He cranked the radio. An old Heart song came on. I sang along in my head. High school, I always had a thing for them. He nodded, said
“I know her.”
I let that sit then
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, used to run with an old buddy of mine. She’s got a kid, a damaged one, something wrong with him. Like mental stuff.”
I didn’t know what to do with this information so I did nothing with it. We were parking alongside a deli and he said
“She’s a ball buster. Way too much broad for you.”
He indicated I was to get out and I volleyed
“Broad? No one calls babes broads any more.”
I think he gave a slight smile, least that’s the way I want to remember it. I asked
“What’s the deal?”
He straightened his back. He’d hurt it in Philly and it gave him lotsa grief, said
“Guy owes some vig.”
I wasn’t packing anything save attitude, asked
“He gonna be a problem?”
Todd pushed the door, said “Let’s find out.”
He was.
I look back on those days and I’m not proud of what we were doing, but hey, we had to eat. The deli guy, big mother with beefy arms, sneered at Todd, said
“Two-bit punk, you come in here, expect me to hand over my hard-earned dough. The fuck is the matter with you? Can’t you find some decent line of work?”
Todd looked bored, even a touch apologetic, which was him at his most unpredictable. He fired up a smoke, blew a perfect ring, said
“You got kids in school, over at St. Mary’s, right?”
The guys face went nuclear. He roared
“You threatening my family, you no good piece of shit? Get the fuck outa my place before I come over the counter.”
Todd dropped the cigarette, didn’t stub it out, said
“Hey, no need, I’m coming over myself.”
And vaulted the counter in one fluid movement, his back not troubling him then and had the guy in a neck choke, a cleaver under his lips, said
“Want me to take your tongue out?”
This brought back the scene with the doorman and I felt bile rise in my throat. The only two customers were edging towards the exit. The deli guy had balls, I’ll give him that. He managed to spit, the phlegm landing near my shoe. Todd said
“I love it, a hard case.”
And he dug the knife into the guy’s neck. Let it sit for a moment then let him slide to the floor. He grabbed an apple, took a huge bite, said
“Tangy.”
And we were out of there, back in the car, burning rubber. I was trying to catch my breath, and finally managed
“Gee, that was smart, killing him.”
Todd let the window down, flipped the apple core out and said
“It looked worse than it was. An old Boston trick. They think you severed the jugular but it’s only an artery. No biggie. He’ll have a re-focus and presto, the payment will come through. You get your neck slit, it narrows your agenda.”
I didn’t know who he was anymore, if I ever really had. We’d been buddies so long, I never gave any thought as to whether I actually liked him. At that moment, I fucking flat out hated him. He lit another cig, asked
“So, you and Boyle. Tight, huh?”
I savored that, much as he had the apple and sour. Oh yeah. I said
“He doesn’t much like you.”
Todd laughed. Went
“Who the fuck does?”
But he was right. The following week, the deli guy came through.
I called Shannon, my palms covered in sweat, a chick making me nervous. She answered on the third ring and I said
“It’s me.”
A slight intake of breath, then
“I’m going to need a little more than that, fellah.”
She knew, course she did. But hoops, I had to jump through ’em. I sighed, then
“Rocky Sullivan’s, I liked your singing, tried to buy you a brew.”
Another beat, then
“Oh, the drunk Mick. What do you want?”
Jesus.
I nearly slammed the receiver down and how different everything would have been. I wouldn’t have spent ten months in this forsaken shit hole for one but... what? ...I was determined to get the better of her, said
“Hey, you’re the one put your number in my pocket.”
She laughed, that rich sound, said
“I guess I was a little shitfaced me own self, you think?”
And the whole tone of her voice changed. I arranged to take her to a movie the following night. She said she’d meet me on Fifth and 33rd. It crossed my mind that I could have collected her but maybe she didn’t want me to see the damaged kid. I asked myself
“So, her having a kid, how’s that sitting with you all?”
Not easily.
Dress to impress.
Good base plan but the little voice in my head cautioned that she wasn’t going to be easily won over. If I wore a suit, she’d spit on me, that was a given. Too casual, she’d think I didn’t give a flying fuck.
And I did.
So I went to The Gap. You might look like the all-American asshole but at least a tidy one. Chinos, Converse All-Stars, not too new, scuffed along the sides, like I’d been shooting baskets, and a navy blue shirt, accessorize my eyes. A hooker told me that and for a hundred, I felt like believing her. She didn’t of course let me kiss her on the mouth, they never do. Give you a blow job but kissing on the lips? Fuggedditaboutit.
I debated my Yankees jacket but didn’t really want to get into a whole biggie about sports, settled for my battered bomber leather. It had loads of pockets so that was a plus, gave me an Indiana Jones vibe. Tiny hint of cologne, gotta ration that shit real slow or a chick will have your ass, you smell better than her. Checked myself in the mirror, all the young dudes, and gave my hair a careless flick, get that outa bed gig. Hummed Wham’s “Careless Whisper” and I was out of there.
She was late. Gee, what a surprise and when she finally showed, I said
“You’re late.”
She stared at me, then
“What happened to ‘Hello, you look nice?’”
She did, look nice, real nice. White jeans, black T-shirt and Keds. A light tan set the whole deal off. I was standing outside the movie, pointed at the times, said
“We’ve missed the opening.”
She clutched her heart, said
“Oh no, how can I go on?”
Then she linked my arm, said
“C’mon. I’ll buy you a beer and you can do guy stuff like talk about yourself for three hours.”
I smiled in spite of myself.
It was one of those golden New York evenings, not too humid, a light breeze off the Hudson and a buzz in the air. She said
“Let’s walk till we see a place that sings to us.”
Is there an answer to this, an answer that seems related to logic?
She wrinkled her nose, said
“Whoa, buddy. Got a little carried away with the aftershave.”
Fuck on a bike.
She squeezed my arm, said
“Just jerking your chain. You smell real nice.”
And found ourselves on West 44th, the Mansfield Hotel, across the road were The Algonquin and The Iroquois. She said
“James Dean slept there.”
Like I gave a fuck where he slept. Her face had taken on a wistful look. She added
“You look a little like ol’ Jimmy, you know that?”
I said
“Jerking my chain again.”
She stopped, looked me full in the face, said
“Hey, someone gives you a compliment, you go, thank you very much. Okay, you down with that?”
Like I was going to get into a big thing about some fucking dead movie star. I let it slide with
“Whatever.”
She ran a hand through her hair, something I wanted to do and badly, said
“You’re a defensive guy, anyone ever told you that?”