Yard Dog Page 15

  A light dinged in the big man’s eyes. “We could find him and fuck him up.”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  Blue Track Pants shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking. Usually I’m more together, you know … more on the ball. Here I am, acting like a dumb shit. Tommy’s dad, he was like an uncle to me. The Old Man did everything for my family. Everything. My sister Gloria, she got sick with the lupus. The Old Man paid to send her to the States to a private clinic. He got Ma a job with the payroll department at his trucking company. He was … he was a good guy.”

  The big man’s voice cracked. His troops milled around and looked away uncomfortably. For a second I thought he was going to break into tears, but the moment passed. He looked up at me. “You think I’m dumb, right?”

  “I don’t even know you.”

  “Come on, don’t lie. You think I’m just a big musclebound gorilla who shoots first and asks questions later. I mean, I know that’s what just happened, but you got to believe me, today I’m not myself. Ask Rocco. He knows me. He’ll tell you I’m a smart guy. I mean, I was never that great in school, but that’s because it didn’t hold my interest. But The Old Man, he used to ask my opinion about things. He’d say, ‘Nemo, what do you think about this or that?’ He valued my advice. You know why? I’m good with people. They underestimate me. To them I’m like furniture. Might as well be a couch or a coat rack. People say stuff in front of me they wouldn’t say otherwise. The Old Man would excuse himself and go out into the hall and people would talk. They would forget I was there. Then they’d leave and The Old Man would say, ‘Nemo, what do you think?’ And I’d say, ‘you gotta watch that guy,’ or ‘that guy is your friend.’ He listened to me, you know? I mean really listened. I’m not … there’s not … it’s like no one’s gonna treat me that way again.” Nemo hung his head. He blinked rapidly, holding back tears, gun held lightly at his side.

  I walked back to the bar and poured him a vodka. “Here.”

  Nemo shuddered. “Man! What is that, turpentine? That shit burns!”

  “That’s quality vodka.”

  “Vodka, huh? I’m not much of a drinker.”

  One of Nemo’s troops stepped forward. “You need us here?”

  Nemo turned. His shadow fell across his troops. “Here’s what I need you to do. You and you, guard the stairs. No one comes up. You got that? You, you, and you, go downstairs. Rocco, how you holding up?”

  “There’s a doc on his way. We gotta get Tommy up.”

  “Fuck the doc. Let him rest.”

  “There’s people waiting for him at the hospital.”

  “Let them wait. Maybe you haven’t heard. Tommy’s the boss now.”

  CHAPTER 39

  When Tommy passed out, he was The Black Sheep. When he woke up he’d be The Boss. Boss in name only, though, as the lieutenants jostled for position. To be the Real Boss, Tommy was going to have to slap down the jackals and slap them down hard.

  Nemo’s army had shut down the club. The doors were locked and the dance floor was empty. Inside Tommy’s office it was eerily quiet. Rocco played solitaire, flipping each card up with a flourish. I paced across the carpet. I was in deep and it was just getting deeper. Tommy kept snoring. Right here, right now, this was the eye of the hurricane. But the storm was coming.

  Nemo knocked and stuck his head through the door. “Everything okay?”

  Rocco nodded. Tommy snored. “Just fine,” I muttered. There was a crimson stain fading to brown on the white shag carpet. Nemo’s guys had carried the body of Mickey “The Mouse” Santiago out about three hours ago. I was dying for a drink, but I had to stay sharp. Like I said, the storm was coming.

  “Ow, fuck! My fucking head!” All eyes turned toward Tommy. The new boss was sitting up on the black leather couch rubbing his temples. He squinted up at me and scowled. “Don’t just stand there, Jack — get me a fucking drink.”

  Behind me in a flurry of cards Rocco leapt toward the bar. Tommy squinted again. “Nemo? What the fuck are you doing … here …?” Tommy trailed off as it hit him. “My dad. He … is he …?”

  Nemo bit his lip and looked away. I nodded solemnly. “It’s true, Tommy. Your dad died a few hours ago.”

  “Hours? HOURS?” Tommy leapt up, all wild hair and rumpled half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt. “What the fuck? Why didn’t any of you fuckers wake me up? Rocco!” Tommy snapped his fingers. “Cellphone!”

  “It’s dead, Boss.”

  “What? Plug that shit in! Jack, give me your cell.”

  I passed it over. In my head, I heard Eddie’s voice: Another one for the lake.

  “Yeah, operator? Get me Mount Sinai. What? No, the hospital. Yeah. Hello, Mount Sinai? Put me through to my dad. I mean, my dad’s room. Room number? Oh shit.” Tommy covered the receiver with his palm and looked over at Nemo.

  “Four-O-three.”

  “Room 403. Yeah, that’s right. Put me through. I know. I know he’s deceased. There’s someone there, right? A doctor or some shit? This is his son. I don’t give a damn how sorry you are. Put me through to my dad’s doctor right the fuck now.”

  Diplomatic as always.

  Tommy paced, clutching the cellphone. His other hand was shaking. Rocco looked worried. Nemo stood with his head down and his arms folded, awaiting instruction.

  Tommy jabbed his thumb at Rocco and Nemo. “You and you — Rocco, bring the car around. Nemo, you keep your guys in line. Keep ’em focused. There could be trouble.” Tommy stopped dead in his tracks and stared down at the crimson stain on his white shag carpet. “What the fuck is this? Rocco, did you spill your juice?”

  “No, Boss. It was The Mouse. He tried to kill you. Jack stopped him. Saved your life.”

  “Jack saved my life? Then what the fuck am I paying you for?”

  Rocco looked sheepish. I opened my mouth to defend him but Tommy plowed ahead. “Ah, I’m just fucking with you. You’re a good guy, Rocco. You and Nemo both. Now go on, get outta here.”

  The two men left. Tommy was still on hold with the hospital. An uncomfortable silence descended.

  “So … is it true?”

  “Is what true, Tommy?”

  “Rocco says you saved my life. Is that true?”

  “I stopped Mickey from shooting you. Maybe he would’ve killed you, maybe not.” In my head I was doing cartwheels and jumping up and down like a little kid. Tommy saved my life and now I’ve saved his. Nothing like repaying a Blood Debt to put you in a good mood.

  Tommy grinned. “So I guess we’re even now.”

  I grinned back. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “You know what that means, don’t you, Jack?”

  I sure hoped so. “Tell me.”

  “It means that as soon as you’ve finished this job for me, you’re free to go.”

  My heart sank and my stomach followed. “This job.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. You still haven’t … Hold on. Yeah, Doc? That’s right, I’m his son. So what happens now? Oh yeah? No, I haven’t made any arrangements with any fucking funeral home. What am I, a mortician? What? Look, I’ll look into it and call you back.”

  Tommy slammed my phone closed and idly stuffed it into his pants pocket. “You didn’t hear Nemo say anything about funeral arrangements, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Man, I hate funerals. When I was a kid we’d have to go to funerals all the time. Get dressed up in a starchy suit, sit for hours on uncomfortable wooden pews, stand up sit down stand up kneel. Then we’d have to go out to the grave and it’s all these old women in black just wailing away and being carried off to the limos and everyone would be shaking my dad’s hand like he was the fucking Mayor of the Cemetery, you know — and he’s there in his five-thousand-dollar suit giving envelopes with like a hundred bucks in them to these grieving widows and they’re slobbering all over his hand like he’s the fucking pope. When I got older I just wanted to scream, ‘Lady, don’t you know your husband died because of my dad? Who do you think put out the
contract, you dizzy broad?’ And my dad just ate that shit up. Standing there in the boneyard in his shiny shoes, waving his hand at all the peons bowing and scraping, lackeys like Nemo draping a coat over his shoulders.”

  Darkness twisted across Tommy’s face. “Do you realize The Old Man had more time for Nemo than he did for me? Always a kind, encouraging word, some helpful advice. You think he ever helped me do A GODDAMN THING? HUH? DO YOU?”

  Tommy was screaming now, tears running down his face. “FUCK NO! FUCK NO! FUCK YOU, OLD MAN! FUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOU!”

  “Jesus Christ, Tommy.” My eyes flickered toward the door. “Keep your voice down.”

  Tommy stared at me and through his tears he smiled a shark-like smile. “You can’t tell me what to do, Jack. No one can tell me what to do. Not now. Not anymore. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Because now I’m the fucking boss, that’s why. Stick with me, Jack. I’ll make you my right-hand man.”

  “I, uh … I’m flattered, Tommy. But you should probably pick someone from within The Organization. One of your dad’s guys.”

  “My dad’s guys. Yeah, right. Someone like Little Vito? He’s sworn to kill us, Jack. We’ve got to kill him first. Don’t you see?” A manic light gleamed in Tommy’s eyes. “We’ve got to kill them all.”

  “Tommy … earlier you said something about me not finishing the job. You know I always finish the job.”

  “I know you do, Jack. That’s why I like you so much. But I’m telling the truth. I sent you to collect my money. I still don’t have it all. You know what you need to do. You need to get out there and get me my fucking money.”

  “Who’s left? I collected from everyone except Joey Machine and Little Vito.”

  Tommy shook his head. “There’s someone who owes me more than both of them put together.” Tommy leaned forward. His breath smelled like rotting garbage. “My dad.”

  “Your dad is dead.”

  “The fucking money he owed me didn’t die. Money doesn’t die, Jack. At his house there’s a vault. It’s my money inside that vault. My inheritance. You get me? If we don’t get it out, Little Vito will steal it all. That fucking prick. By the time we’re done with him he’s going to be begging to die. Fucking begging. Now get out of here. I’ve got a funeral to plan.”

  CHAPTER 40

  My legs were heavy as I walked to Suzanne’s bar. My brain was tumbling like laundry in a dryer. I’d thought I was free. Now I had to collect a debt from a dead man. According to Tommy, there was a contract out on my life. I didn’t know if that was true or not. Here’s something I did know: I needed a fucking drink.

  Suzanne lit up like a Christmas tree as I stumped through the door. The usual assortment of boozehounds and barflies were clustered together in the murk, old men with gravelly voices muttering into their bottles of Labatt Blue.

  I swung onto a stool and pointed to a bottle. “Vodka. Keep ’em coming.”

  Suzanne filled a glass with ice and poured. I took a sip and my nose went numb. It was a start.

  “Tommy’s dad died.”

  Suzanne frowned. “How’s Tommy?”

  “Tommy?” I shrugged. “Hard to say. He never really got along with his old man.”

  “Still … that can’t be easy.”

  I pushed my empty glass across the bar. Suzanne topped me up. “Tommy is sending me after a dead man’s money.”

  “What are you going to do, rent a shovel?”

  “I’m supposed to go after his estate. It’s bullshit.” The vodka went down smooth. The numbness spread.

  Suzanne cocked her eyebrow at me. “If Tommy’s dad is dead … does that mean Tommy’s in charge?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. He’s the boss by blood, but the troops are uneasy.”

  “So say Tommy gets bumped off. That cancels your debt, right?”

  “Tommy staying alive is the best insurance we’ve got. Whoever kills Tommy will come gunning for me. If Tommy lives, I can finish this job and we can walk away clean.”

  “Just waltz into the sunset, huh?”

  “That’s right. You and me, babe. You ever been to Costa Rica? I hear they have monkeys.”

  Suzanne’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I’ve never really been big on beaches. I’m more of a city gal.”

  “So we go to Rio. I can dig it.”

  Damn, she looked so good. Soft and diffuse. She smelled like cookies. “When are you done here?”

  “Whenever I want. Charlie will cover for me.”

  “Let’s go back to your place.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “Let’s go to your place.”

  “Ah … it’s pretty small.”

  “So you live in a shoebox. I don’t care.”

  “I’m not set up for entertaining.”

  “Do you have a bed?”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean, ‘No?’”

  “I’ve got a couch.”

  Suzanne smiled. “Good enough.”

  We walked hand in hand through Chinatown. I pulled her through the crowds, past the piles of garbage, the smell of rotting produce mixing with sweet and sour pork. A street vendor set a wind-up dog down on the sidewalk and the dog did flips. Speakers outside a clothing store (RETAIL AND WHOLESALE) played a sour warbling version of the Chinese national anthem. A group of drunken street kids staggered by, their skin and their clothes the same dusty grey.

  We stopped outside Eddie’s restaurant. “This is it.”

  “You live in a restaurant?”

  “That’s right.” I pointed to the window display: a barbecued pig, a cuttlefish, and a rack of ducks. “You see that rack? That’s where I sleep.” I took Suzanne by the hand and led her toward the door. “Come on. I want you to meet someone.”

  The last woman I brought home to Eddie was Cassandra. That was five years ago. It didn’t end well.

  It was different this time. Suzanne and I sat down at one of the plastic-covered tables and a server brought us menus and a pot of tea. I made eye contact with the server and asked, “Is Eddie working today? Tell him Jack’s here.”

  The server nodded and hustled off. Minutes later Eddie appeared in his black suit, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Jack! What’s new?”

  “Eddie, this is Suzanne.”

  “Nice to meet you. This guy here …” Eddie’s hand landed on my shoulder, “this guy here is a hell of a guy.”

  Suzanne turned to me and grinned. “Now I know why you wanted me to meet him.”

  I shrugged in mock protest. “What can I say? He’s right. I’m a hell of a guy.”

  Eddie swept the menus from our hands. “Forget these. I’m going to have the chef take care of you right.”

  Eddie was as good as his word. Platters of food began to emerge from the kitchen: hot and sour soup, barbecued pork, dumplings, fried chicken, noodles, steamed vegetables. I didn’t even know some of the things I was eating, but it was all damn delicious.

  Suzanne pushed away her plate and clutched her stomach. “Ohhhh. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  “How about a fortune cookie?”

  Suzanne shook her head. “I hate those things.”

  “You hate fortune cookies? How can you hate fortune cookies?”

  “When I was younger I got a fortune cookie that was empty. No fortune. No future. Freaked me right the fuck out.”

  “‘No future?’ That’s not what the cookie was telling you.”

  “Oh no?”

  “Nope. It was saying, it’s up to you to write your own fortune. Create your own future. And you did.”

  “Yeah. I did, didn’t I?”

  Beneath the table, our hands met.

  After dinner I borrowed a bottle of wine from Eddie and took Suzanne up to the roof. She walked to the edge and stared out at the city lights. I came up behind her and wrapped her in my arms.

  “Welcome to the asphalt beach.”

  “Are there sharks?”

  “Not up here.�
�

  Suzanne smiled and reached for me. “Then I love it. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” The words floated in the air, as gentle as clouds.

  “Jack …”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take me downstairs.”

  My hands fumbled with my keys. I was drunker than I thought. Suzanne laughed as the keys tumbled from the lock.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.” I stabbed the key into the lock again and gave it a twist. I was praying for no roaches, rats, or mice. Welcome to my vermin farm. Rats? No, honey, those aren’t rats. Those are my champion miniature Schnauzers. Yeah, I enjoy breeding tiny dogs in my spare time. Everyone needs a hobby.

  The door swung open and I flicked on the lights. No roaches, rats, or mice.

  Suzanne stepped inside. “Well … you weren’t kidding.”

  “Small, huh?”

  “I’d call it … minimal.” Suzanne laughed. “It’s small, all right.” She gestured to the walls. “No pictures?”

  “No. I’ve got a plant, though.”

  “Does your plant have a name?”

  “If it does, it’s never told me.”

  Suzanne sashayed over to the couch. “And here is the famous couch I’ve heard so much about.”

  “That’s the one.”

  Suzanne plopped down and patted the cushion next to her. “Come on over here.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Our lips met, and then our tongues. I started to pull off her shirt. She reached over and ripped open mine: buttons flew across the room.

  “My shirt —!”

  “Shh.” She pulled me toward her tits. She moaned as I bit her nipple. My hand found her crotch. Her hand was already there, rubbing herself through the fabric of her jeans. She unbuttoned her jeans and I grabbed the waistband of her panties and yanked them down. My penis sprung free, jutting out into the cool office air. Suzanne lowered herself down and took me in her mouth. So soft, so wet, so hot.

  I pulled away. “On your knees.” She obeyed, sliding off the couch onto the linoleum. I grabbed her head and brought her forward. She slid her mouth around me and plunged her head into my lap. My eyes slammed closed and my back arched. Pure pleasure rattled my frame. It’s just like when Cassandra —