Ice Cream Man

by Charles Puccia

  “So where are they?” asked Rachel. The two sisters held their Bloomingdale’s bags; Ben stood a few feet back.

  A whistle sounded, and two men appeared from nowhere. One was small and skinny; the other had a Michelin-man belly. Big—not the way Ben was big, but big.

  “Youse lookin’ for us?” came a voice with the harshest Brooklynese any of them had ever heard. We’ll need an interpreter, thought Ben.

  “I’m Rachel and—”

  The small guy raised his hand. “No names, sweetheart. Nice to meet youse and all, but no need for formal introductions, if you get my drift.”

  “Yeah. Fine. We’re here to buy—”

  Again a hand went up. “We know what you’re here for. Got the cash? And who’s the body with you.” His final words sounded like “witch youse,” and Rachel nearly said, “God bless you.”

  “He’s B—I mean, he’s a friend. He carries our shopping bags.”

  “Ha ha ha ha. Hear that, Cheese. Carries the shoppin’ bags.” The little guy laughed a little too long and a little too strained.

  Ginny had had enough. “Shall we finish and be gone?”

  “Sure thing, Cicciolina. You’ve got the dough. Pass it over.”

  Ginny didn’t understand the name the little guy had called her, but she didn’t like the way it sounded. She looked over her shoulder. Ben started to open his jacket, and “Cheese” mirrored Ben’s move, his hand moving inside his own jacket.

  “Easy,” Ben said. “I have the envelope in my jacket. I’ll use two fingers—watch.”

  The little guy nodded and Cheese closed his jacket. Ben carefully removed an envelope from one side, then a second from the other side. He stepped forward and held them up. “I think you have something for the ladies.”

  “Oh, sure thing. Give ’em their purchase, Cheese. Want it gift wrapped, girls?”

  Cheese dug into his coat pocket with his pudgy hand and produced a small donut bag. Ben stepped forward and opened it; inside was a plastic deli-bag. He removed the wire twist, stuck his pinkie into the white substance, then touched his tongue. He nodded to Ginny before handing over his two envelopes to Cheese.

  Cheese opened the envelopes, then passed one to the smaller man.

  Ben said to the women, “Not sure it’s the best, but it’ll do.”

  “Hey, my stuff’s top quality!” said the little guy. “You don’t go bad-mouthin’ my stuff. Capisce?”

  “No problem. I meant no offense. We’re fine. Nice doing business with you.” Ben knew he’d made a mistake. Shit, why’d I say that? These two-bit bozo mafioso could lose it at any time.

  “Apology accepted. Have a good time. Call me if you need more.”

  They decided to use the subway to return to Manhattan. Once they were on the train, Rachel looked at Ginny.

  “I was scared shitless. Thank god you brought Ben.”

  Ben sat between the two women on a long bench seat. He’d removed his jacket, and each woman held one of his massive arms, which they squeezed during the ride.

  “We needed these. Feel them, Ginny. They’re so hard. Makes me wet. Glad you thought to bring guns.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “Hey, remember I can hear you? And for the record, I suggested I accompany you. My idea. And you’re welcome.”

  He raised his arms and pulled Ginny’s and Rachel’s heads against his chest. Then he flexed, bouncing their heads; the sisters giggled like schoolgirls.

  Ben was sweating, and not only from the vents blasting heat. His heart pounded. He chest tensed, his arms tightened, but this outer display of strength bore no resemblance to his thoughts. I was scared shitless. Those thugs had come to rob us. They’d cut the heroin only as a contingency. That was going to end badly. And what could I have done? Ben wasn’t confident that, had the men pulled guns, he would have been able to reach them before they fired. Maybe the little one knew I’d have gone for him. The dimwit lard would have shot without thinking—probably because he needs a calculator to add two plus two.

  Ben relaxed a little, which allowed Rachel and Ginny to struggle free. They complained he’d been too rough, although that was mostly from Rachel.

  The train crossed into Manhattan, halfway to Uptown. Ginny and Rachel huddled down close to Ben’s sides. Men gave fleeting glances at the two women, but they were awed by the hulk holding them. Women felt envious watching Ben’s strong arms hold Ginny and Rachel, then resentful when they spied the big Bloomie’s bags.

  Ben remained vigilant. He stared back at his fellow passengers, noticing their glances at the bags. You wouldn’t want to know the real cost of these. You wouldn’t want to know or you’d be scared shitless—like us. And it’s not over.

  Chapter 47

  Shopping Surprise

  Throughout that week, Dan slept restlessly. And his dreams were bizarre, to say the least. In one, Ginny was the starting Red Sox pitcher, and he was the catcher. They were minor A-league players who had been called up due to the 1994 baseball strike. Ginny hit three batters in a row. Then Dan misjudged her ball velocity and trajectory, and two players scored. Umpires flooded the field, ejecting them for arguing on the pitcher’s mound. So vivid was his dream, he told Ginny about it the next morning. She laughed—but not Dan.

  ****

  As he opened his front door, Dan was surprised to find Ginny and her sister on the living room couch.

  “Hi, Rachel, what a nice surprise.” Dan kissed Ginny and Rachel on their cheeks and noted the Bloomingdale’s bags between them. “Been shopping? Let’s see what you bought.”

  Dan reached across, but each sister lurched, grabbing a bag.

  Dan jumped back. “Hey, I’m not going to steal it! Just a peek.”

  “Honey, it’s a surprise.” Ginny used a sexy voice and batted her eyelids. “I’ll show you later.”

  Dan shrugged. “Goody. A surprise. Well, I see Ginny has not been a good hostess, Rachel. We have a very nice rosé, which goes well after shopping…?”

  “No thanks, Dan. I was just about to leave.” Rachel stood up.

  “Nothing for me either,” Ginny said.

  Dan walked past Rachel as if he was headed for the kitchen. Then he spun on the balls of his feet, reversed direction, and grabbed the nearest Bloomingdale’s bag. He expected to pull out sexy lingerie in black or maybe bright red, but instead he found a plastic bag.

  Ginny yelled, “No! Don’t touch it!”

  Dan knew. This was not face powder.

  “Let me explain.” Ginny snatched away the plastic bag and put it back inside the bigger bag.

  “Please do. Is this what I think it is?” Dan’s face masked his inner fury, but his shaking gave him away.

  “If you think it’s heroin, then you would be correct.”

  Dan’s chin dropped and his jaw unhinged. His body lowered into the chair opposite Ginny.

  “I guess I’m staying a little longer,” Rachel said quietly. “I’ll have that rosé, if it’s still on offer. Anyone else?”

  While Rachel was getting drinks for everyone, Ginny told their story. She explained how this all fit her game theory plan, the one they had discussed the week before.

  Dan just stared the at the Bloomingdale’s bag. “Eight ounces of heroin. How do you plant this in Bill’s office? Some pretext to retrieve my personal items I’d left behind? After four months? What, you just saunter past and put the bag on his desk? Or maybe you plan a casual visit to see Bill?” Dan switched to a higher pitch, an attempt to mimic Ginny. “And Bill, do you mind if I keep this bag of heroin in your desk while I run out for an hour?”

  Dan banged his fist on his knee and lowered his head. He mumbled, “Stupid.” Shaking his head, he looked up. “You didn’t put on your Paris show by buying a bunch of dresses. You planned every step—you always do. This is so unlike you.” His cheeks sucked in. “The whole idea is crazy. Two smart people acting like dumb kids. What were you thinking? I’m really surprised at Ben, too.”

  Ginny had sat quietly for Dan’
s rant, but this last comment sparked her fury. “That’s not fair to Ben. I blackmailed him into it, I’ll have you know, and you should thank him—for the money, and for escorting us. We wouldn’t have that bag if not for Ben. Don’t even try to blame him.”

  “Oh, Ben, always the good guy.” Dan paused—now wasn’t the time to go there. “Okay, let’s leave Ben aside for now. Now what? Frame Bill? Does this really fit the Prisoner’s Dilemma and mamihlapinatapai? How exactly does that work? Because you need Linda too, and she’s not here.”

  Rachel raised her hand. “What mammihappy?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Rach, I’ll explain later,” Ginny said, then returned to face Dan. “Yes, I will frame Bill and Linda. We have to get into the gutter like them. The high road hasn’t worked. You could still face sexual harassment charges. Or you could become a data espionage criminal if you show JJ’s data to anyone.”

  “We don’t play dirty,” Dan said. “I don’t play dirty. I don’t want to become like them. And we can’t keep that here, either. Someone has to take it away.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Rachel said, folding her arms across her chest. “I can’t bring it to my place. That’d be rubbing it under Ted’s nose, metaphorically speaking and probably physically, too.”

  Neither Ginny nor Dan responded.

  Rachel added, “Helloooo! Yoo hoo? Anyone home?”

  “Sorry, I’m thinking,” Ginny said.

  “I figured that much out,” Rachel said. “So, sis, what’s the plan now? Sell it on the street? What was the point of all this if in the end you don’t frame Bill? He’s supposed to get caught with this shit, not us.”

  The sharp words struck Dan. “I’m thinking that it’s not necessary for the package to be found in Bill’s office. It could be anywhere that identifies it with him.”

  Rachel looked at Dan. “You mean like his home?”

  “Yeah, but that’s even harder than his office. Besides, the sleazebag might implicate his wife. I’m thinking his briefcase.”

  Ginny’s eyes rolled.

  “Not at his office,” Dan explained. “Bill takes his briefcase to meetings, on trips, to hotels. Wherever Bill goes, his briefcase goes with him.”

  Ginny caught on. “And to go from one place to another, he takes a cab or he drives.”

  “His car.” Rachel was gleeful.

  With a renewed strength in his voice, Dan added: “His car’s at his home or in the Hawthorne Building underground parking garage. DV&N pays for his personal reserved spot.”

  “And how do we get into the garage?” Rachel asked.

  “I’ve still got the key entry code,” Dan said. “My parking spot is paid until the end of June—it’s all included in my severance benefit package.”

  Dan remembered his dream, the one where they were A-league baseball players. They were jokes because they weren’t like the superstars. They were minor-leaguers. They needed professional help. Just like they did now.

  Dan knew whom to ask. He tasted bile, and his chest tightened.

  Ginny asked if Dan felt all right. Dan swallowed the bitter taste. Could he do this to achieve the goal?

  “I have an idea,” he said, “but I need to talk to someone first.”

  The way Dan took charge, gave orders, made decisions… it stirred something in Ginny. This was the return of the man she had married. She knew things were changing. Dan was changing.

  What would he do next?

  Chapter 48

  Consultations

  The street noise outside Ben’s penthouse condo didn’t make it up the multiple stories to penetrate his triple-thick sealed glazed windows. Add a few sheep and Ben’s condo could have sounded like a remote farmhouse.

  Ben entered the living room with two glasses of protein shake and held one out to Dan. He stood ready for his reprimand.

  Dan took the shake. “I know what you did for Ginny… and her sister.”

  “You needn’t say any more. It was stupid, we did it, over.”

  “Don’t stop me—at least give me that. Suck it up. The whole idea was stupid. The risk was too great, and the plan’s incomplete. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I agree. Never again, I promise. Satisfied?”

  “No. Now I want to thank you—and not just for your generosity. From what Ginny told me, the situation was not good. She and Rachel would have been robbed, probably hurt… your money stolen. I’m surprised that two supposedly smart women didn’t see that with the amount they were buying, they were targets. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Forget it. You know I love you guys. I have more than enough money. I’d protect Ginny under any circumstance. You have my word.”

  “I know. Which is why I can’t remain angry with you. Here’s the awkward part. I have to ask another favor.”

  Ben sat.

  “I need help from the last person I want to talk to: Vinnie’s father. I despise that man, I truly do.”

  Ben moved from his chair to sit beside Dan on the two-seat couch. He put his hand over Dan’s. “No more than I do. But I’ll tell you something—and don’t think that I’m not still angry at the man, because I am. But John has changed. He shows remorse. I harbor bad feelings about him and his gay-bashing. I’ve had to put up with that shit ever since I came out. Acceptance hasn’t been easy… and to tell the truth, I’m not sure I’ve forgiven him. But Joe’s a keen observer, and he says John falls into the fifteen percent of parents that recognize their bigotry—and change.”

  “It’ll take more than that to convince me,” Dan said. “I’m not on board with you or Joe, but I won’t say anything to Vinnie, and neither should you. Still, I need John’s and his son’s criminal expertise.” Dan’s leg jackhammered; Ben stopped it with a hand on his thigh.

  “It’s okay, Dan.”

  “I’ll have to go through Ellen. She’ll know her husband best. Whether I can trust him and Jack. That’s why I’m here. I’d like to talk to her, away from Vinnie. Would you ask her up here to see me?”

  “I’ll go get her.” Ben squeezed Dan’s hand.

  Ben left, and after a few minutes, Ellen walked in with a slow gait, looking around the unfamiliar room. “Hi, Dan. What a lovely surprise.” She kissed both his cheeks, then sat next to Dan. “Are you going to see Vinnie?”

  “I’ll stop by after we’ve finished talking.”

  “Good, he’s asking about you. Are we waiting for Ben?”

  “No, this is private. I have something to ask you… and it relates to John and Jack.”

  Ellen stiffened. Dan had noticed this before, whenever John or Jack were mentioned. He thought it was probably a reflex from the years when what followed would be bad news.

  “Ask.”

  “I’ll get to the point. I want to talk to John and Jack about helping me with a personal problem. Will you ask them if they’ll talk to me? I’m not going to beat around the bush. This will be illegal… I want you to know that up front. I don’t like it—and there’s no violence, I guarantee that—but there are risks, especially for Jack on parole. I’d understand if you prefer not to have them involved. All I want to know is if they’ll talk to me, give me advice. Will you do that?”

  “No. I won’t ask. I’ll tell them they have no choice. When do you want to meet?”

  Ellen’s outstretched hand took Dan’s, like Ben’s had moments before. Dan looked down, wondering if there was something on his hand.

  “Tonight, if possible, at my condo. I know it’s short notice, but this is urgent.” Dan couldn’t wait to be rid of the heroin.

  “They’ll be there.”

  ****

  Big John and Jack held their Peroni bottles, refusing glasses. Dan didn’t waste time with small talk.

  “I asked to talk with you because I could use your advice and help,” he explained. “Excuse me if this is insensitive, and I don’t mean any disrespect with what I’m about to say. I know a little about your… er… your activities. That sounds terrible, doesn’t
it? I’m sorry.”

  Big John interrupted. “Just spit it out. We’re criminals. Ellen told us a little, so don’t mince your words. We admit it. Jack’s just finished eighteen months upstate, and he’d still be locked up if not for compassionate leave for Vinnie. So say what you want.”

  Dan’s mouth puckered. “O…kay. I need to plant heroin in someone’s car.”

  A burst of laughter came from Jack. “Look at that, Pops, we’re not the only criminals in the room. Fucking A.”

  Big John glared. “Shut up.”

  “Maybe I better start from the beginning,” Dan said.

  Forty minutes later, Big John and Jack were caught up to the present. Dan was fascinated to watch their criminal minds working out details. Big John was clearly the brain, Jack the brawn, but this was their home territory, and their banter sparkled. For each point one made the other had a counterpoint. It reminded Dan of DV&N planning meetings, except with criminal content. On second thought, maybe DV&N planning was criminal too—certainly in the case of Bill Barrington and Linda Lords.

  Finally, Big John stood. “We’ll need to work out a few more details and I need to talk to a few people. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll meet here. No discussions over the phone. Everything in person, understood?”

  ****

  The coffee was good at Cafe dello Sport on Seventeenth Avenue in Bensonhurst, and the cannòli were filled with fresh ricotta. Big John Briggs was on one side of the table, with Officer Dominic Paganno facing him, two coffees between them, a cannòlo in front of the cop. Paganno was dirty, which anyone could have guessed if they didn’t know already. No advancement in fifteen years, yet Paganno owned his Staten Island home and had a beach house down the Jersey shore. His wife drove a new Lexus and he had a two-year-old BMW. Of course, Officer Paganno used his four-year-old Ford Crown Vic to report for duty at Bensonhurst’s sixty-second precinct, so as not to be seen in his Beemer. But today the BMW was illegally parked in front of the cafe.