Tommy leaned in. I could tell he didn’t want to, but he must have known it would have been a mistake not to. I half-expected Jerzy to jack him in the face with a sucker punch, but he didn’t. When he spoke, he sounded almost friendly.
“The thing is, Tommy, I know you’re fuckin’ covering for your boss. I know he’s in the back room.”
“He’s not.”
Jerzy raised his hand to stop the protest. “I think it’s the stand up way to be, Tommy, my man. Anyone who dimes off his buddies or his boss that easy is a piece of dog shit, you ask me.”
Tommy didn’t reply.
“But,” Jerzy continued, “here’s the rub. We’re going to sit here and sip Granddad’s on the house, my brother and me, until that old, gimpy, fucking worthless whore’s son comes out of the back room. Or until I lose my patience and just head on back myself. Either way, I’m going to find him and then I’ll know you lied to me, Tommy.”
Tommy eyed him carefully, but said nothing.
“Then we got a problem,” Jerzy said. “As much as I admire a stand up guy, I fucking hate being lied to. I know, I know, the two things don’t seem to go together. But that’s me. I’m like that Sesame Street song about one of the things that don’t belong? Only all four belong, even though they’re different. What do they call that, Mick?”
“A paradox,” I said.
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. A fucking paradox.” He turned back to the stocky bartender. “So Tommy, what that adds up to is that I’ll be so pissed that you lied to me that I’ll fuckin’ shoot you in the face until your own mother would swear she was looking at meatloaf and not her baby boy. And then, I’d tell some other guy in a bar in some other city over drinks what a stand up a guy you were. ‘Tough old bastard,’ I’ll tell my drinking buddy. ‘Held his ground and didn’t break. Definitely old school.’ And we’ll drink to your memory, Tommy. Cause that’s all you’ll fucking be. A memory. And nothing more.”
I kept a straight face, but I had to admit I was impressed. Jerzy struck me as a one-trick pony. Bull in a china shop and that’s all. But here he was showing a different play.
Tommy stared at Jerzy for a long while. Finally, he tossed the towel on the bar. “You’re right. He’s in the back. Second door. Same one you was in before.”
“Thanks,” Jerzy said congenially.
Tommy didn’t say a word. He walked to the corner of the bar, grabbed a light jacket and held it in the crook of his arm. “I fucking hate this place, anyway,” he said.
Jerzy and I exchanged a glance. I couldn’t say I blamed him.
Tommy the bartender walked out without another word. He didn’t bother looking back or locking up.
Jerzy slid off his barstool. I realized he knew the whole time where Speedo was. He’d only played Tommy for the sport of it. To dominate another human being. To break him.
And he was good at it.
He headed down the hall, and I followed.
Jerzy didn’t bother knocking on the office door. He jiggled the knob. When it didn’t give way, he simply booted the door open. It sprang open like it was going to come off its hinges. Inside the room, Speedo sat behind his desk, watching porn on a small TV. His eyes snapped to Jerzy and then to me as I followed him inside.
“Put your pecker away,” Jerzy told him, “or I’ll be tempted to rip the little sprout right the fuck off.”
“Wha-?” Speedo started to say, then cut himself off. He wriggled in his seat and pulled his pants back up to his waist.
Jerzy stopped in front of the desk. “You are a fucking lying cunt, Speedo.”
“How…how’s that?” He licked his lips and swallowed.
Jesus, I thought. If he isn’t the guiltiest person I’ve ever seen, I don’t know who is.
“Are you really going to fucking sit there with your pants unbuttoned and half a hard on and fucking lie to me?” Jerzy asked, his tone incredulous. He glanced over at the TV. “Is this gay porn?”
“No!” Speedo protested.
“Looks gay,” Jerzy said. Then he pushed the small TV off the desk with one massive paw. It crashed onto the floor. A small tendril of smoke rose in the air from the smashed pieces of the TV.
“Hey, kid-” Speedo began, but Jerzy cut him off.
“Don’t give me any of that kid shit,” he said. “I’m not a fucking kid and even if I was, I ain’t yours. What I am is the guy you laid some bullshit on a couple of days ago.” Jerzy grinned at him, but there was no humor in it, and no mercy that I could see. “And I don’t like being lied to. Especially by gimpy old rat fuck, bar stealing, big mouthed, gay porn watching pieces of donkey shit named Speedo.”
“I-”
Jerzy hit him so fast that even I didn’t see it coming. He had to lean across the desk to do it, but even so, he caught Speedo flush on the jaw with considerable force. The punch drove the old guy back in his chair. The floor must have been smooth and the wheels well oiled, because he flew straight back, hit the wall and bounced forward. When he landed on his knees where his chair used to be, I could see his head was spinning.
“Don’t you fucking get up,” Jerzy growled. “Because next time, I’ll put you through that wall.”
Speedo took a moment to get his equilibrium back, then looked up to Jerzy. His expression was hard, but he kept both knees on the floor.
Jerzy pulled out his gun and set it on the desk in front of him. “Tommy moved on to greener pastures,” he told Speedo. “So there ain’t a soul to hear this gunshot that gives even half a shit about you. That’s why I’m not going to bother with a silencer when I fucking kill you.”
Speedo struggled to keep a game face on, but it was clear that Jerzy wasn’t kidding. Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes, but he kept his jaw set. He didn’t bother looking to me for mercy.
“You’ve got one chance and one chance only to save your miserable shitty life,” Jerzy said. “You want that chance?”
There was a pause, but then Speedo nodded slightly.
“Good.” Jerzy picked up the gun and it disappeared under his light jacket. “We know you’re the double crossing asshole in this scenario, Speedo. Jimmy did time. Our old man lammed it. But you? You did just fine. Maybe you lost the jewelry, but you made out okay. So Jimmy and our pop have a score to settle with you. And seeing as how the old man ain’t here to collect on that debt, we will.”
“What do you want?” Speedo croaked.
“I just want to kill you,” Jerzy told him. Then he motioned toward me with his head. “But he wants to talk to you about some shit.”
Speedo turned his attention to me. I stepped around to the side of the desk and leaned toward him. “It’s simple,” I said. “The cops got the necklace, but not the earrings. Where are the earrings?”
I expected him to lie some more, so I was surprised when he just deflated. He reminded me of how done Jimmy was. Done with life, done with putting up a fight.
“Your dad had ‘em,” he said, his voice empty.
“I know that,” I lied. “Where’d he put them?”
I expected him to say he didn’t know and then I’d have to turn Jerzy loose on him, but he surprised me again.
“He’s got a safe deposit box,” Speedo whispered hoarsely.
“Where?”
“Bank of America. The one just south of North Avenue and Damen.”
“Under what name?”
“His name,” Speedo said.
I thought about that a second, then looked over at Jerzy. “We’re his heirs. We should be able to access the account.”
Jerzy nodded.
“Nope,” Speedo said.
We both looked at him. “Nope?” I repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a password account. Anyone can access it, as long as you know the account holder’s name and the password.”
Jerzy squinted. He looked over at me. “You ever hear of this shit?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know a ton about banking. It didn’t sound too secure, but I guess it allowed someone to set up an account so that anyone else they wanted to get access could do it. “It’s not like someone is going to walk in and guess the password. That’d take forever.”