“Leonard, I have to go away this weekend,” she said. “Let’s talk again on Monday after your court hearing. Maybe we’ll figure something out, but even if we don’t, at least it will give us a chance to see each other.”
I nodded. I still couldn’t look at her. I wanted to believe there was a genuineness in what she was saying, and that she wasn’t just trying to keep the con going as long as there was still a glimmer of hope in pulling it off. From her voice it sounded like there was a chance that it was that way, but I didn’t want to risk looking into her eyes and having my fantasy squashed.
We agreed on where and when to meet on Monday, then her lips touched lightly against my cheek as she kissed me.
“That was so sweet of you buying me this jacket,” she said.
My head turned and I caught the look in her eyes. It wasn’t just a con any more. Not entirely, anyway. She gave my hand one last squeeze so that her fingernails left small indentations in my skin, then, smiling weakly at me, she walked off into the rain. I stood silently and watched her as she hurried down the sidewalk and disappeared from sight. Minutes after she was gone I still stood silently as I thought things over. What I should’ve done next was head back to my apartment so I could take a shower and dry off properly. Instead, though, I trudged off to the public library.
It rained constantly that weekend. Saturday morning I felt like a caged animal as I stayed inside my apartment. I was too anxious to sit still, and pretty quickly gave up trying to read the book that I had picked up. My mind kept racing, both thinking about Sophie and what the zoo atmosphere was going be like when I went to the Chelsea District Courthouse on Monday. I also kept thinking about who would be there waiting for me.
I ate an early lunch, frying a sausage and cutting it up so I could add it to a can of minestrone soup, but in the state of mind I was in I could barely taste any of it. By one o’clock I found myself pacing the apartment, too agitated to do much else. I grabbed my jacket and umbrella then and ventured out to a local movie theatre that was a half-mile from my apartment. It was nasty walking with the rain coming down almost horizontally and the umbrella doing little to protect my pants legs and shoes, but I was glad to be out of my apartment, and even though my mind was drifting too much to follow the movie I ended up seeing, I felt better sitting in that dark room with noises and random images to distract me. It didn’t matter that my head was hurting worse than usual and my pants and shoes were soaked – I felt more relaxed sitting there. Maybe it took me back to my childhood, I don’t know. But I ended up sitting through two showings of the movie, and I couldn’t tell you a thing about it.
After leaving the movie house, I stopped off at a bar for an early dinner and several beers. I could’ve had several more easily enough, but I had my job to go to later that night.
Later, when I showed up at the office building, there was a different man working security. He was just as tight-lipped as the kid who was usually there, and like the kid, didn’t say a word to me as I checked out the keys. He wasn’t any kid, though. He was at least my age, probably older, white hair framing a face that was as wrinkled as any turtle’s.
Work went by fast. I had left my radio back in the apartment, not wanting to risk the rain damaging it. That night, though, I didn’t mind the silence. It helped having all those menial tasks to focus my thoughts on, and I ended up finishing an hour early. I spent the extra hour sitting in a third-floor office and watching the rain come down. At two o’clock, when I checked the office keys back in, the old man filling in at security avoided eye contact with me, and I left the building without the two of us exchanging a single word.
The streets were desolate as I made my way back to my apartment. The only sign of life were some rats in an alleyway that had converged by an open garbage bin. I stopped to watch them for a while, then continued on.
That night I had an erotic dream about Sophie. The two of us were alone in an unfamiliar room. Sophie stood shivering in front of me, an uneasiness in her eyes, although she didn’t say anything as I undressed her. My mouth became dry as I studied her thin but still near-perfect naked body; her slender hips, the slight bulge to her stomach, the small patch of pubic hair, her breasts – no bigger than a handful, but the sight of them making my head pound. While I looked her over, her olive complexion brightened to a crimson. I ran my thumb over her perfect pink nipples and felt them as they hardened.
I could see the pleading in her eyes as I lifted her and carried her to a bed, but she didn’t say anything and any objections she might’ve had stayed buried in her throat. I positioned her so she was on her knees. Her skin was hot, nearly burning, and the feel of her small hips made me breathless. I penetrated her from behind and I pushed myself over and over again into her, the only sound coming from her being soft gasps, maybe sobs, I wasn’t sure which.
I woke up having stained my underwear. My erection grew soft, and I lay frozen, desperately trying to hold on to the way it felt in my dream being with Sophie and the way she had looked naked, but it was gone.
It was dark in my room. I stared bleary-eyed at my alarm clock until I could see that it was only four in the morning. I pushed myself out of bed, stripped off my underwear and washed it in the bathroom sink. After hanging it up to dry, I took a shower, then, after dressing, sat in my recliner and tried to read one of my books. My mind kept drifting too much to pay any attention to what I was trying to read, but I needed to do something to kill time until the sun came out.
chapter 23
1991
Fred Marzone’s in the motel room next to me screwing the shit out of a hooker. I can hear them through the cheaply plastered wall, which is probably no thicker than a piece of cardboard. I know she’s a hooker. I was watching Marzone’s room from across the street when she arrived. Just a kid, really. Not much flesh on her, not enough anyway, her arms and legs looking like broomsticks with her dressed up in hot pants, a tube top, and cheap gold stiletto heels. Way too much makeup on her as well. It made me think of my daughter when she used to play dress-up.
It was lousy timing her showing up when she did. Marzone must know there’s a hit on him; it’s the only thing that explains why it’s been such a pain in the ass tracking him down, and why he’s holed up now at a fleabag roadside motel in Lynn. I’d only just found Marzone and was preparing myself to kick down his motel room door and put a few bullets in his head when I saw the hooker coming out of nowhere. I slipped back into the shadows then and watched as she walked hesitantly to his door and knocked on it, and then Marzone letting her in. After that I checked out the neighboring room, found that it was empty, and was able to easily pick the lock. Now I’m settled in and listening to her moaning while Marzone’s grunting away like a rutting pig.
Lombard would probably be putting a hit on me if he knew I was sitting here waiting for them to finish up and for that hooker to leave instead of just busting in and icing the both of them. I can imagine what Lombard would be yelling at me if he knew what I was doing now. Why the fuck you sittin’ on your ass? For Chrissakes, who the fuck’s going to give a shit about some crack addict whore? Do your goddamned job!
It’s almost like I can hear him growling in my ear. But the thought of taking out this skinny hooker with way too much makeup on makes me sick to my stomach, especially given that the kid’s last few minutes are going to be taking Marzone’s five inches up her ass. No one should have to die with that being their last few moments on earth. What’s the harm in showing a little patience? So Marzone’s brains will be blown out later tonight instead of right now, what’s the harm in that?