Yard Dog Page 14

  The old woman blushed, turning a deeper walnut. She said, “You’re a nice man, a nice man,” as she scampered toward the kitchen.

  I pulled back a chair but remained standing. Little Vito held out his hand. I shook it.

  “Really glad you could make it, Jack. We’ve got to clear the air, you and I.”

  Vito gestured to my chair. I remained standing. He smiled and took his seat. Then I sat down.

  Rosie brought the beers. Ice-cold Coronas. For a split second I wondered about poison, then I decided it wasn’t Vito’s style.

  The beer was cold and delicious. I stopped myself from draining the bottle in one pull and then stared across the table at Vito.

  “I figure you know why Tommy called this meeting.”

  Little Vito laughed. He sounded like a mule caught in a cement mixer. “Tommy called this meeting? I called this meeting. As I said, we’ve got to clear the air.”

  I nodded. “I’m listening.”

  “First off, I want to apologize for my guy on Spadina. I wanted to meet you so I sent him to extend an invitation. You broke his nose, you know.”

  I shrugged. “He pulled a gun on me. He’s lucky he’s still alive.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, it was a mistake and I’m sorry.” Vito drained his beer. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot. I’ve asked around about you, Jack. Everyone says you’re the best.”

  “I’m just a guy trying to make a living.”

  The mule-in-cement-mixer laugh again. “Aren’t we all. You realize, of course, there’s better career opportunities than working for Tommy.”

  “Like, say … working for you?”

  “Seems to me that a man of your talents would only be happy working for the boss.”

  “Tommy’s dad is the boss.”

  “Come on, Jack. You and I both know The Old Man is hanging by a thread. When he dies, God forbid, there’s going to be an organizational shift. Tommy knows this. Why do you think he’s got you running all over the city? He’s trying to collect as much cash as he can. Not for the organization, but for himself. You watch. He’s going to get that cash and do a quick fade.”

  “I don’t think so. Tommy wants more than that.”

  Vito ignored that sentence. He rumbled on. “Now, I wouldn’t be against Tommy taking an extended vacation. He’s had some hard knocks in this life. Maybe he’s earned the right to sit on a faraway beach with a book and a beer.”

  “Books aren’t really his thing.”

  “Oh no? When he was a teenager he always had his nose buried in a book. Fantasy-type stuff. Elves and flying dragons. Quests for the princess. It was better than another beatdown from The Old Man.”

  “You knew about that.”

  Vito nodded. “Everyone knew. You didn’t have to be Kojak to follow the bruises straight back to The Old Man’s fist.” Little Vito shrugged his massive bear-like shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, my old man smacked me around, too. We were all raised like that. Our dads, they knew the world is a hard place. They wanted to prepare us. But Tommy’s dad … well, I don’t want to say too much. It’s not my place to get between a father and a son.”

  “The way Tommy sees it, this is a family business.”

  “Tommy sees it right. Did you know I’m The Old Man’s cousin? Yeah, we used to pal around at Easter time. My dad would roast an entire lamb on the spit in our backyard. Tommy’s dad and I, we would sneak under the tables, trying to steal glasses of wine and look up all the women’s dresses. Kid stuff, you know? Man, we had some good times.”

  Little Vito looked hazily off into dreamland. Rosie appeared with a platter of chiles rellenos. Little Vito smiled. “I hope you’re hungry, Jack. This is just the tip of the iceberg.”

  I speared a chile with my fork. Drops of red grease splattered across my white plate. The chiles were damn delicious: meaty, cheesy, spicy.

  Little Vito raised his napkin and wiped cheese from his chin. “Tommy’s a good kid, but he’s not a leader. Do you understand? This organization … it’s a heavy thing, Jack. The weight of the world gets dumped on your shoulders. Tommy … I’m not saying he couldn’t do it. I’m just saying there’s better people for the job.”

  “Like you.”

  Vito nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like me.”

  My knife scraped across my plate as I cut my chile into little pieces. “Tommy says you owe him money.”

  An amused half smile tweaked the edge of Vito’s lips. “Is that what he says? How much?”

  “A lot.”

  “So let me ask you this, Jack. Say I was to give Tommy this money he says I owe him. Call it a bon voyage present. Would he do the right thing?”

  “The right thing being giving you the keys to the kingdom.”

  “I’m not thinking about myself here, Jack. This is a big organization. A lot of families with a lot of mouths to feed.”

  My plate was empty. I looked at Vito. “Now let me ask you a question. Say Tommy does decide to head down to some faraway beach. Could you rest easy? Could you run The Empire with an untroubled mind?”

  Vito shrugged. “That’s entirely up to Tommy. He wants to leave peacefully, I got no problems with that.”

  Rosie brought in a deep dish of chicken enchiladas swimming in green sauce. I kept staring into Vito’s eyes. He smiled. That’s when I knew there was no way in hell he was going to let Tommy leave.

  We sat and we spouted more bullshit and we ate enchiladas. We talked about horse racing and baseball. We talked about inflation, how the price of shit is on the rise. We talked about the state of the world (fucked) and politics (fucked) and global warming (we’re all fucked). I finished my enchiladas and stood up.

  “You’re leaving already? Don’t you want dessert? Rosie makes a mean sopaipilla.”

  “I’ve got to get going. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “Hey, I understand. You’re a busy guy. Well, you tell Tommy to think it over. I hear Costa Rica is nice this time of year.”

  CHAPTER 37

  “Fuck no!” Tommy was on the warpath, snarling across his office while his minions cringed. “This is bullshit, Jack, and you know it’s bullshit.”

  “Yeah. It’s bullshit.”

  “That little prick thinks he can muscle me out of my own organization. Fuck that! And fuck him!” Tommy turned and hurled his heavy crystal Scotch glass at the mirror running the length of his office bar. Glass shattered.

  “Seven years of bad luck,” Tommy’s bodyguard muttered.

  “Shut the fuck up, Rocco! You superstitious fuck.”

  Tommy stumbled over to the bar and splashed Scotch into a fresh glass. “That prick. That motherfucking, cocksucking prick. What has he ever done? He’d be nothing without my dad. Without my dad that stupid fucker would be dead ten times over. Fuck him. Costa Rica? Fuck that. This is my life we’re talking about here. My motherfucking life. You don’t even know how patient I’ve been, Jack. I’ve done some shit you can’t even imagine. I’ve been helping my dad build up this organization for years. What’s that fuck Vito ever done? He sat back and let me and my dad do all the dirty work. Fuck him. You think he’s ever gotten his hands dirty? I oughta slit open his soft white belly and choke him with his own intestines. Ha! Now that would be fucking funny. You think you can muscle me, you little prick? I’m going to kill you. KILL YOU!”

  Tommy staggered back and threw a phantom punch. His drunken fist sailed through the air. I stepped forward to catch him before he fell.

  Snarling, Tommy shook me off. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

  Up close, Tommy was in bad shape. He was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot. His red and black Hawaiian shirt was encrusted with filth. He stank: B.O. and stale sweat and sour milk.

  “Tommy … maybe you should get some sleep.”

  “Sleep? Fuck that. No time. They’re coming for me. Man the fucking barricades, Jack. We’re going to pour some boiling oil on their motherfucking heads.” A sly, ugly smile broke across Tommy’s face. �
��See, Jack, I know something they don’t know. I know how it all works. I’m the motherfucking puppet master. My dad trusts me. He’s always trusted me. Right before he went into the hospital he called me into his office and he said, ‘Tommy, you’re my only son. If anything happens to me, I want you to run the family business.’ You hear that? Me. He picked ME. Not some overstuffed fucking useless old fuck. Me. Costa Rica? I’ll send him to Costa Rica. I’ll mail his head to Costa Rica in a motherfucking box. I’ll rip open his chest and sew it back up with a howler monkey inside. There’s your motherfucking Costa Rica! How ’bout a banana, you stupid fuck? I’ll shove a banana up your ass!”

  Tommy clawed into his pocket and came up with a handful of shiny black pills. He shovelled the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the rest of the Scotch. Then he absently tossed the empty glass over his shoulder, almost hitting Rocco in the head. The bodyguard dodged at the last second and the glass bounced harmlessly off the white shag carpet.

  Tommy blinked and stared over at me. He suddenly looked so sad, so tired. There were huge dark circles under his eyes. He was lost. “Jack.” His voice was pale and distant. “It’s good to see you. I … I’m going to lie down now.”

  Tommy’s body crumpled. Rocco and I caught him before he hit the shag. Together we steered his unconscious body over to the black leather couch.

  Rocco gazed down at his passed-out boss and shook his head. “He’s been like this for days. Won’t even go see his old man in the hospital. I keep tellin’ him, ‘Tommy, this looks bad.’ It’s not winning him any points with the boys, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah. I know what you’re saying.”

  “Hey, you want a drink or something? A sandwich?”

  “No thanks.”

  “A girl? Tommy was talking about you earlier. Said to get you whatever you wanted. Said you were his only friend.”

  Tommy’s only friend. Goddamn it.

  “You’re tugging on my heart strings, Rocco. What are you going to do next, start playing the violin?”

  “I played the piccolo in junior high.”

  “Forget it.”

  “So, uh … he’s going to be out for awhile. You want to wait, or —”

  “Nah. I’ll give him a call later.”

  “Yeah.”

  With a sigh, Rocco plopped down into a leather easy chair across from his boss and pulled a folded Archie Double Digest out of his back pocket.

  I was halfway home when my phone rang.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s Rocco. You gotta get back here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Silence on the other end. “Rocco?”

  “Tommy’s dad just died.”

  CHAPTER 38

  The cab I flagged down got me back to the club in under ten minutes. The driver was a skinny, grinning dude in a straw hat who drove like he was being chased by the devil himself. I gave him a big tip.

  On the first floor of the club it was business as usual. Skinny girls with pouting lips gyrating to the booming beat. Upstairs it was a different story. Guys in dark suits were rushing back and forth, mumbling into cellphones. Big guys in track pants and gold chains lumbered after the guys in the suits. A guy with blue track pants pressed his huge mitt against my chest. “Sorry. Members only.”

  I was sensitive to the situation, so I decided not to throw him down the stairs. Luckily for both of us, Rocco appeared in the doorway of Tommy’s office. “It’s okay. He’s with us.”

  Blue Track Pants removed his hand. “Oh yeah?” He turned to me and nodded. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s … an emotional time. For all of us.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”

  Rocco was gesturing to me frantically. I walked over and he pulled me inside Tommy’s office.

  “We got a problem,” Rocco said. Tommy was still passed out on the couch. His cellphone was vibrating along the length of the coffee table. Rocco pointed to Tommy’s stretched-out body. “We gotta get him up.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not happening. Answer the phone. Tell whoever it is that Tommy is grief-struck. He’s not going to be going anywhere or doing anything.”

  “That’s not gonna fly. The lieutenants are meeting at the hospital. Tommy’s expected to be there.”

  “What can I tell you, Rocco? You saw how many pills he took.”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter what kind of shape he’s in. He’s expected to look a little fucked up. His dad just died.” Rocco lowered his massive head. Then he looked up at me. “I’ve got to get him to the hospital, and you’ve got to help me.”

  I knew he was right. In Tommy’s absence the jackals would start baying. Guys in shiny suits would start jostling each other, trying to fill the void left by Tommy’s dad. Tommy needed to be at the hospital as a show of strength.

  “Tommy … wake up.” A thin tendril of drool dribbled out of his mouth onto the black leather couch. He snored. So much for strength. I looked over at Rocco. “Make some coffee.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I scanned the room. “You know what we really need … do you know if Tommy keeps any adrenalin around here? An adrenalin shot straight to the heart should get him up and about.”

  Rocco eyeballed me like I’d lost my brain. Maybe I had.

  “Adrenalin? No. How ’bout some cold water?”

  I splashed a glass across Tommy’s face. Nothing.

  Rocco shook his head. “This ain’t good.”

  No, it wasn’t. “Relax. We can deal with this. You ever see that movie Weekend at Bernie’s? All we need to do is get him into a suit, slap on some dark glasses, and prop him up on a hospital couch. Then the lieutenants can shuffle in, pay their respects, and get out. They’ll see that Tommy is large and in charge. Problem solved.”

  “There’s no time for jokes.”

  Rocco was right. Tommy was going to have to wake up. “Do you know Tommy’s doctor?”

  “Tommy hates doctors.”

  “Look, you guys must have a doctor or two on the payroll. Get them down here ASAP. Something in the doc’s little black bag will get Tommy up and motivated. In the meantime, send someone down to the hospital to stall for time.”

  “You go.”

  I shook my head. “Those guys don’t know me. It wouldn’t work. Call the doc.”

  Rocco pulled out his phone and made the call.

  While Rocco was on the phone the office door opened and a little man with a pencil-thin moustache and a grey suit slipped inside. The dapper man glanced at me and Rocco and then stared at Tommy on the couch.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  I stepped forward. “He’s resting. Overcome with grief.”

  “Grief my ass. Look at him. He’s drooling.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  The dapper man squinted at me. “Who the fuck are you?”

  I smiled and held out my hand. “Jack Palace. And you are …?”

  The man glanced at my hand like it was crawling with spiders. Rocco jerked his chin toward the newcomer. “That’s Mickey ‘The Mouse’ Santiago. He worked with The Old Man.”

  Mickey hung his head. “God rest his soul.”

  Yeah. The Old Man was slicing throats in heaven now.

  “I came down here to get Tommy. The others are getting restless. There’s decisions to be made.”

  Rocco rumbled forward. “You want a drink, Mickey?”

  “Fuck that. Grab his arms. Let’s get him up.”

  I shook my head. “The doc’s on his way.”

  “The doc? He can’t cure what Tommy’s got. Come on, get him up.”

  “No.”

  “No? What the fuck do you mean no? Who the fuck are you?”

  “I told you who I am.”

  Mickey “The Mouse” stepped forward, his black eyes flashing hate. “I’m taking Tommy to the hospital. Clear a fucking path.”

  “No.”

  The Mouse turned slightly and nodded. “All r
ight. Then we’ll do this right here.” A flash of silver: a tiny gun leapt into The Mouse’s hand.

  My body moved before my brain caught up. My leg swept forward and connected with Mickey’s gun arm. Two shots: one plowed into the couch inches from Tommy’s head. The other shot went wide, slamming into the ceiling. I had Mickey on the floor before Rocco could blink.

  “My arm! You broke my fucking arm!”

  “You tried to kill Tommy. Who sent you?”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  With a sickening snap I broke his other arm. The Mouse screamed.

  “Who sent you? WHO SENT YOU?”

  Rocco lumbered forward and kicked Mickey in the face. An explosion of blood splattered the white shag.

  The office door burst open and an army of track-suited gorillas, guns at the ready, thundered into the room.

  I started shouting, “He tried to kill Tommy! He tried to kill Tommy!” There were guns pointed everywhere: at me, at Rocco, at the man on the ground. I was trying to clear up any confusion before the gorillas began blasting. I said it one more time for emphasis. “This prick tried to kill Tommy.”

  Rocco nodded his massive head. “It’s true.” He glared down at the man on the shag. “What the fuck, Mickey?”

  Blue Track Pants stepped forward. I shouted, “No, wait!” but it was too late. Two shots and Mickey’s head exploded. I stood up and staggered back, my face dripping with blood and brains.

  Blue Track Pants spat on the dead man’s corpse. “That’s what you get, you murdering fuck.”

  I backed away toward the bar. Vodka, yes, lots of vodka.

  The man in the blue track pants swivelled his gaze toward me. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Whaddaya mean, ‘wait’? Rocco, who is this guy? You sure he’s with us?”

  Rocco nodded. I knocked back four fingers of vodka and stepped forward. “Yeah, I’m with you. Maybe you didn’t notice, but I just saved Tommy’s life. But thanks to you we’ll never know who sent Mickey to kill him.”

  The big man shrugged. “Who gives a fuck?”

  The vodka warmed my soul. I stepped closer to the big man. “You think this was a one-time thing? Whoever sent Mickey is going to send someone else. If we knew who sent Mickey …”