I nodded. “I do, Max. If I get in trouble, you’re in trouble.”
“You got it. I guess you haven’t lost all your marbles.” He crushed what remained of his cigar with its brothers in the ashtray. “Well, on the plus side, I’ve made up my mind about Police Chief Bogen. I don’t have any choices now. If he moves against us,” he shrugged, “well, I gotta protect my side businesses.”
“Side businesses?”
Max chuckled. “Manny,” he chided. “Let’s just say our El Marrow associates appreciate our… out-of-town perspective. That’s not something I can afford to jeopardize, especially if both of us want to stay chlorophyll-free.”
I felt a chill. Could Max be talking about Hector LeMans? How close had I come to working for both sides?
“Anyway,” Max went on, biting the end off another cigar and lighting it, “this is what I really wanted to talk to you about—I’m gonna take care of Bogen, and I know I promised you a taste, but you’re not gonna get it, not after the gag you just pulled.”
“Well, I understand, Max, and I’d do the same thing in your place,” I said, feeling relieved in more than one way. “You know, I would’ve asked to be let out if you hadn’t already insisted. I know enough to admit when I’ve fucked up.”
“That’s mighty white of you, Manny,” Max said, suddenly relaxing completely. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.” He waved over to the drinks trolley. “Pour us a couple, huh?” He leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with his underworldly business acumen, and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling.
“You got it, Max,” I said. As I poured a shot of rye for Max and a scotch and soda for myself, I felt Max staring at me. I turned and asked, “You got something else on your mind, Max?”
He chewed on his cigar a little before saying, “I don’t think my message couldn’t have gotten you here this quick. I’m thinking maybe there’s something on yours.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly remembering why I had come over, “I wanted to talk to you about Charlie’s money.” Max started to laugh. “No, seriously,” I said, “he says you have a lot of it.”
“Oh, I got a lot of it,” he said, laughing harder, “but none of it’s his. What’s he been feedin’ you, anyway?”
“Just fish stories,” I said. Max roared and pounded his desk. Phantom tears appeared at the corners of his eye sockets. I finished the drinks and gave Max his. “He was saying something about a suitcase full of money?”
Max’s laughter stopped like someone switching off a radio. “You don’t wanna be askin’ about that,” he warned.
“Probably not,” I said, “but I need something from him. Do you at least have the suitcase? Or one like it?”
“You wanna cross him up?” Max asked. I got an impression of raised eyebrows.
“Something like that.”
Max shook his head. “I don’t know, Calavera. He may be all by himself, but he can be very dangerous.”
“Well, if I get what I need, I’ll be leaving town for a while.”
“Hey, that’s great, Manuel,” Max said. “No one deserves a vacation more than you. You know, that might make it easier to deal with Bogen, too.” He paused to throw back his rye. “OK, I’ll play along. I’ll get you that suitcase.” Max chuckled. “In fact, he can have the money back, too. That’ll make the setup perfect!” Max seemed to be almost talking to himself, so I kept quiet. “OK, you go into the lounge for a while. Wait ten minutes and you’ll find the suitcase by the elevator. I know I can trust you to keep your mitts out of the sugar.” That last was part faith and part warning. It was almost enough to make me feel guilty about using him.
“OK, Max,” I said, downing my liquid courage in one gulp.
Ten minutes later I went back to the elevator and picked up the suitcase. On the way down I got an itch that had to be scratched. “I wonder what’s really in here,” I said to myself as I popped it open. “¡Dios mío!” I exclaimed. “It’s full of Double-N tickets! This could get a hundred souls on the Number Nine train!” I quickly shut the case. “Something’s not right about this,” I grumbled to the air around me. Maybe Max was setting me up. He was a gangster, after all. I had screwed up and it would make sense if he wasn’t as forgiving as he had seemed. Well, I was kind of committed. It was either keep going down or take the car back up to the lounge and find a window to jump out of. Bad as things might be, that wouldn’t have done the trick.
When the doors opened, there was no one in sight but the guy you had to show your pass card to. He made no move to stop me. When I came out of the little corridor into the main concourse, however, there was Charlie holding a gun. “All right, Manny,” he said, “give me the case.”
“Charles!” I said. “I thought we had a bargain!”
“Oh, we do,” he said, “but I thought I’d bring a little muscle along just in case you wanted to get cute.” He waggled the gun in a way he probably thought was menacing.
“What’s the matter, Chuck?” I needled. “Can’t afford to hire goons to do this sort of work for you?”
“I’m all the goon I need!” he snapped. “Now drop it!”
“You said it, boss.” I put the suitcase down between us and took a step back, holding up my hands. Even if Charlie wasn’t all the goon he thought he was, a daisy maker is a daisy maker no matter whose finger was on the trigger. “Got a card for me?”
“Here.” Charlie took a card out of his breast pocket and dropped it at his feet. He picked up the suitcase and started to back away. “Welcome to the union, Manny. Meetings first Tuesday of every month. Don’t forget to pay your dues.” He turned and trotted off.
“Don’t forget to pay my dues… hmpf!” I said as I picked up the card. It looked OK. As far as I knew.
Trouble with Carla
I felt a little wobbly. A delayed reaction from having a sproutella gun pointed at me, I guess. I decided to leave through the LOL terminal. Since it was still the Day of the Dead, it should be pretty quiet over there and I didn’t want to be seen shaking like a leaf, not when it would be known that I had just been visiting Max. Metaphorical tongues would wag.
I had intended to just pass by the security gate, but when I came into view Carla exclaimed, “Wow! Manny Calavera! You never come up here anymore.” It hadn’t even occurred to me that she might be working that night.
“Well,” I said, coming over to her desk, hoping I hadn’t flinched too obviously, “I thought you could use the company, what with everyone gone for the Day of the Dead.”
“In that case, Manny,” she said, sounding very pleased, “why don’t you stick around until six? That’s when I get off,” she purred. I could sense a wink emphasizing the propositional double entendre.
“Busy night?” I asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Everybody’s home for the holiday. This place is dead and I’m bored, Manny… bored.”
“So, how’d you get stuck working tonight?”
“Believe it or not, it was my own bright idea. Last year, there was this huge fight between my sister and her husband. For all I know they’re divorced… or worse. I kinda don’t want to know, you know? Working gives me an excuse to stay away. How about you?”
I shrugged. “There’s no one back home I want to see. Haven’t been there for years, ’cept on business, and I know you don’t want to hear about that.”