Yard Dog Page 5

  “Jack.”

  I almost leapt out of my skin. I never heard The Chief coming. “I’m okay.”

  “What’s wrong, kid?”

  “Nothing.”

  The Chief stood there waiting, the snow settling on his shoulders.

  I let out a deep breath. “I remember good Christmases. I remember my mom laughing as we opened presents, stockings hung by the fire, cat sleeping on the carpet. Thing is, we didn’t have a fireplace. Or presents. My mom was passed out drunk. It’s like … I made it up, you know? My brain filled in the missing pieces.”

  The Chief was silent for a while. The snow fell.

  “I know.” The way he said it, I had no doubt that he did.

  Embarrassed, I turned away. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Here.” The Chief passed me a long box wrapped in green paper covered in cartoon snowmen. “Go on, open it.”

  I ripped through the wrapping paper and opened the box. Resting on blue velvet was a double-edged Bowie knife with a handle carved from a deer antler.

  “I saw you looking at that in the barn the other day.”

  “Chief … I can’t.”

  “Go on, take it. It’s yours.” The Chief grinned. “You know how to use it?”

  “Yeah,” I lied. “Sort of. Not really.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  I turned away. Something caught in my throat.

  The Chief’s eyes twinkled. He thumped my back. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

  I still had that knife. It was in storage, gathering dust in its blue velvet box.

  The Chief, though … The Chief had packed up and left, and I was alone.

  CHAPTER 13

  The ice rattled in my vodka as I paced across my office, back and forth, restless as a caged panther. In my head the wheels were turning, cogs and gears connecting, synapses shooting blue sparks. Something was screwy. Tommy sends me to collect from a hit man who’s never heard of him — or at least claims he’s never heard of him. Tommy says the hit man Joey Machine is actually Joey Economy, numbers runner. But Joey Machine is bad enough to scare The Chief, and The Chief doesn’t scare easily.

  So … possibilities: Tommy’s wrong. Tommy got confused. It’s possible. Maybe Tommy only knows Joey Economy, numbers runner. But then why would Joey deny knowing Tommy? To keep the money. No, that doesn’t make sense. Think about the other stops on Tommy’s route. Bars, nightclubs, pawnshops. A thousand here, a thousand there. Real nickel-and-dime shit, in the grand scheme of things. A few two-bit operations thrown Tommy’s way to keep him busy. Like Tommy’s nightclub. Keep him busy and away from his dad’s table, where the real deals go down.

  Outside in Chinatown it was still dark. Hours before sunrise. I poured myself another vodka. The first sip cleared my head and the second sip kicked up mud. For a brief minute I thought I had it — Eureka! — but then as quick as it came, it disappeared in a cloud of mental smoke.

  I turned to the plant sitting on my desk. “Tommy. This is all about Tommy, isn’t it?” But if he was pulling some scam and I was just an unwitting cog in his vast machine, it’s not like he was going to come clean and tell me. “Ah, you got me, Jack. I was totally setting you up! Ha ha ha. Come on in, have a beer.”

  The dusty floorboards creaked as I kept on pacing. Man, I hated this shit. My brain felt like a snake eating its own tail. Tommy, the hit man, me. The money. Somewhere down near the bottom where things got murky it had to be about the money. It always was.

  CHAPTER 14

  I tossed Tommy a backpack full of envelopes. “Here you go.”

  “Jack, hold on a second. Where ya going? Come on, sit down and have a beer.”

  “I ran your routes. You wanted to know who was holding out on you. Tex at the Starlight, Carl at the Cavern, and Bobby Rich at the Bullfighter. Okay?”

  Tommy looked like a whipped dog. “So that’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You’re just gonna walk away?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t see why not.”

  “Come on, sit down, have a beer. For old time’s sake.”

  Ah, fuck it. I sat down. Tommy snapped his fingers — classy guy, that Tommy — and summoned our server. “Gimme another beer. Dos Equis. Same for my friend. And maybe some chips and salsa or some shit like that. You know, something to nibble on.” Tommy shot our server a wink and I swear to God I could see her shudder. Tommy started pawing through the envelopes in the backpack. “I knew I could count on you, Jack. You say it’s all here?”

  “That’s right. You think I’d hold out on you?”

  Tommy barked out a laugh. “Not you. But some of these mutts … “ Tommy looked up curiously. “So you got out to the Beaches okay?”

  “Yeah, we got out there. Joey … what was his name again?”

  “Joey Economy.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Joey Economy. You know, it was interesting. He said he never heard of you.”

  The server returned and set down our beers. Mine looked so cold and delicious I wanted to jump into the bottle and splash around awhile. Two gulps and the beer was gone. “You might want to check into that. Thanks for the beer, Tommy. I’ve got to split.”

  “Wait, wait!” Tommy’s eyes went sideways. “That guy Joey … he’s not really a numbers runner.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “No. But I figured you and your guy might be able to talk to him, you know, shake some money loose.”

  “You sent me to rob a hit man?”

  Tommy jumped as if stung. “No! Come on, Jack. Would I do that to you?”

  “I sure hope not.”

  “No way, no how. It’s legit. He owes my dad some dough.”

  “He said he never heard of you.”

  Tommy’s face screwed up like he just sucked a lemon. “Yeah, well, my old man’s not much for introductions. At least not where I’m concerned.” Tommy tilted his head back toward his bodyguard sitting at the next table, eating scrambled eggs with a knife and fork. “Rocco … go check on the car.”

  Rocco stared down at his plate. “My eggs’ll get cold.”

  “I’ll get you some new fucking eggs. Get the fuck up and go check on the car.”

  If I was Tommy I’d be a little more courteous toward the man who had my life in his hands. But I wasn’t Tommy, and thank God for that.

  Tommy watched Rocco as the big man trundled away. Then he turned back to me. “Jack. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.”

  “Don’t. I don’t need to know, and I don’t want to know.”

  “It’s not really a secret. You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ve already figured it out. This …” Tommy hoisted the backpack stuffed with envelopes stuffed with money. “This is bullshit. Penny-ante bullshit. Pawn shops and night clubs. Fuck that. I’m thinking big, Jack. I’ve got my eyes on the prize.”

  “You want The Empire.”

  “Damn straight I want The Empire. My dad was going to give it to me, Jack. I swear to you, he was going to turn it all over to me, make a big announcement in front of the guys and everything. Then he got sick, went to the hospital, and fell into a coma. Now he ain’t saying shit to anyone.”

  “And the guys …”

  Tommy nodded. “Yeah, you get it. The guys all want to be boss. They’re going to rip The Empire to shreds. They’re going to get out their carving knives and kill the goose that laid the whaddaya call it, golden eggs.”

  “I can’t help with that, Tommy.”

  “Hey, I’m not asking you to get caught in the middle of a civil fucking war. I’m just saying I need your help. Same shit you’ve been doing. Same song, different tune. And it’s not like I’m asking you to do this out of the goodness of your heart. There’s plenty in it for you, Jack. Plenty.”

  “I’m sorry, Tommy.”

  Tommy’s eyes flashed black lightning. “Jack. You can’t just fucking walk away. I saved your goddamn life!”

  Caught like a fly in a motherfuckin
g web.

  I sat back down.

  Tommy grinned. “That’s more like it. We’re old friends, you and I. This is a friendly chat, that’s all. I’m not asking you to do anything new. I’m just saying the job you started isn’t quite done.”

  “Collections.”

  “Yeah, that’s it, collections. No more penny-ante bullshit. I need your help to collect on some big debts.”

  “Like from Joey Economy.”

  “Yeah, like that. I want to square the books, Jack. Collect my dad’s debts while he’s still alive.” Suddenly Tommy choked up. “Let the old man know I’m not a complete screw-up, you know?” Tommy hung his head, embarrassed by the sudden display of emotion.

  I knew how he felt. I’ve got a long white scar burrowing into the back of my head like a worm from where my mom’s beer bottle found its target. “You’re fucking useless! Useless!” Screaming, crying. Broken glass and blood.

  Still, it wasn’t all teardrops and violins. If Tommy collected his dad’s debts, then Tommy would emerge with the keys to the kingdom. Little Vito and the others would have to doff their hats in respect. At least, that was the theory.

  I stumbled out of the restaurant and headed for home. Another night with my feet propped up on my desk, waiting for daylight. At the last minute I turned and headed back to the neighbourhood bar so I could soak up some sanity.

  Suzanne was working behind the bar. She grinned as I walked through the door. “Here to save me some more?”

  “It’s been a long day.” I plopped down onto a barstool. “Why don’t you save me?”

  Suzanne frowned, gesturing toward the bottles. “Alcohol’s a depressant. This shit won’t save you.”

  She poured me a Scotch anyway. She looked so damn beautiful.

  “What was your name again?”

  “Jack.”

  “All right, Jack. What’s your story? You go into bars and try to stop fights? You a good Samaritan?”

  I sipped Scotch. “That story, The Good Samaritan. It’s from the Bible. Luke 10:25–10:37. It’s all about showing mercy to others.” I shook my head. “Mercy isn’t really my thing.”

  “You a priest?”

  I laughed. “No.”

  “Married?”

  “Nope.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  I shook my head. “Not anymore.”

  “There’s a story there. I can tell.”

  I shrugged. “She left me. I’m not going to sit around moaning with my thumb up my ass. Sometimes shit goes south and it’s not your fault.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Things happen.”

  “Yes.” Suzanne smiled, her hand brushing mine. “They do.”

  We bumped through the doors of Suzanne’s apartment still lip-locked, hands ripping at clothes, massive erection pushing against my pants.

  “Wait.” Suzanne broke away and sashayed toward the bathroom.

  I took a deep breath and looked around. Postcards of 1950s books on the walls. Paintings of tough dames and gun molls, cold, flinty stares, sneering at the world with a gun in each hand. Fantasy Gangsters.

  She came out of the bathroom draped in a light-green dressing gown. I could see the silhouette of her body through the flimsy fabric, backlit by the moon.

  “Martini?”

  “Sure.”

  The martini was cold and delicious. Her lips were soft, so soft. She stepped back and dropped her gown. Her alabaster skin glowed in the moonlight. I stood up and dropped my pants. No more waiting.

  She moaned as I entered her. She pushed me back on the couch and climbed on top. Her hair flicked my chin, my chest. She bit my lip. I thrust inside, faster and harder.

  At some point we moved to the bedroom, because that’s where I woke up. My mouth tasted like blood and gin. I didn’t remember getting here. From the bed I could see into the living room: the lamp beside the couch was in pieces on the carpet. One of us had kicked it over. I didn’t remember that, either.

  I rose silently to find my pants.

  Suzanne snored softly. It was adorable.

  I got back into bed and the next morning she made pancakes and we sat outside in the sunshine and laughed and drank coffee and read the newspaper and then the next day I built a patio and the week after that we had the neighbours over for a barbecue and we took our kids to the park and we walked our dog and everything everywhere was just hunky-dory, forever and ever, Amen.

  I blinked. I found my pants and put them on.

  Suzanne opened her eyes. “You going?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got to go.”

  “Fine.” She rolled away, turning to face the wall.

  Good job, Jack. Together one night and you’ve already blown it. You swore you’d never hurt another woman and now look what you’ve done. Go on, look.

  “Suzanne —”

  “It’s cool. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  I walked over to her side of the bed and sat down. “I want to stay. Believe me. I really do.”

  Suzanne sat up and stretched. “I’m serious, Jack. Stay, go … whatever.”

  Fuck it. I’m not about to bury another relationship under a steaming shitpile of lies.

  “Suzanne, I’m going to be honest with you. Okay? Let’s cut through the crap and get down to the nitty- gritty.” I took her hand in mine. Her skin was rough from years of work. My skin was rough, too. “I’ve been in some bad shit. I don’t sleep very well. I get nightmares … really bad nightmares. I wake up screaming. I punch walls. Once I woke up and I had a knife in my hand. Bad shit. I don’t want you to see that.”

  “Wow.” Suzanne blinked. “You’re really fucked up, huh?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  She smiled, leaned toward me and pulled me close. “Me, too.”

  Back in my shack I cracked open another bottle of Scotch, put my feet up, and waited for sunrise.

  CHAPTER 15

  Sunlight sparkled on the water. A parade of geese honked by. Gulls circled and dove. Sails unfurled and boats floated lazily toward open water.

  Grover grinned, shuffling across the deck of his boat in an all-white outfit complete with white canvas shoes. “You want a margarita, Jack?”

  I shook my head. No, I didn’t want a margarita. I wanted this. I wanted the boat and the money and the freedom. I wanted the wife sunning herself in a dark-blue bikini on the top deck. I wanted to be able to hoist the anchor and unfurl the sails and head out to see the world. This was what I wanted. A nice quiet life with a woman who loved me.

  “How about a beer?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Grover settled back in his chair, sipped his margarita, and wiped salt and foam from his upper lip. I sat down next to him, wind ruffling my hair. Grover inhaled deeply and grinned. “You smell that? Fresh water smells so different than salt water. Fresh water is …”

  “Fresher?”

  “Well, yeah. It’s that kind of earthy, after-the-rain smell.” Grover was still grinning. “It smells fucking fantastic.”

  No argument here. “You talk to The Chief?”

  “I did. He says he helped you out.”

  “He went on a few runs with me. But then he left.”

  Grover frowned. Behind him a gull landed on the boat rail and fluffed its feathers. “Not like The Chief to abandon a job. You two have a falling out?”

  “The job description changed.”

  Grover laughed, short sharp barks. He sounded like a sea lion. “Sounds like Tommy, all right. I ever tell you about the time I did some work for his dad? Tommy was just a punk kid back then, a real snot-nosed brat. All zits and hair. Anyway, his dad has called this conference, right? Real heavy-hitting guys. There’s this problem in Montreal — bikers, guns, money, the usual. A week earlier Poppa sent Tommy to check it out and report back. So Tommy gets called into the conference. It’s all these old guys in undertaker’s suits sitting around a polished mahogany conference table, all eyes watching this punk kid as he struts toward hi
s father. “So,” Poppa says, “what’s the situation?”

  Grover’s grin was wider now. “And Tommy says, ‘What situation?’ There’s this rustling, guys crossing and uncrossing their legs, a bit of coughing, that sort of thing. Tommy’s dad is scowling. ‘The situation in Montreal,’ he says. ‘Oh yeah,’ says Tommy. ‘I didn’t go.’” Turns out instead of doing his fucking job this kid made his bodyguards take him to Niagara Falls. He’s going on and on about how much money he made at the casino and these old guys at the table are rolling their eyes; they can tell it’s bullshit, they can smell it from a mile away. I’m standing behind The Old Man trying not to bust out laughing. Finally The Old Man just cuts him off and points to the door and says, ‘Out.’ Well, surly Tommy packs up his attitude and slouches off through the door. Then The Old Man stands up and the room goes dark and silent. I swear to God, it’s as if the light bulbs all went out at the same time. I had chills shooting up my spine and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one. It’s like suddenly the room was frozen. No one wanted to even breathe for fear of disturbing the air. And Tommy’s dad says, ‘Never send a boy to do a man’s job.’ And everyone kind of flinches. We know he’s talking about Tommy, but it’s a warning to all of us at the same time, you know?”

  Grover took another gulp of margarita. Above us his wife rolled onto her stomach, reached up, and untied her bikini strap. I kept my eyes fixed on Grover’s blindingly white shoes. “The next day I go out to the compound to pick up Poppa to take him to a dentist appointment. Can you imagine that, Jack? I’m going to be standing guard while this dentist is scraping the don’s teeth. You never think about a crime boss getting his teeth cleaned, but it happens. The dentist probably has no idea. Shit, if I was a dentist, I wouldn’t want to know.”

  “Tommy,” I said.

  “Oh right. So I show up at the compound and Tommy’s slouching on the couch in the living room. I think he’s watching TV — music videos, some shit like that — but nope, the TV is off. I say something like ‘How are ya, kid,’ and Tommy looks up with two black eyes and a busted lip. I don’t have to tell you who busted him up.”