Old Flame

by Ira Berkowitz

  “Could you be a little more specific?”

  “No. Just take it as some friendly advice.”

  “Why? You’re not my friend. And to tell you the truth, the more I see you, the less I like.”

  “What are you going to do, slug me, too?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you could fuck up a wet dream? We got something going here, and that’s all I’m going to say. So back the hell off before you get caught in the crossfire.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “It is what it is, and I can’t say any more. In fact, I’m done here.”

  “I want to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Confirming that you and Toal are on someone’s pad. At first, I thought it was just Toal. Who is it, Swede? Who are you carrying water for?”

  He got to his feet, and shook his head and smiled.

  “Why did I know this would be a waste of time?” he said.

  After Swede left, I called Luce and filled her in on the conversation.

  “I told you,” she said. “Toal’s running some kind of a game. If I were you, I’d listen to Swede. I keep telling you that you don’t need any more shit in your life, but it’s like I’m talking to a wall.”

  Good advice, but we both knew I wasn’t going to take it.

  CHAPTER

  31

  I left the park wiser but less happy, and went home. A question nagged at me. Who was the puppet master? And what was at stake? The only thing I knew with a high degree of certainty was that sending Swede wasn’t Toal’s idea. Subtlety wasn’t in his bag of tricks.

  I climbed the stairs to my apartment. When I reached my landing, I heard the tramp of footsteps coming down the stairs from above.

  It was Danny Reno.

  A sudden weariness came over me. “Where did you come from?” I said.

  “The roof. Been waiting for you. I saw you walking on the street and turn into the building.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Thought maybe you’d bring me up to date on what’s going on.”

  “That’s what phones are for,” I said. “Are you nuts, or do you have a death wish? Barak is still out there looking for you.”

  Either way, he looked awful. His skin had a yellowish tinge, his eyes were dull and lusterless, and he hadn’t shaved since the last time I saw him.

  “Are you going to invite me in?” he asked.

  I unlocked the door to my apartment and held it open. “Sure,” I said, “but don’t plan on making it permanent.”

  He flopped on the sofa. “I understand,” he said.

  I went into the kitchen. “You want something to eat?”

  “Nah. Just a soda, if you have it.”

  I brought in a can of Diet Coke and handed it to him.

  “Why are you here, Danny?”

  He held the can to his temple. “I got lonely,” he said.

  “For me? Come on! We went years without seeing each other.”

  “For the city. The neighborhood.”

  “The action?”

  “Yeah, there’s that. Where I’m staying is like being in witness protection. There’s nothing going on.”

  “Except being alive. You come back here and you’re dead. Here’s what’s happening. You’re going to walk. A deal is just about in place.”

  “You’re shitting me!”

  “No. It’s almost done, but until it is, you’ve got a target on your back.”

  “You mean the money I owe Barak is forgiven?”

  “That’s the way it looks. But I suspect what Barak’s going to want in return is your permanent absence from his, shall we say, sphere of influence.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you would be a reminder of a promise not kept.”

  “You mean I could never come back here?” he said.

  “The entire city.”

  He popped the tab on the can and took a long, slow drink.

  “I don’t know that I could do that.”

  “Oh, I think you can. You’ve got a double-edged sword here. If Barak doesn’t frighten you enough, Dave should.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dave is brokering the arrangement.”

  “For me?”

  “No, for me. Your former business partner planned to go after anyone who even knew you casually. I fit the bill. If it weren’t for Dave, I’d be on a slab right now. Basically, Dave put himself on the line to keep me hale and hearty. You’re a throw-in.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about good-bye, until I call and tell you everything’s set?”

  Danny studied the can as if trying to divine its mysteries. “What am I going to do?” he said. “Where am I going to go?”

  I reached into my pocket, pulled out my money, and counted it. Just shy of two hundred dollars. I handed it to him.

  “I’m going to call a cab,” I said. “That should be enough to take you to where you’re staying. Tomorrow, I’ll go to the bank and withdraw a couple of thousand dollars. Consider it start-up money. You’ll call me at noon and tell me where you want the wire sent.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he said. “You know, take your money.”

  “Sure you can. It’s not much, but that’s all I can spare right now. And it’s a gift, not a loan.”

  He pocketed the cash.

  I went into the kitchen to call a cab. The dispatcher agreed to call me when the cab was out front. When I returned, I found Danny sitting with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth.

  Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Danny stopped rocking. I walked into the bedroom, motioning him to follow. I reached under my bed and retrieved the Glock. I whispered to him to stay, and walked to the door and stood off to the side.

  “Who is it?”

  “Ginny.”

  It was turning into that kind of a day.

  She noticed the Glock immediately. “I guess you weren’t expecting me,” she said.

  The Mistress of Understatement.

  “It’s all right. Come on in.”

  She hesitated. “If this is a bad time . . .”

  I pocketed the Glock. “Just winding up some business. Nothing to be concerned about.”

  Danny poked his head out of the bedroom. I waved him in.

  “Danny?” Ginny said. “It’s been years. What are you doing here?”

  “Danny was just leaving.”

  “If I’m interrupting . . .”

  “No, no,” Danny said. “Steeg is right. I was just leaving.”

  As if on cue, the phone rang. It was the cab company.

  I turned to Danny. “The cab’s out front,” I said. “Remember, call me tomorrow and tell me where you want the wire sent. OK?”

  “I’ll pay you back, Steeg. Every penny.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You better go, the meter is running.”

  He said good-bye to Ginny, hugged me, and left.

  “What was that all about?” she said.

  “The wages of sin.”

  It occurred to me that Danny wasn’t the only one the adage applied to.

  “So, you’re not going to tell me about it?” she said.

  That she had just met her dead brother’s business partner would only complicate things.

  “Some things are better left unsaid. What brings you here?”

  She thrust an envelope into my hands. “It’s another one.”

  CHAPTER

  32

  The next morning Dave stopped by. I told him Danny Reno had dropped in to say hello. He nearly went nuts.

  “Your fucking buddy Reno is wearing me out,” he said.

  “Jesus taught us to care for the least among us.”

  “And look what it got Him. Reno is a fucking moron who, if he keeps this shit up, may not be among us much longer. And you’re no better. I can’t believe you gave him money.�
��

  “He’s tapped. What was I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “You had to see him. He looks like a bag lady.”

  “Really! Remember Joey the Bum? Had this palsy thing going on? Used to panhandle on Broadway?”

  “Sure. I used to slip him a few dollars now and then.”

  “Very generous. I’m sure he has a plaque in the lobby of one of the several buildings he owns dedicated to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was clearing maybe three, four hundred a day. Cash. Take-home. No taxes. On matinee days he would do even better.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I put Joey’s money on the street. He made another four hundred in vig alone. Hand to God. When the palsy routine got old, he switched the act to a Vietnam veteran with AIDS. Used to sit in front of the theaters with a handwritten sign. He’d be there when they came in, when they broke after the first act, and when the show was over. Worked maybe three hours a day. Now he’s retired to a condo in Boca. And you gave him money. Jesus Christ! You’ve got to be a changeling.”

  “That’s what Pop always thought.”

  His face went dark.

  “Fuck Dominic,” Dave said. “If it wasn’t for Norah, I would have killed him and taken pleasure in it.”

  “Just about every time we talk, the conversation somehow veers around to Dominic. He was a prick. He’s dead. End of story. You’ve got to let it go.”

  “When they plant me in the ground.”

  “Let’s get back to Joey the Bum. What’s his connection to Danny?”

  “They made their living the same way. Joey took care of business. So did Reno. He has money socked away. Count on it.”

  It was time to change the subject. “When are you meeting with Barak?”

  “I have a call in to him. It’ll be soon, though. So listen, I’m here for a reason.”

  “Besides making me feel stupid?”

  “Dinner the other night didn’t work out so well, and I want to make up for it by taking you to lunch. For a change, let’s do something other than Feeney’s. I love Nick, but enough’s enough.”

  “I don’t have anything going.”

  “Good. There’s a new restaurant in Chelsea, Purslane, just opened.”

  “Now they’re naming restaurants after weeds? Perfect.”

  “Who gives a shit? The food is supposed to be good. If that doesn’t make you happy, I got another piece of bad news for you. Terry Sloan is joining us. He’s building a house in the Hamptons and wants to show me the plans.”

  “The Hamptons? Did the city council vote itself a pay raise?”

  “Terry always has an eye on opportunities.”

  “I’ll take a rain check,” I said.

  “No, you won’t. I know you don’t like him, probably with good reason. But, like you, he’s a fact of life, and I’ve gotta deal with him. The way I see it, if I gotta put up with Reno, you can put up with Sloan for a couple of hours. It’s like you said about Dominic. Put it behind you, and move on.”

  Hard to argue with.

  Purslane confirmed my worst suspicions. The restaurant was a celebration of weeds. They decorated the plates, appeared in watercolors on the walls, illuminated the margins of the menus, and served as the motif for the silverware. The menu offerings weren’t much more promising. Everything was organic or artisanal, wildly overpriced, and as appetizing as hay. Couple that with Terry Sloan, sitting across from me and crowing about his new 15,000-square-foot house on the bay when he deserved to be in prison.

  “So,” Terry said, “they tell me it should be ready around the first of July, and it better be. I got this Fourth of July party planned. There’s gonna be fireworks and an old-fashioned clambake. You know, the works. The invitations go out in a couple of weeks. Franny and the kids would love it.”

  I guess I didn’t make the guest list. More’s the pity.

  “Just like the kind of party your constituents have on the Fourth,” I said, “except for the clams and lobsters and mojitos part.”

  Dave threw me a look, but Terry continued, undaunted. “Hey, it’s the country’s birthday,” he said.

  Subtlety is one of the things that distinguishes humans from all other members of the animal kingdom. Terry failed to make the cut. “There’s that,” I agreed.

  “Sounds great, Terry,” Dave said. “If we can make it, we will.”

  “Terrific! Love to have you. You’re invited too, Steeg.”

  Not only was Terry incapable of reading the shadings of language, he was a bust at reading Dave. My brother would rather have wild dogs play tug-of-war with his intestines than schlep out to the Hamptons on a holiday weekend. Dave’s idea of a party was grilling some steaks for the family.

  “Thanks, but I have a high colonic scheduled,” I said.

  Dave threw me another look, more menacing than the last.

  “You gotta do what you gotta do,” Terry said. “So, what do you think of the restaurant?”

  “Nice place,” Dave said.

  I kept my mouth shut.

  “Yeah,” Terry said, “I’ve got a piece of it. A new business I’m into. We plan to open a bunch more.”

  That explained the Hamptons manse. “Really?” I said.

  “Sure. The handwriting’s on the wall. Healthy living is the future. No more smoking. No more trans fats. No more shit to clog up your arteries, no more—”

  “Taste,” I said.

  “We get the point, Jake,” Dave said. “Let’s move on. OK?”

  The waitress appeared, and Dave and Terry ordered drinks. I stuck with club soda with a lemon slice floating on top.

  “I hear you had a thing with Pete Toal,” Terry said.

  “That’s putting a fine point on it. I clocked him.”

  “Why?”

  “He played me. Wasn’t straight.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asked.

  “I’d rather not go into it.”

  “You can’t go around punching people in the mouth, Steeg,” he said.

  “Of course I can.”

  Terry turned to Dave. “You’ve gotta talk to him,” he said.

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” Dave said.

  “Why do you care, Terry?” I said.

  “You’re pissing some people off.”

  Now we were getting to the heart of things. “You have my full attention. Who?”

  “All I’m going to say is that Pete has some friends who don’t like to see him smacked around.”

  “It’s good to have faithful friends. But the thing I’m trying to figure out is whether it’s the smacking around or something else that’s bothering his pals. In other words, whose ox is being gored?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh,” I said, “I think you do. With someone like Toal, there’s always money involved. He could be hit by a bus and his friends wouldn’t bother to send flowers. But screwing with the money flow might cause their concern.”

  “You’re very distrustful, you know that, Jake?”

  “It’s the key to my longevity.”

  “Not if you keep going the way you’re—”

  Dave drove his salad fork into Terry’s thigh.

  “What the fuck!” Terry screamed.

  Dave put his finger to Terry’s lips. “Shhh! Don’t make a scene.”

  A bunch of heads turned, and a waiter hurried over. Terry waved him off. The waiter glanced down, saw what was sticking out of Terry’s thigh, and nearly puked.

  With his hand still gripping the fork, Dave turned his attention to Terry. In a voice barely above a whisper he said, “You don’t ever threaten my brother.”

  The color drained from Terry’s face. “I . . . didn’t . . . mean . . .” he gasped.

  Dave dug the fork in deeper. “I don’t give a shit. That’s just the way it is. OK?”

  Terry gagged, and nodded.

  Dave yanked out the
fork and dropped it on Terry’s plate. Then he picked up the menu, looked at it briefly, and set it down.

  “I think I’ll have the trout. How about you, Jake?”

  If anything, Dave was consistent. Blood was blood.

  Terry didn’t linger at the table — mumbled something about Bellevue’s emergency room— and I had lost my appetite. But Dave didn’t want to dine alone, so I stayed.

  “You crossed the line with Terry,” I said.

  He laughed. “Whose line?”

  “Mine,” I said.

  He wasn’t laughing anymore. “He should have known better.”

  “I keep telling you, I’m tired of playing kid brother. I can take care of myself.”

  “The trout is good. Have some.”

  I’ve never figured out what makes Dave tick. Loving father and husband. Devoted brother. Stone killer. Capable of extraordinary acts of kindness, and mind-numbing cruelty. Dave was born with a port-wine stain on his cheek that caused him no end of grief. When he was with the Westies, a notorious West Side gang of Irish psycho murderers, one of the doped-up donkeys, a guy named Brian Grace, took special delight in fucking with Dave over the port-wine stain. Mickey Feather-stone, the ringleader of the lunatic crew, ordered Dave to let it ride. And he did, for a very short while. One Christmas Eve, Grace was drinking at Feeney’s. Dave showed up with an acetylene torch. Nick held Grace down while Dave went to work on his face. Afterwards, Grace was a chastened man, and Dave went home and set the presents under the tree.

  The closest I’ve come to explaining my brother is that he’s either a master compartmentalizer or a total fucking lunatic. How else to account for the bizarre dichotomy that gums up his moral compass? With Dave, true north is a shifting target.

  It was something we never talked about, but the Terry Sloan incident, coupled with the kidnapping of Barak’s son, gave me the feeling that Dave was about to crater.

  “Couldn’t you have made your point another way?”

  “We’re back on that? No. See, that’s the only thing guys like Terry understand.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The day before their first Election Day, they’re average schmucks. The day after, they’re suddenly important, and everybody kisses their ass like it’s the pope’s ring. Why? Because they have something they never had before. Power. And they think they’re invincible. And then they meet someone like me — or Barak — and get a glimpse of the real thing. The few smart ones understand reality right from the get-go. But guys like Terry require the occasional object lesson.”