“Do you have any alcohol or drugs in the car?”
“No,” I said.
“We were following you for a few blocks. Your car was swerving pretty badly.”
“Sorry about that,” I said. “It’s just because I’m so tired. I just worked a twenty-hour shift at my job at the factory.”
“Factory?”
“Yeah, I work at a watch factory down by the Navy Yards.”
“You shouldn’t be driving if you’re exhausted.”
“I wouldn’t’ve, but it didn’t hit me until a few minutes ago. But I got my second wind back now.”
“Where does your brother live?”
“Avenue J.”
He stared at me like he knew I was lying. I thought he was going to say “Get out of the car” and ask me to open the trunk. I had no idea what I’d do then, but instead he gave me back my license and registration and said, “Just be careful, pal.”
I drove away, making sure I didn’t swerve. The cop car followed me for a few more blocks and then it pulled over in front of a grocery store. I let out a long deep breath. The way my heart was pounding there was no way I was going to fall asleep at the wheel now.
I stayed on Flatbush for a couple more miles, then I made a right on Avenue U. When I got to Marine Park I made a U-turn and stopped by the curb under a busted lamppost. There were a few cars passing by and I made sure the coast was totally clear before I got out. I opened the trunk and took out the stiff body. Then, walking as fast as I could, I headed toward the marsh.
When I was a kid I used to go fishing in the Marine Park inlet. The water was so polluted I spent most of my time taking garbage off my hook and the only fish I brought home were the ones I found dead on the shore. The land before the shoreline wasn’t as overrun by weeds as I remembered, but maybe this was because I was never there in the winter.
I walked in the darkness over the snow and mud. My feet were wet and cold, but I wanted to make sure I was far enough away from the street before I put the body down. After walking for a little while longer, I was up to my ankles in freezing slush and I couldn’t go any further. I dropped the body instead of putting it down, which turned out to be a big mistake. Slush splashed up all over me, including on my face. I was going to just walk away, but then I decided that it’d probably be a good idea to take the blanket with me. So I unrolled Debbie into the slush. She wound up on her back and at the same moment some clouds must’ve moved away from in front of the moon because, suddenly, there was pale blue light shining down on her white body.
If it was summer, the body would probably be discovered right away. But in the winter, in that mud and slush, they might not find her until March or April.
I got back into my car—first making sure nobody was around—then I drove away. On the off chance that the same cop car was still cruising Flatbush Avenue, I decided to take a different route home. I must’ve gotten my second wind, because I wasn’t tired at all. I pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket on Coney Island Avenue and drove to the back where there was a dumpster. The supermarket was closed and the lot was empty. I got out of the car, tossed the muddy blanket into the dumpster, and drove away. Then I got on the Belt Parkway and headed back toward the city, chugging along in the right lane.
I still had mud all over me and I’d gotten the car dirty too.
Tomorrow I’d clean off my jeans and sneakers and I’d clean the mud out of the car, although I probably didn’t have to. Even if somebody did discover Debbie’s body before the spring, nobody would ever suspect me.
Driving back to Manhattan my second wind was gone. I had to concentrate to stay awake, slapping myself in the face and wiggling my toes. Luckily, there was a spot right in front of my building that would be good until Friday morning at eleven o’clock.
I wobbled up the stairs to my apartment. I yanked the phone cord out of the wall and killed the lights. Then I collapsed onto my open bed and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Fourteen
When I woke up, it was almost noon. I plugged the phone into the wall, figuring I’d give Alan Schwartz a call. Just when I was about to dial, the phone rang.
“Can I speak to Tommy Russo please?”
“This is Tommy.”
“Tommy—Alan Schwartz.”
“This must be a sign of something,” I said. “I was just picking up the phone to call you.”
“I tried you earlier, but there was no answer,” Alan said. “I have some very good news, great news really. Bill Tucker’s going to try to claim a horse on Saturday. It’s the one I mentioned the other day at the restaurant—Sunshine Brandy. We hope you can make it to the track.”
“You kidding?” I said. “I’d have to be dead not to be there.”
“Terrific,” Alan said. “The only one who might not be able to make it is Steve, but he’s going to try to get out of some Bar Mitzvah he has to go to. We’re going to meet in the clubhouse, on the second floor near the escalator, before post time for the first race. I also wanted to apologize to you for the other day. I was wrapped up in this big project at work and I shouldn’t’ve spoken to you the way I did. I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“It was just a misunderstanding,” I said. “I’m sorry too.”
“Great,” Alan said. “Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing you there, Tommy. This should be a lot of fun.”
Suddenly, I was in a great mood. I took a shower then pulled a pair of jeans out of the dirty laundry and put on a hooded sweatshirt. I shaved—only around my neck and my cheekbones. I liked my beard and I was planning to let it grow in all the way.
I was about to leave when I remembered my dirty clothes from last night. I didn’t feel like doing laundry later so I put the muddy sneakers, jeans, and socks into a plastic bag and took it with me.
I took the 6 train downtown to Thirty-third Street and walked a few blocks crosstown. In a garbage can on the corner of Thirty-fourth and Seventh, I dumped the dirty clothes. I knew I couldn’t go to the track on Saturday dressed like a slob—it was going to be my first day as a horse owner and I wanted to look the part—so I went up to the Macy’s men’s department and bought a two-hundred-dollar white suit and a nice black silk shirt, and then I went to the shoe department and bought a hundred-dollar pair of shiny black shoes. Now the money from the Super Bowl robbery was just about gone—I had another thirty bucks in my pocket and another sixty at home—but I wasn’t worried. I knew there’d be a lot more where that came from.
On my way home, I stopped at a jewelry store and had my gold barbell chain repaired, then I went to Smith & Wollensky on Third Avenue and had a burger with fries for lunch. Back at my apartment, I hung up my new clothes, and spent the rest of the afternoon on my couch, watching soap operas.
At around five-thirty I went to work. There was a pretty big Thursday night happy-hour crowd. Gil was working behind the bar so I figured Gary still wasn’t coming to work. There were people at the bar, shouting orders, so I went to give Gil a hand. After I took a few orders and added a couple of dollars in tips to the tip jar, we finally had a chance to take a breather.
“Thanks a lot,” Gil said. “It was starting to get crazy here.”
We were listening to one of his shitty reggae CDs.
“You mind if I put in some Blondie?” I said.
“Go ahead,” he said.
I put Parallel Lines in the CD player then I said to Gil, “So Gary’s not coming in tonight, huh?”
“You didn’t see the sign on the front of the bar?”
“What sign?”
“Frank’s looking to hire a new night-time bartender. It looks like Gary’s gone for good.”