by Parnell Hall
The other man and I shook our sons together; and smiled at the common knowledge.
Tommie and I washed our hands, and went on to the petting area. We fed a goat and a sheep, at twenty-five cents a whack for a handful of food from the machine. I’m not sure, but I think when he was younger, it was only a dime. And he’s only five.
After the Children’s Zoo, Tommie wanted to ride the Skyfari. He loves the Skyfari, a tiny green cable car that carries you high over the top of the zoo. I am slightly less enthusiastic—I can never help checking the bolts and wondering what keeps the damn thing from falling down, but I ride it for his sake.
We waited in line for fifteen minutes. Then an attendant locked us in our own private car, and, after a minute and a half, during which the two cars in front of us took off, we lurched forward, and swayed up into the sky.
I checked the creaking nuts and bolts while Tommie peered happily out the windows saying things like, “We’re higher than the trees!” which gladdened my heart.
We passed over the restaurant and the duck pond, and the reptile and ape houses. As we passed over the mountain goats, I looked out at the meadow in the distance where the giraffes stood among the trees.
A boy near the fence frightened a small giraffe, which shied away and ran on stilt-like legs. The other giraffes hadn’t seen what had frightened him, but they saw him running, so they ran too.
I stared at the giraffes. A simple fact of nature. Scare the weakest one and they all run.
“Daddy, look at the giraffes!” Tommie cried.
“I see them,” I told him.
“Aren’t they funny?” he said. He had to ask me twice.
“Yes they are,” I told him.
I knew what I had to do.
25.
LEROY TWIRLED THE COGNAC AROUND in his glass and pursed his lips. “I’m not certain that I understand you correctly,” he said. “You want a what?”
We were sitting in Leroy’s living room in Queens. I had declined his offer of champagne or cognac, and was contenting myself with a Diet Pepsi Free.
I repeated my request.
Leroy frowned. “You will pardon me for asking, but just what do you want with a gun?”
“You’re better off not knowing,” I told him.
Leroy nodded judiciously. “That bad,” he said. He cocked his head in my direction. “Do you think I’d be stupid enough to engage in my chosen profession while in possession of a gun?”
“Certainly not,” I said. “I just thought you might have picked up some rare curio somewhere in your travels.”
Leroy smiled. He got up, and went up the stairs to his bedroom. He returned minutes later carrying a nasty-looking piece of machinery.
“Now this,” Leroy said, “is a genuine German Luger from World War II. I cannot swear to the number of G.I.’s it has punctured in its day, since I am not familiar with its pedigree. But I can vouch for its authenticity.”
He held it out to me. I took it gingerly. I’m scared shitless of guns.
“Is it loaded?” I asked him.
“It is not,” Leroy said. “That is its only drawback. It has no ammunition.”
I turned the gun over in my hands. It still scared me, even knowing it wasn’t loaded. I took the grip in my hand, put my finger on the trigger. I aimed at what I assumed was a genuine Degas, or at least a genuine something. If Leroy were wrong, it was going to cost him, not me.
I pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. I lowered the gun and looked at Leroy.
“That’s all right,” I said. “I don’t need any bullets.”
Leroy looked at me curiously. “Might I inquire,” he said, “what you intend to do with a gun and no ammunition?”
I shook my head. “Believe me, Leroy, you don’t want to know.”
26.
RED HIT TOWN AT THREE in the morning, just as he’d done before. My wife didn’t have to wake me up this time. I’d estimated his time of arrival, and I was in the living room waiting for him. I was dressed and ready to roll when the unit picked up his signal.
I’d rented another car, a big, black Chevy, and outfitted it the day before. I packed up my briefcase, went out, and got in the car.
I didn’t make the mistake of heading downtown this time. Red was a creature of habit. He’d stick to the tried and true and come in over the bridge.
I got on the highway and headed uptown. When I reached the bridge ramp I kept going, got on the bridge, and went over to Jersey. I got off at the Fort Lee exit, turned left, crossed over the highway, and went down one of the access roads to the bridge. I stopped at the booth and paid my two dollars, and drove over the bridge again. Probably the nicest trip I’ve ever made to Jersey.
I came down the ramp off the bridge and got onto the highway heading south. I drove down a few hundred yards, found a breakdown alcove, pulled off and waited. All right,
Red, I’m ready. Just don’t fuck up and change anything on me.
Red didn’t. The tracking unit showed he was heading straight for the bridge. Ten minutes later he came over, and the machine went crazy again as he went through the exit loop.
There were no cars on the highway. The lights coming up on me had to be him. The tracking unit confirmed the fact.
As he went by, I pulled out and gave chase. He had a lead, but I sped up to sixty-five and closed the gap. I rolled down my window, and slapped the red, flashing light which I had rented, onto the top of the car and switched it on. I gave a blast on my mock siren. It sounded pretty damn good.
Red heard it. I saw his head go up and see the flashing lights in his rear-view mirror.
I hoped he wouldn’t panic and run; that would have spoiled everything, but somehow Red hadn’t seemed the type for that. I figured he’d be more apt to feign innocence, talk fast, and hope for the best.
I figured right. Red’s brake lights came on, and he pulled over to the side and stopped.
I stopped behind him. It might have been better procedure to cut him off from the front, but I didn’t want him to see me or my license plate.
When I got out of the car I felt slightly unsteady on my feet, and for the first time I realized how scared I was. I had to tell myself, Red’s the weak one, Red’s the one who’s gonna be scared. But what if I’m wrong? What if Red has a gun and decides to pull it? He’s sitting on twenty kilos of coke. He can’t afford to get caught; what if he’s got a gun? Bullshit. Red’s a pantywaist. He’s the weak one. Scare the weak one and they all run. Just do it.
I walked up next to the driver’s side door. I’d kept my face averted on the way. Now, with the top of his car blocking my head from view, I reached up and pulled a ski-mask over my head.
Red had rolled down his window and just begun his, “Gee officer, what did I do?” spiel, when I leaned down and stuck the Luger square in his face.
“All right, Asshole,” I growled. “Give me the car keys.”
Whatever anxiety I might have had about Red pulling a gun vanished the moment I saw his reaction. I don’t know if he peed in his pants, but if he didn’t he must have just made a pit stop. I never saw a guy so terrified. I felt bad about frightening some poor respectable citizen out of his wits, but respectable citizens shouldn’t be making drug runs for guys who go around cutting people’s dicks off.
Red seemed incapable of complying with my request, so I reached over him and yanked the keys from the ignition.
“Get down on the floor,” I told him. “And don’t move.”
He might not have heard me. I poked him with the gun and he got the picture. He hit the floor.
“Don’t move or I’ll kill you,” I said.
I hurried to the back of the car, popped the trunk, and pulled out the suitcase. I bent down, grabbed the transmitter and wrenched it off the bottom of the gas tank. I slammed the trunk shut, ran and threw the suitcase and the transmitter in the back seat of my car. I hurried back to Red’s car. Red hadn’t moved.
“All right, Asshole,” I said. “Just
listen. I’m not going to kill you if you do as I say, so listen good. I’m driving off. I’ll drop your car keys in the middle of the road about a hundred yards south. I could throw ’em in the river, but I’m just a nice guy. I don’t want to see your head in that window, or I’ll blow it off. You wait a full five minutes after I drive off. If you don’t, I’ll know, and I’ll kill you. After that, you’re free to get your keys and go. Got it, Asshole?”
There was no response.
“I said, got it, Asshole?”
A whimpered “yes” came from the floor.
I ran to my car, hopped in, pulled off the ski-mask, pulled the light off the car, and drove off. I dropped Red’s keys out the window as I’d told him I would. I went on down the highway obeying the speed limit. I sure as hell didn’t want to be stopped.
I pulled up in front of my office building, lugged the suitcase out of the back seat, and went in. At least the elevator was on the ground floor. I took it up, unlocked my office, threw the suitcase in, locked the door, and left. I didn’t have to look in the suitcase. I knew what was in it. It would be pure, too. Red wouldn’t have the knowledge or the guts to cut it, as Albrect had done.
Back outside, I went to a pay phone on the corner and called Tony Arroyo. He must have been letting the casino run itself, because he was home. The phone rang ten times, then his bleary voice answered.
“Hey, Shithead,” I said. “I got news for you and it ain’t good.”
“What? Who is this?”
“Never mind, Shithead. Just listen. In about a half an hour your errand boy’s gonna call you up with some bullshit story about how some guy in a ski-mask held him up and took his suitcase. Before you decide to stick his dick in his mouth, I just wanted to let you know that his bullshit story is true.”
I hung up the phone, got in the car, and drove home. It was late, and I was tired. Let Tony wait up for developments.
27.
I WOKE UP THE NEXT morning in a cold sweat. Jesus Christ, what had I done? I’d just ripped off a half a million dollars from a group of guys who went around killing people. And I’d left two tape recorders there as a calling card. Still, I’d covered my tracks pretty well, rented the car using a fake driver’s license supplied by the same shop that made me the bank I.D. The machines couldn’t be traced to me. I was still safe. Then why the cold sweat?
“My god, what’s the matter?” my wife asked.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I told her, but it was no go. The sheets were drenched with sweat.
“You’re burning up with fever,” she said, and it was only after taking my temperature and proving to her that it was normal that I was able to persuade her that I was well enough to go to work.
I drove out to Woodmere. I knew it was risky as hell, but I had to get those tapes. I made three passes by the place before I actually stopped. There seemed to be an unusual amount of activity around Pluto’s place today, cars going in and out of the driveway, people talking in the yard. But then I’m just a natural coward. Still, I told myself, this time I’m in my own car and my license plate could be traced.
Finally, I pulled in behind the parked car. I lifted the trunk. Both tapes had been used, and the one on the room was still going. I wasn’t about to wait for it to stop. I ripped both tapes from the machines, threaded fresh tape in, reset the machines, closed the trunk, and got the hell out of there. This time I took the repairman costume.
I think my heart stopped pounding somewhere around Shea Stadium. I beat it back to my office and played the tapes.
This time the phone calls got interesting. There were a few routine calls first, then this:
“Hello?” That was Pluto’s man, Tall, Dark, and Ugly.
“It’s Tony. Get me Victor.”
TDU: “You out of your fucking mind? You know what time it is?”
TONY: “It’s important. Wake him up.”
TDU: “Are you kidding?”
TONY: “Wake him up, damn it!”
There was a pause, then:
PLUTO: “Damn it, Tony, this better be important.”
TONY: “It is. Forrester got ripped off.”
PLUTO: “What?”
TONY: “Someone held Forrester up and took the suitcase.”
PLUTO: “How do you know that?”
TONY: “I just got a phone call. Some guy, I don’t know who. He said in about a half an hour I’d get a call from Forrester saying someone held him up and ripped him off. He just wanted to let me know that that was absolutely true.”
PLUTO: “The guy said Forrester would be calling up to tell you this?”
TONY: “Yeah.”
PLUTO: “Then get off the fucking phone so Forrester can call you and we can find out what the fuck is going on around here.”
The next call was even better. Pluto answered it himself, a good indication of his interest in the matter.
PLUTO: “Tony?”
TONY: “Yeah. He just called.”
PLUTO: “And?”
TONY: “Same thing. Exactly what the guy said. Some guy forced him off the West Side Highway and took the suitcase.”
PLUTO: “What guy?”
TONY: “He doesn’t know. He was wearing a ski-mask.”
PLUTO: “Well, what the fuck does he know?”
TONY: “The guy was in a black car of some kind. He doesn’t know the make or year. He had a light on top and a siren. He pretended he was a policeman and pulled Forrester over. When he got out, he was wearing a ski-mask and holding a gun. He put Forrester on the floor and ripped him off.”
PLUTO: “That’s all he knows?”
TONY: “So he says.”
PLUTO: “Would he recognize the guy’s voice?”
TONY: “Probably not. He said the guy just grunted and growled.”
PLUTO: “Sound like the guy who called you?”
TONY: “Yeah. It does.”
A pause.
PLUTO: “Any chance Forrester is in on this?”
TONY: “Not a chance in the world. He wouldn’t have the guts to rip his grandmother off. It was all I could do just to talk him into making the run.”
PLUTO: “O.K. He’s probably clean. Tell him to go home and forget it. Tell him to keep in touch.”
TONY: “That’s gonna scare the shit out of him.”
PLUTO: “I can’t help that. We got our own problems.”
TONY: “Yeah.”
PLUTO: “Is he where you can reach him?”
TONY: “Yeah. He’s hanging out at a pay phone, shitting in his pants.”
PLUTO: “O.K. Tell him to go home. Then get the hell over here.”
They hung up. I figured the next important conversation would be on the room bug, but I ran the telephone tape ahead anyway. I was right. There were two phone calls from the next morning, rapidly terminated by Tall, Dark, and Ugly. Neither caller got through to Pluto.
I switched to the other tape. I had to wade through a lot of meaningless shit from the day before before I got what I wanted. It was Pluto ushering Tony into the room.
PLUTO: “So? Anything new?”
TONY: “Not yet.”
PLUTO: “What about Forrester?”
TONY: “I sent him home.”
PLUTO: “He give you any trouble?”
TONY: “No. He’s scared to death.”
PLUTO: “You tell him not to talk?”
TONY: “Sure. I read him the riot act. Don’t worry. I told you he’s scared to death.”
PLUTO: “Yeah. O.K.” (shouted) “Carlos!” (that would be Tall, Dark, and Ugly) “Get in here!”
I heard the sound of Carlos entering the room.
PLUTO: “Sit down, Carlos. We gotta talk something over. I want you here.”
TDU: “Sure, boss.”
PLUTO: “Briefly, someone ripped off the shipment last night.”
TDU: “So I gathered.”
TONY: “How you know that?”
TDU: “Come on. That’s my job.”
PLUTO: “Yeah, fi
ne, stop congratulating yourself and be some help to me. O.K. we gotta figure out who did this and we gotta figure it out fast. I’m gonna have to call Ospina on this. He’s not gonna want to have any part of it. It was my messenger, my fuckup, so I’m gonna have to eat it. He’s got his money, he’s not gonna wanna split the loss. But I’ll have to call him. Now, before I do, I wanna know what the hell’s been going on around here.”
TONY: “What do you mean?”
PLUTO: “Am I not making myself clear? Our man got ripped off en route. Aside from us, who the fuck knew he was bringing in the stuff? ’Cause one way or another, there’s been a fucking leak.”
TONY: “That’s right.”
TDU: “Yeah.”
PLUTO: “So who the fuck was it?”
TONY: “How about Forrester himself?”
PLUTO: “You think that?”
TONY: “No. I don’t. I mean, I’d like to think that, it would be nice, but, realistically, not in a million years. He’s just too scared.”
PLUTO: “He might not brag a little? To someone he wouldn’t think would know what he was talking about?”
TONY: “No. Someone else might, but not him.”
PLUTO: “Not even to his wife?”
TONY: “Especially not to his wife. Believe me, I know his type.”
PLUTO: “O.K. You’re sure, you’re sure. I gotta go with that.”
TDU: “How about at the other end?”
PLUTO: “Well, that’s the other thing, and that’s why I gotta call Ospina and try to shift some of the burden down there, but it ain’t gonna be easy. The guy got ripped off at our end. You wanna make Ospina believe someone followed him all the way from Miami to rip him off in New York, well that’s a problem. It’d be a smart as hell move, by the way, but it’s still hard to believe anyone’d do that.”
