Tough Lessons

by Chris Freeman

Joseph sighed. “Well, I cannot leave her or shoot her. She’s my meal ticket.” He liked to use the American expressions he picked up from his passengers. It made him feel less like an outsider.

  “You sure you can’t just replace her? Save money in the long run.” Joseph gave Selwyn a look. “Okay, okay, I’m just asking here.”

  “I’m still trying to raise the money but a new Crown Victoria is not cheap. Ford don’t give them away. I’m leasing the medallion as it is.” Joseph didn’t want to admit he had been quietly hoping there would be no need for a new cab. He had planned to sell the old one once his application for the NYPD had gone through, but now he realized the cab was likely to be a worthless pile of scrap metal long before that day came. Then there was the offer from Cyrus’s boss, who wanted to turn Joseph into his new concierge. Though he still had his reservations, the prospect of a little easier money was beginning to sound more appealing by the day. He was still mulling it over but he knew he would have to call Cyrus with a decision one way or another before too long.

  Selwyn exhaled, perused the cab once more, and asked, “What are you gonna do?”

  Joseph knew this was a rhetorical question but he had to know the truth. “I don’t know, my friend. What am I going to do?”

  “I can get you back on the road,” said Selwyn eventually. Relief flooded through Joseph. “For now,” added the mechanic, bringing Joseph right back down to earth. “But I gotta tell you, I’m putting a Band-Aid on a heart-attack victim here, you know what I’m saying?”

  There was no need to elaborate further. The taxi was on its very last legs. It was now just a question of whether Joseph could scrape enough money together in time to get a new cab before this “second-hand, second-rate heap of shit,” as Selwyn cheerfully referred to it, finally went off to “the great big old junkyard in the sky.”

  Thank god Selwyn was the one mechanic in the South Bronx he could trust not to rip him off. The two men agreed a fair price for that morning’s work, though it was still a stretch for Joseph.

  “Get a cup of coffee,” said Selwyn. “Come back in an hour.” He thought for a moment. “Better make it two.”

  “Okay.” Joseph had anticipated some down time while the cab was being repaired, which was why he had paid another visit to Ardo that morning. He had borrowed the janitor’s keys once more, promising faithfully that this would be the very last time, leaving Ardo with an assurance that what he was trying to prove would benefit the little Armenian, eventually removing him from any suspicion from the eyes of a baffled police force. “Say,” he asked Selwyn, “do you know any place round here where I could get some keys cut?”

  “Sure.”

  “Within walking distance?”

  “That narrows it down. Is it just your apartment key?”

  “Well, that’s just it,” answered Joseph guardedly, because he knew Selwyn to be the kind of man who, if not exactly a criminal himself, was at least someone who had to be tolerant of criminal goings on in his neighborhood. Many of his regular clientele could be described as being far from law abiding and, in his own words, Selwyn “knew how to keep his mouth shut.” He had to when most of his customers were from Highbridge and the surrounding area.

  “I need to get a new set of these cut,” and he showed Selwyn Ardo’s bunch of keys. “It’s for a friend, only he’s lost his card.”

  “Sure,” said Selwyn, his face betraying no emotion as he took in the heavy clump of official-looking keys that Joseph held up in front of him. “I’d say you could try Tony De Luca’s parts yard but…er…a job like that ain’t cheap, Joseph, you know what I mean.”

  “That’s okay, my friend will pay.”

  “Sure,” mumbled Selwyn once again, in a tone that said it’s none of my business and he gave his customer directions to Tony De Luca’s parts yard. “It’s on the corner where Washington meets E167th.” And about half a mile from Antoinette Irving Junior High School, thought Joseph.

  He was about to leave when Pete Hunio, Selwyn’s young apprentice, pulled up sharply in an old Ford Mustang, tires screeching on the oil-coated floor.

  “How many times I got to tell you ’bout driving in here like that? You think you’re Steve Mc-fucking-Queen?” said Selwyn. “You want to flatten some poor prick, so his widow sues me and puts us out of business? What you gonna do then, huh?”

  “Sorry, boss,” said Pete, grinning like a simpleton.

  “And what’s this?”

  “Owner had an argument with a Lexus on the Cross Bronx, wants the dent knocked out the driver’s door,” explained Pete. “Said he ain’t in no hurry but can it be today.” He raised his eyebrows at the contradiction.

  Selwyn bent down to examine the dent. “What do you know about that, Joseph?”

  Joseph peered at the damage. “Paint’s been scraped off above the dent right below the window.” He pointed to the fresh abrasions on the bodywork. “Looks like it was forced.” He walked round to the front of the car. “Plus, the car’s old and dirty but theses plates are new and clean. I’d say they were added this morning and this Mustang is stolen.”

  Selwyn regarded his friend sharply and Joseph realized too late that all he really wanted was an opinion on the damage. “Well, ain’t you a regular Clarice Starling?” There was suspicion behind the words. “What are you? A cop in your spare time?”

  Joseph shrugged and gave the broad smile he always used when he wanted to disarm people. He’d been stupid to let his guard down and immediately regretted it. Only his friend Cyrus, Brigitte, and Eddie really knew about his previous life. He preferred it that way but now he’d been sloppy. Sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. His analysis of the car was instinctive. Joseph was always fated to notice things other people did not.

  “So what do you think I should do about it? Call the cops?” asked Selwyn accusingly.

  “Maybe,” offered Joseph and Selwyn’s face started to turn puce.

  “Yeah, I’ll get the cops down here. They’ll fuck things up like they always do and, if I’m lucky, I’ll never get a customer again. And if I ain’t so lucky I’ll end up in the foundations of that new recycling center they’re building. Go and get your cup of coffee, Joseph,” he snapped. “Come back later.”

  Joseph reprimanded himself for his stupidity as he walked out of Wray’s garage. He should learn to keep his mouth shut. If people thought he was just a dumb old cab driver then that was just fine. It was safer that way, safer for him and safer for Yomi.

  “Fucking cops,” he heard Selwyn mutter under his breath. “Yeah, right.”

  Maybe he’d have two cups of coffee. First, though, he would call in on Tony De Luca to see if he was interested in a little key-cutting job.

  14

  It was a long, cold walk to the parts yard and Joseph blew on his hands to warm them before he rapped on the locked office door. Somewhere from inside the yard a dog began to bark furiously and wouldn’t let up. He waited a long while for a response but eventually a hard-faced man in his midthirties peered out at him through the window.

  Tony De Luca opened the door and frowned unhappily, as if he had just been rudely awakened from an afternoon nap. He looked Joseph up and down and said, “Yeah?”

  “Someone said you cut keys.”

  “Someone was right,” he answered. “But you could just go to a hardware store.”

  “Yeah,” said Joseph. “Can’t do that. You see I ain’t got no card for the keys, if you get me.”

  “I get you.” De Luca nodded like he wasn’t surprised. “Then it’s going to cost more, on account of the risk I’m taking. Understand?”

  “Of course.”

  De Luca gave Joseph a price that would apply to each key to be cut. It was way above the cost of having a normal set made but not so high it would put you off if you had a serious need for them, or a grievance with someone. Joseph agreed the price would not be a problem.

  De Luca came out from behind his door and le
d him to a gate to one side of the office that was set into a long, wooden perimeter fence. He unlocked it with a key he pulled from an enormous set he was carrying that was clipped to his wide leather belt. Tony De Luca was a big man with a large pot belly, barrel chest, and bare tattooed forearms all encased in a tight white T-shirt that was covered in streaks of grease and engine oil. Despite the cold, he wore no coat.

  The dog was still barking at Joseph as De Luca led him across the yard. It was a huge German shepherd and it was straining at the leash to get at him. Some dogs just yap away all day and when they finally get set loose they think twice about going for the first man they see. Not this one. It was pulling on that chain leash like Joseph was its dinner and it hadn’t eaten anything for days. Joseph wondered if it was true that dogs had a sixth sense about people, an intuition that meant they could tell when a guy came in off the street pretending to be someone he wasn’t. They moved on past two lines of old cars that had been stripped and cannibalized for their working parts. Some had doors missing or a bonnet removed; others had wheels off or engine parts unceremoniously ripped from their guts. At the far end of the yard was a small warehouse with a wooden frontage and a little door cut into it that was secured by the biggest padlock Joseph had ever seen. Tony De Luca reached for his bundle of keys, found the right one, undid the padlock, and opened the door, and then they both stepped inside. They were now standing in a gloomy storeroom, where rack after rack of metal shelving stood side by side in rows, filled with seemingly endless, half-empty cardboard boxes, all labelled with their relevant auto parts. Joseph recognized a side panel for a Mustang sitting there on a shelf. De Luca had everything you might need, from windscreens to wheel nuts. There was probably enough in that storeroom to assemble several cars from scratch.

  There was no conversation as they walked farther into the warehouse, no “where you from?” or “you been busy?” De Luca was the kind of man who wanted to take your money and usher you out of his life with the minimum of complications, a guy who wouldn’t understand the meaning of the phrase “shooting the breeze.”

  They reached a key-cutting machine that looked like it had been salvaged from the Ark. It was much bigger than the one in the Williams’s hardware store and unlike Merve’s machine this one was covered in a layer of rust. It looked as if the only thing holding it together was the black grease that clogged its every surface.

  “So, what you got?” asked De Luca.

  “These.” Joseph held up the bunch of keys and De Luca blinked when he saw them, betraying something.

  “You want one of each?” he said placidly.

  “I guess, depends what you charging to do them all.”

  “Yeah, well, there ain’t no bulk discount,” he told Joseph firmly.

  “Okay then.” Joseph smiled reasonably like it was no big deal.

  De Luca put on a pair of plastic safety glasses and got to work on the first key. The machine made a series of harsh grinding noises and from time to time sparks flew as metal touched metal. De Luca spoke to Joseph without looking up from his work. “I seen you around before?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” answered Joseph. “I drive a cab, so it’s possible.”

  There was no further conversation, but every time De Luca finished a key he would glance up at Joseph, then quickly look away again, like he was trying to place him. Finally, when the work was finished, he handed Joseph the new bunch of keys, along with the old one. Joseph didn’t move.

  “There something else?” asked De Luca.

  “Yeah,” said Joseph. “You could tell me who else came in here recently with those same keys, asking for a new set. I know you recognize them. It was written all over your face.”

  “I thought I recognized the key ring, that’s all,” said De Luca. “But there’s got to be a million like it in New York, right?”

  “I think a man who cuts signature keys illegally probably doesn’t do that sort of work every day. I reckon he’d know if he’d worked on the same set twice in, say, a week or so.”

  De Luca straightened, drawing himself up to his full height, his chest expanded like someone was pumping air into it, and he clenched two fists the size of ham bones together meaningfully before taking a step toward Joseph. “What are you? A cop?”

  “No, but let’s just say I got an interest in knowing who else you’ve been doing business with lately. I just want the name, that’s all.”

  “Let’s say something else,” and he took another step toward Joseph. “How about I kick the living shit out of you right here and now and then I drag your scrawny ass outside and let my dog finish the job in the yard for me while I watch with a cold beer in my hand. You like the sound of that, Mr. Sticking-His-Nose-In-Where-It-Don’t-Belong? Huh, do you?” and he jabbed a finger into Joseph’s chest. It had the impact of a punch from a smaller man and Joseph rocked back on his heels.

  “There’s no need to get rough. I just want—”

  “I heard what you want and you ain’t getting it,” snarled De Luca. “You ain’t leaving here neither, till I find out who you working for,” and with that he reached out a hand and plucked a solid metal wrench from the nearest workbench. He weighed it in his palm and advanced on Joseph. Oh, how he would have loved to have had Brigitte’s gun in his hand right at that moment.

  Joseph decided there and then that he had to make his move quickly, before De Luca had the opportunity to use the wrench or his massive fists first. He moved swiftly, propelling himself forward on his toes and catching De Luca by surprise. As the bigger man tried to react by swinging the wrench at his head, Joseph ducked under the blow, aimed low, and landed a heavy punch into De Luca’s kidneys. He let out a breathless groan, the force of the blow enough to make the bigger man drop the wrench, which hit the ground with a high-pitched clatter.

  De Luca swore and Joseph followed straightaway with another vicious punch that crashed into the opposite side of the other man’s torso, hurting him in exactly the same spot. Joseph spun De Luca round, grabbing his arm as he did so, propelling him forward till he ran headfirst straight into the key cutter. Joseph slammed his head down until De Luca’s cheek was pressed hard against the metal of the machine and then he pulled De Luca’s arm upward, twisting it hard behind his back. He let out a cry of pain.

  “Then quit struggling,” warned Joseph, twisting De Luca’s arm once more for good measure.

  Again, he let out a cry, followed by a plaintive, “Okay, okay.” Then, “Let me go, man.”

  “Not until you give me a name,”

  “I don’t know anything…I…argh!”

  “Keep saying that and I’ll keep on twisting your arm. You stay stubborn and we’ll be here all afternoon, or at least until I lose interest and break it.”

  “I don’t take names,” cried the key cutter, sounding desperate now. “I don’t ask names and I don’t take them. Did I ask you your name? I don’t want to know your name and I didn’t want to know his.”

  “But you recognized the keys and you remember the guy, so what did he look like?”

  “Okay, okay, don’t do nothing,” pleaded De Luca. “He was a big guy, stocky, you know, like he worked out a lot, talked to me like he was used to ordering guys around, had short-cropped hair, looked like a grunt.”

  “You saying he was a soldier?”

  “Yes!” he said emphatically, and then his tone softened. “Maybe, hell, I don’t know. Please let go of me.”

  Joseph released his grip on the man’s arm and De Luca flexed his injured limb gingerly before letting it hang limply across his chest like it was a wounded animal he was nursing back to health. Two minutes ago he’d been a tough guy, thought Joseph. Now he looked like a kid who’d just had his lunch money stolen in the playground by the bigger boys.

  “So you saying you thought this guy looked like he was a military type.”

  “Yeah,” said De Luca, rubbing his arm miserably. “Like I said, a grunt.”

  Joseph
had no desire to let De Luca go only to have the man set his dog on him, so he left the parts dealer with two threats. “Do anything to prevent me from leaving and I will break your arm, you got that?” The big man nodded meekly. It looked like all the fight had gone from him now. “Then I’ll go to the police, tell them all about your key-cutting business, and show them the evidence.” He scooped up both sets of keys. “And I’ll suggest they take a good look at all those boxes of parts in here to see how many of ’em are stolen, you hear me?”

  De Luca nodded. Joseph left the parts yard entirely unmolested. He strode calmly passed the German shepherd, which predictably went crazy again, barking impotently at him as he walked by, tugging on its metal chain for all it was worth.

  When Joseph returned Ardo’s keys for the last time, he found the janitor in a contented mood. “You know how the police keep questioning me about the keys?” he asked rhetorically. “The principal, he pretty much tell them it’s my fault. He say there are only three set of keys: one he has himself, one in the safe, and one with the stupid janitor, who don’t know where he puts them,” he said. “Well, it turns out I don’t got to worry about that no more.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  Ardo’s eyes shone like he was about to let Joseph in on a big joke. “Because they find another set of keys the principal don’t know about.”

  “There’s a fourth set of keys?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “How you like that, Mr. Smart-Ass Principal fucking Decker?”

  “Where’d they find them?”

  Ardo chuckled. “In the bushes.”

  “The police found them?”

  “They brought in a dog.” He laughed. “Turns out it was a lot smarter than the cops. Whoever walked out of the building that night after killing Lopez must have panicked and thrown his keys as far as he could, but they didn’t go far enough. One of the cops was searching the school grounds with that dog looking for clues and he found ’em. So now I can’t get into no trouble no more.” And his beaming smile showed his relief that suspicion had been lifted from his shoulders.