She looked around the bar uneasily. “Come on, search me,” she said. “We can talk while we go get my money and my gun.”
She put her arms out and Benny patted her down. He ran his hands up the inside of her legs and checked her crotch, lingering a moment. She didn’t say anything. Then he ran them up the side of her torso and across her breasts, again taking his time. “If you don’t move those hands, I’m going to break your neck,” she said calmly. But she didn’t do anything to stop him. It was almost as if she was letting Benny have his feel.
“What?” Benny said as he withdrew his hands. “I had to make sure you’re not hiding anything in your bra.”
Benny saw Tillie watching the patdown with a puzzled expression on his face. He decided to confuse him a little more. “I left a ten-spot on the bar,” he said over his shoulder as the two of them walked out.
Benny led the woman down a side street to an abandoned building. He pushed open the front door, and they started climbing the stairs.
“I’m up on the fifth floor,” he said. “The rats don’t like to come up here and neither do the junkies. It’s too far a walk.”
Most of the walls on the fifth floor had been knocked out, but Benny had found one intact room. There was a mattress on the floor with sheets and covers on it, and there was even a dresser. Some dress clothes on hangers were dangling from a pipe-obviously Benny’s weekend attire.
Her eyes scanned the room as if she was looking for something. Benny thought it might be the john and felt the need to explain. “There’s a hotel at the end of the block. It’s a pretty seedy joint but I bring the desk guy some goodies once a week-things I find, you know? And he lets me use the facilities in the empty rooms. They’re never full so I don’t have a problem. I’ve even got electricity when I need it. I run a wire across the roof to the next building and hook up. I gotta be careful, though. I only do it when it’s cold-for my portable heater, you know?”
“I’m happy for you, Benny. Now where’s my money and my gun?”
“They’re here, don’t worry. I just thought maybe we could relax, you know?” Benny casually glanced over at his mattress.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she said. “You’re lucky I’m letting you live.”
“Okay, okay.” Benny could tell from her eyes and the tone of her voice that her patience was wearing thin. He walked to the far end of the room to a bare brick wall and started working one of the bricks until it came loose. He reached into the wall and pulled out a wad of bills and the gun. He put the brick back and walked over to where she was standing and handed her the money and the gun.
She paused for a moment as she looked down at the gun, then she handed it back to him. “Keep it,” she said. “You may need it-especially in this neighborhood.”
Benny didn’t want the gun but he never turned anything down. He could sell it down the road if he needed to.
“Tell me something,” she asked as she stashed the money in her overcoat. “Why did you shoot the old man?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” said Benny, his words spilling out. “I haven’t thought about it. I put it out of my mind. I don’t even remember it.” He closed his eyes as he spoke.
“I told you not to shoot. I told you he’d give you the money.”
Benny put his hands over his ears. “I know, I know. I was so fucking high I don’t even remember what I did. You shouldn’t have given me a gun with a hair trigger. And that wasn’t coke you gave me either because I didn’t come down for two days.”
“Don’t blame your fuckups on me,” she said.
“I’m not blaming you, I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, well, don’t say any more. This is the end of our brief love affair. When I walk out of this room you and I are finished. Got it?”
“Got it.” As hot as she was, he had no desire to ever set eyes on her again.
He watched her as she walked down the stairs. Something was bothering him. He had only given her five thousand dollars-instead of the seven she’d insisted on-and she hadn’t checked the amount.
Why didn’t she count the money? he asked himself. And why did she decide to leave the gun with me?
12
New York City, September 1966
Johnny was bigger, stronger, and faster when the next football season rolled around. He worked out for weeks before the start of practice; he even stopped smoking. He took his cue on that from Frankie, who was one of the few guys in the neighborhood who didn’t smoke. Johnny hoped like hell Frankie didn’t stop drinking beer.
Ever since he’d become a member of the Lexingtons, his status in the neighborhood had changed. Johnny wasn’t just an obscure punk anymore-he was one of the guys. And he was part of everything they did, whether it was playing cards at Frankie’s on Friday night, going to Rockaway Beach for the weekend during the summer, or stealing cases of beer from the basement of Fellino’s Market-Mikey had figured out a way to slip through the basement bars. One night they took two cases out and stored them up at Frankie’s apartment.
The next day Sonny Fellino, the owner’s son, a twenty-something-year-old who was big and tough as nails, lined four of them up against the wall in front of the store and grilled them-Johnny and Mikey, Norman Martin and Frankie. Sonny was sure they were the thieves.
“You guys are gonna tell me who did it!” Sonny was yelling at the top of his lungs. “And if it was one of youse and you tell me right now, I’ll go easy on you.”
Nobody believed a word of it. Sonny was a bully. He wore a tight white T-shirt with his Marlboros stuck inside his rolled-up right sleeve. His hair was greased up and combed straight back except for the front, which fell over into his eyes. Admitting to anything was going to get you beaten unmercifully, and then you’d become Sonny’s slave at Fellino’s until he decided the debt had been paid.
They all held tough, however, and Sonny let them go-all except Johnny. Sonny knew he’d never get anything out of Frankie. Hell, Frankie might give him a run for his money if he tried. Same with Mikey-he was young, but he had a reputation of never backing down from anyone. Norman had two older brothers, and Sonny did not want to mess with them. That left Johnny-the weak link.
“C’mere, Johnny, I wanna talk to you,” Sonny said as he motioned him to come away from the wall. Johnny watched the others walk away, each one catching his eye and giving him a look that told him what would happen if he ever talked. He was between a rock and a hard place. He decided he needed to give Sonny something.
“You know who did it, don’t you, Johnny?” Sonny said, his left arm around Johnny’s shoulder. He was so close Johnny could smell his body odor. Johnny knew he would have to make his story good.
“Yeah, I do, Sonny. I mean, I wasn’t involved last night or nothing. Neither were the other guys. I should have told you this when it happened. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Told me what?” Sonny asked impatiently. He was in the mood to beat somebody’s ass, not to talk.
“I saw Billy Reynolds checking out your cellar the other day.”
Johnny instinctively knew that a good story had to have some truth to it, and he had come up with a beauty. Billy Reynolds was the local junkie. Heroin had not yet hit the neighborhood like it eventually would, and Billy stuck out like a sore thumb.
It was not uncommon to see Billy, wild-eyed, walking down the street in the middle of the day carrying a TV he’d stolen or a window fan he’d probably taken right out of somebody’s window. Billy used to go to the local pizza shop on Lexington Avenue, pull wads of jewelry out of his pockets that he’d stolen from who knows where, and try to sell it to Rocco, the owner. Rocco would take a piece of jewelry and ask Billy how much, Billy would start at some outrageous price, and Rocco would have him down to pennies in minutes. Johnny and Mikey were often there to witness the negotiation. It was fun to watch, but it was sad too. Billy stole from the neighborhood, and Rocco and others stole from Billy.