. Along and thick blade, just like he used in my dream to stab me.

  “And once Anna’s left you, all heartbroken, you’ll be stuck with us. You know how hard it is to get a pregnant woman evicted?” Roy asked.

  My anxiety spiked at the thought.

  “We’ll have this place so trashed it’ll be condemned,” Roy said. “And all that’s just the start. By the time we’re through with you, you’ll be out of a marriage and out of a home.”

  I let this sink in. I could fight this, I was sure I could, or I could just get it over with. Roy was right. If Lily told Anna we’d slept together, she might never believe me, especially with the physical evidence. She already didn’t believe me when it came to anything having to do with Lily.

  “If I do this one thing for you . . . this . . . lookout job, whatever it is, then you’ll be gone?”

  “Plus the fifty,” Roy said.

  “Jesus, you two really are a pestilence.”

  “What’s that?” Lily asked.

  I laughed bitterly, remembering the last time I hit her with an SAT word. Judging by Roy’s expression he wasn’t coming to her rescue.

  “It’s a contagious or infectious disease,” I said, “like the bubonic plague.”

  “Jeez,” Lily said. “We’re really that bad?”

  “Maybe worse,” I replied. “Look, I won’t do it. I’ll tell Anna that you’re lying. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but eventually, she’ll come to believe me.”

  “Then we’ve got a serious problem on our hands.”

  “Yours, not mine.”

  “No, it’s yours and Anna’s, too. She needs that missing folder for her job, don’tcha think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Roy sauntered over to the sofa. I watched him reach underneath the cushion and pull out a large green folder with Anna’s papers inside.

  “If you want these papers, then you’re coming with me to meet Nicky Stacks. He’s got to see that I have a partner on this deal, even if you don’t do the drop.”

  Inside I was seething, but somehow I kept all the anger just below the surface.

  “Just a meeting?”

  “That’s it. All you have to do is pretend you’re going to be there for the drop. Nicky needs to see I have it all worked out before he’ll authorize me.”

  “Why me? Why not one of your other buddies.”

  “It’s complicated. Normally, he’d want me to use a guy from his crew, but for reasons you don’t need to know, I can’t do that. Look, do you want Anna’s folder and do you want us to keep our mouths shut about you screwing Lily or not? If you do, you’ll give me the fifty large and just come with me to this meeting and then we skedaddle. Deal?”

  I thought about this for a moment. If I went and had a sit-down with some drug dealer, I’d get Anna’s
folder while getting rid of Lily and Roy in the process. It seemed like a workable exchange, but with one caveat.

  “No cash. The meeting for a folder.”

  Roy shook his head.

  “Lily will call Anna and I’ll take this to a shredder.”

  “Then, I’ll pay you twenty. I need some money in my account, too, you know. But you won’t get a cent from me, not one single cent, until you’re out of here. Gone. When that happens, I’ll make arrangements to get you the money. Is that understood?”

  I needed that folder, and it looked like meeting with Nicky Stacks was the only way that was going to happen. Roy ruminated on my offer. The difference in price didn’t seem to bother him any.

  Roy tucked the folder behind his back and reached out to shake my hand. “Understood,” he said.

  CHAPTER 32

  Instead of returning to work, getting back to the business of battery testing, I was riding shotgun in the passenger seat of a red 2000 Chevy Camaro Z28 coupe, driving through a neighborhood of East Boston I knew existed but had never seen.

  Roy was doing the driving. I didn’t even realize the Camaro parked on our street was his until he put the key in the ignition and fired the engine. Until then, I was thinking Roy could be stealing the car. Drug dealer, car thief—in for a penny, in for a pound, as the old saying goes. He wore dark shades and never glanced down at the stick shift when he changed gears. The toothpick in his mouth switched from the right side to the left synchronously, it seemed, with each turn he took. I hadn’t seen him pop in a dip of chewing tobacco since the first night we met. Maybe he was trying to kick the habit.

  Roy took great pleasure in driving and enjoyed showing off his skills. He’d speed up to the car in front of him, braking hard only when I thought we were going to crash. Then he’d tailgate like a true urban asshole, accelerate around every turn, and hug the corners with his wheels screeching. The air freshener dangling from his rearview mirror swayed to the chaotic rhythm of his driving.

  “Do you have any questions?” Roy asked.

  He had briefed me on Nicky Stacks, so I knew the rules. Roy had been very specific. It was a laundry list of “don’ts” that we’d gone over multiple times already.

  If I had to make eye contact, don’t make it last long.

  Don’t fidget. If I fidget, it’ll make Nicky nervous.

  Don’t ask any questions.

  Don’t order anything. If Nicky wants us to eat, he’ll order for us.

  Don’t rush. If I eat too fast, he’ll think I’m being rude.

  Don’t get anything alcoholic to drink unless he’s the one to suggest it.

  I could use my first name, but not my last.

  “Let’s go over our story again,” Roy said.

  We’d just made the turn off Cambridge Street onto the Longfellow Bridge. It wouldn’t be long now until we were at Nicky’s restaurant. The closer we got, the edgier Roy became. We didn’t know each other well, but judging by Roy’s behavior, I guessed Nicky Stacks could put the fear into the fearless.

  “We’re cousins,” I said. “I live in Key West. You got a place down there. We hang out sometimes. You wanted someone you can trust on this job and I was your first choice. I got a clean record, never did time, but I can handle myself.”

  “Good,” Roy said, nodding. “Good job.” I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t convinced.

  I wasn’t with Roy when he had called Nicky Stacks. I was downstairs changing my clothes at Roy’s request, because he had anticipated correctly how Nicky would want a meeting right away. Evidently, the deal had to go down soon. Roy had me wearing a black T-shirt and the darkest jeans I owned. I didn’t have boots like his, and my work shoes didn’t exactly scream “tough guy,” but we made do with what we had.

  Guess I didn’t look quite like Gage the quality assurance manager anymore, but I didn’t look nearly as tough as Roy, either. Roy kept eyeing me, like he wanted to tussle my hair, fix me with a fresh scar, something to harden my exterior. I used to say to Max, “You get what you get and you don’t get upset.” I thought about saying the same to Roy, but instead posed a more practical question. “What if he asks me about us? Personal details or something.”

  “If I say you’re a cousin, Nicky will think you’re a cousin,” Roy said. “He trusts me. I worked for his crew when I was on the inside. And I’ve been working for him on and off ever since I got out.”

  “But you didn’t want to do this job,” I said.

  Roy kept his eyes on me long enough for me to think they should be watching the road.

  “I was trying to come up with another way to get the cash I needed so I wouldn’t have to do what I have to do, but you screwed up that plan. And now here we are. Working together.”

  “Here we are,” I repeated, staring out my window. “But we aren’t working together. I get Anna’s folder after we finish the meeting. That’s the deal.”

  Roy didn’t respond.

  “Say it,” I demanded.

  “You get the folder after we finish the meeting.”

  I went back to looking out the window, silent, until Roy pulled up in front of a restaurant called Nicky’s.

  CHAPTER 33

  Nicky’s was not a classy joint. A tired-looking roof sat atop a battered red brick exterior. I saw a dilapidated satellite dish held to the roof by a pair of rusty-looking brackets. Closer to street level, a blue awning was suspended above the entrance, and the signage on the front read NICKY’S RESTAURANT FINE ITALIAN CUISINE, with a phone number below the words.

  The location itself wasn’t all too appealing, which could explain Nicky’s worn aesthetic. It wasn’t a “lock ’em up” hood—as in, roll up the car windows and lock the doors—but it was close. Maybe there had been a time when this section of town was a city jewel, but I’m pretty sure prohibition was the law back then. The two- and three-family homes were nestled close together and not lovingly maintained. The lawns were the size of postage stamps, and several had more rusty junk than plants. Shades were drawn in most of the windows I could see. There was trash in the gutter, trash overflowing from the wastebaskets, and the street itself looked like it had gone fifteen rounds with Apollo Creed. The sickly hum of air conditioners could barely be heard above the rumbling noise of cars and buses.

  Across from Nicky’s was a Laundromat called Dollar-A-Wash, but the way the stencils were displayed in the windows it read: DOLLA R A WASH. I wouldn’t want to live here, and I sure as heck didn’t want to be here.

  Roy, by contrast, appeared to be in his element. He’d fortified his shell. Nicky Stacks wouldn’t see any of the nervousness I’d witnessed on the ride over. To quell my nerves, I repeated a mantra in my head: it’s just a meeting . . . it’s only a meeting.

  It was dark inside the restaurant. The bar area was somewhat crowded, but the seating areas were not. A few patrons were being served by a single waitress who was tall and thin and as weathered as the neighborhood where she worked.

  What Nicky’s lacked in ambience, it more than made up in aroma. All the sweet smells and familiar spices of Italian cooking were on full display. Nicky’s had to have something that kept it in business.

  I followed Roy to the back of the restaurant. I could tell I was being watched. I didn’t belong here. I belonged at work. I was a stranger in a strange land, and everyone eyeing me knew it, too. Something made me glance over at the bar. The bartender, a stocky guy with hunched shoulders wearing a tweed cap, gave me a long stare. It was like he knew where I was headed and felt sorry for me.

  We ascended a short flight of stairs to another seating area. It was a smaller space, perfect for a private dinner party or function. Cast iron wall sconces with low-wattage bulbs lit the room with a yellowish glow. A row of booths with red vinyl seats lined one wood-paneled wall. A few tables were scattered throughout, each covered with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth. I noticed candles tucked inside small glass jars centered on each table, but none were lit, as if to say this section of t
he restaurant was reserved for Nicky and his business and nobody else. Framed color photos of Tuscany tried to fancy up the joint, but I wasn’t fooled: we were still in East Boston.

  A husky man with broad shoulders sat in the dining area’s last booth. He looked up from his Herald, saw us approach, but didn’t wave. We went over to the booth and sat across from him. Nicky Stacks, I assumed. Roy made me go in first. No getting out. No slinking away. I was there and there I’d stay.

  Eventually Stacks lowered his paper, giving me my first proper glimpse. Stacks had a disconcertingly pale complexion, as if he were allergic to the sun, or the sun to him. He kept his fine, straw-colored hair cut short and combed back. He had the thick neck of a football player and the round head of a battering ram, and I figured his forehead was massive enough to be branded a lethal weapon.

  As for his eyes, those were slits, set close together and deep in the sockets, and probably accustomed to seeing violence. The right nostril of his prominent nose appeared misshapen, set that way by a fist or a bat, most likely—and if that weren’t tough enough, his lips were fixed in a permanent sneer. Just his presence made me shudder. I imagined most every picture of him came out looking like a mug shot.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Stacks asked Roy. He was looking right through me with those slits for eyes, like I didn’t exist, like it didn’t matter if I ever existed.

  “Nicky, this is my cousin, Gage,” Roy said. “He’s going to help me with the Moreno brothers job.”

  No, I’m not, I thought.

  Stacks shifted his eyes over to Roy. He might have been looking through me, but Stacks was definitely seeing Roy, and he did not seem pleased.

  “What are you talking about?” Stacks said. “What cousin? What the fuck is this?”

  “I’m not bringing Johnny on this job,” Roy said.

  I didn’t know who Johnny was, but apparently Stacks did.

  “Before you called, I didn’t even think you were even doing this job,” Stacks said. “You said you were out. Then you call me and you say you want back in. Now you’re telling me you’re bringing in a new guy. Someone I don’t know. Someone I ain’t never met. You’re telling me Johnny is out. This is all very unusual.”