Carlucci

by Richard Paul Russo

  Tanner moved to the toilet, raised the seat, and stood there, waiting. Nothing happened. He could feel the pressure of his bladder, but nothing came. Then there was a brief, sharp pain, and the stream burst forth. After the initial jolt, the pain eased, until it was nearly gone. When he was finished he felt empty, and a little dizzy. He flushed the toilet, then went to the sink and splashed cool water across his face. He stared at his reflection for a few moments, watching the water drip from his skin, then left and walked back.

  Sookie and the spikehead were in the room with Leo when Tanner walked in. Sookie sat on the cot next to Tanner’s clothes, his shoes on the floor at her feet. Tanner gazed at her, pain and memories of Carla surfacing once again.

  He turned away and looked at the spikehead. Over his eyes, the spikehead was wearing a contraption of bamboo, something like glasses. A weave of bamboo formed eye shutters that slid back and forth on tracks across his eyes like moving cages. His forehead was studded with twenty-five or thirty crust-tipped spikes of twisted skin.

  Leo approached Tanner, looked him over. “That cut’ll be all right,” he said, pointing at Tanner’s neck. “Any blood in the urine?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  Leo nodded. “Good. There was a little at first. Fall like that’s hard on the kidneys.”

  “I’m going to get dressed and leave,” Tanner said.

  Leo shrugged, glanced at the spikehead.

  “We risked a lot saving your ass,” the spikehead said. “I want to know why.”

  “Your name Mixer?” Tanner asked. The spikehead nodded, then Tanner said, “You risked it because you’re a nice guy.”

  Mixer tipped his head forward, looking at Tanner through flicking shutters of bamboo. “No, I’m not. So what are you doing that’s got Max after you? Got a right to know why I’m taking chances.”

  Tanner shook his head. “No, you don’t. I didn’t ask for your help.”

  The shutters flicked sideways; a twist formed on Mixer’s lips. A smile? “You’d be dead if we hadn’t.”

  “Maybe so. I appreciate what you did. But it’s my business, and it’s going to stay that way.”

  Sookie stood, stepped to Mixer’s side. “Maybe we can help,” she said. “Mixer knows the Tenderloin. He knows the runners and the grounders, and he knows…”

  Mixer reached out and put his hand gently but firmly over Sookie’s mouth. She tried to bite him and he pulled his hand away, but she did not say any more.

  Tanner walked to the cot and dressed. His clothes, though torn or frayed in spots, were clean. His I.D. packet was, surprisingly, intact, but there was no money, and the credit chip was gone.

  “There wasn’t any money when we found you,” Sookie said. “Really. We wouldn’t take anything.”

  Tanner glanced at Leo, then turned to Mixer. “And no credit chip?”

  Mixer shook his head, and they both looked at Leo. The junkie shrugged once more. “What the hell am I going to do with your credit chip? I don’t have your eyes, do I?”

  Mixer’s bamboo shutters clicked several times. “Sell it back to the originating streetbank for two cents on the dollar.”

  No shrugging this time, just a set expression on the junkie’s face. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  Mixer turned to Tanner. “I believe him.”

  Tanner nodded. “I’m leaving.”

  “All right,” Mixer said. “We’ll show you a way out.”

  “I’ll find my own way.”

  “I know a way’ll bring you up outside the Tenderloin.”

  “What if I want to stay inside?”

  “Do you?”

  Tanner shook his head. “Not right now. But just get me up to the street, I can get out just fine.”

  “Not a good idea,” Mixer responded. “You’ve got Max after you. Remember?”

  “I have to face that sooner or later.”

  “Why? You coming back in?”

  Now it was Tanner’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Probably.”

  “Fine. Then face it later. For now let’s do it my way.”

  Tanner hesitated. There was something to be said for Mixer’s thinking, and he was getting tired of arguing with the guy. “All right,” he said.

  Mixer started toward the door, then stopped, looking at Tanner. “Maybe Sookie’s right. Maybe we can help you.”

  Tanner was going to shake his head, but stopped himself, thinking about the offer. Mixer did seem to know his way around the Tenderloin, and he and Sookie had pulled Tanner out of some deep shit Tanner did not have to reveal much, nothing about the Chain Killer, nothing about why he was looking for Rattan. And, Tanner had to admit to himself, he didn’t have much else at this point. In fact, he didn’t have shit. But he hesitated, looking at Leo.

  Leo shook his head. “I don’t want anything to do with it. I’m gone.” He retrieved his medical kit and left.

  “I’m looking for Rattan,” Tanner said.

  Mixer rolled his head to the left, gaze swinging toward the ceiling. “Jesus, I don’t even want to know you.” He looked back at Tanner, the bamboo shutters clicking rapidly. How the hell did he do that? Tanner wondered. “Forget I asked you anything,” Mixer said.

  Tanner nodded. “Forgotten.”

  Mixer shook his head, dug his hands into his pocket, and pulled out several bills, then handed them to Tanner. “You’ll need a few bucks to get you wherever.”

  Tanner took the money, pocketed it.

  Mixer led the way, with Tanner next and Sookie following. The corridor was empty, and they headed left, gradually moving into a gray darkness as they moved beyond the lights. The corridor curved sharply, grew still darker. Tanner could barely make out Mixer in front of him.

  Mixer stopped, slipped a plastic card into a slot, then punched a sequence of numbers into a glowing, recessed keypad. Metal slid aside, revealing a narrow, brightly lit passage, one wall metal, the other concrete. Tanner and Sookie went through, then Mixer followed, sealing the doorway behind them. Mixer took the lead again.

  As they moved along the passage. Tanner thought about Mixer’s question—“You coming back in?” He had to, didn’t he? There was no other way to find Rattan, he knew that. But it wouldn’t do anyone any good if he got killed while looking.

  And he thought about Carla. Whenever they stopped or changed from one passage to another, he would turn around and look at Sookie. Every time he did, the pain twisted in his chest, building steadily. One time, as he silently stared at her, Sookie held her hands out in exasperation and blurted, “What?” He did not have an answer for her.

  They shifted to a metal-walled passage with dim, sputtering lights and a ceiling so low they were forced to proceed on all fours. Tanner was wearing down, and finally he called out to Mixer and stopped. He felt dizzy, queasy, short of breath. He sat with his back against the warm metal wall and breathed deeply. Mixer squatted a few feet ahead while Sookie sat in a lotus position at Tanner’s side. Mixer lit a cigarette.

  “Don’t,” Tanner said. “Unless you want me puking all over you.”

  “Jeez!” Sookie waved at Mixer. “Put it out, I’m the one closest to him.”

  Mixer crushed the cigarette against the floor. He rocked on his haunches, the bamboo shutters gliding slowly, smoothly from side to side. “It’s not much farther,” he said.

  They sat awhile in silence, and with each minute’s rest Tanner felt stronger, though he knew it would not last long once they resumed.

  “Something I want to ask,” Mixer said.

  Tanner looked at him.

  “You’re looking for Rattan, and you go to Max?”

  Tanner nodded. “I didn’t know. I haven’t been here in a while.” He paused. “It was a mistake.”

  Mixer snorted. “No shit. Mistakes like that find you dead.”

  Tanner did not reply. There was nothing to say to that.

  They resumed moving, still on all fours. The sputtering lights gave the passage a surreal cast, tiny but silent e
xplosions of light and shadow. Several minutes later the passage began to rise, angled off to one side, then ended in a wide, circular chamber. Metal rungs were bolted into the wall leading up to the ceiling a few feet above their heads.

  Mixer put his plastic card into another slot, and the metal ceiling slid back, revealing more rungs leading upward. “This’ll take you right up to street level,” Mixer said. “There’s a grille, and to the right on the wall will be a switch that’ll open it.”

  Tanner was breathing heavily again, and sharp pain jabbed his ribs, but he figured he could make it the rest of the way. “Where do I come out?” he asked.

  “Tornado Alley.”

  “Terrific. What time of day is it?”

  “About two in the morning. Want to wait for daylight?”

  Tanner shook his head. “Night’s not much worse than day, really. Better, maybe. Most of them are asleep.”

  Mixer smiled. “The smell’s worse.”

  Tanner nodded. The pain in his ribs had eased a bit, and he put a hand on one of the rungs. “Thanks for the help.”

  “Sure thing,” Mixer said. “But I’d forget about looking for Rattan if I were you.”

  Tanner sighed, then looked at Sookie. The ache swelled in his chest again, worse in some ways than the physical pain of his bruised ribs. “Good-bye, Sookie. Thanks.”

  She remained silent a few moments, then looked away and said, “Bye.”

  Tanner turned back to the rungs and started climbing.

  By the time he was a few feet above the chamber, the smell reached him. Unwashed bodies, mainly, mixed with the ammonia odor of piss and traces of alcohol and Sterno. People who hadn’t bathed in weeks, or months, even years. Tornado Alley.

  The stench increased as he climbed, making him queasy in the close confines of the vertical shaft. The shaft opened in front of him, elbowing horizontally for a few feet to the metal grille. Tanner crawled forward and looked out through the bars.

  Tornado Alley wasn’t really an alley. It was a block-long strip of empty lots on both sides of a barricaded street, lit at night by half a dozen cords of phosphor strung between surrounding buildings, and now occupied by several thousand sleeping forms. It had acquired its name a few years before when a city politician, vowing to clean it out along with other street-people havens, had said it looked as though a tornado had swept through the city, sucked up all the derelicts and homeless, then dumped them all in one place—Tornado Alley. The politician hadn’t cleaned up anything, of course, and the city pretty much left Tornado Alley alone. There was no other place to put these people anyway. The city certainly was not going to find housing for them.

  Tanner felt for the grille switch, pressed it, and the grille clicked ajar. He pushed it open, crawled through, and stepped down onto a tiny space of cement between two sleeping, stinking bodies, one of them snoring heavily. Tanner pushed back the grille, pressing until it clicked shut.

  The stench was almost overwhelming in the heat, and he stood motionless for a minute, trying to get his bearings. During the winter Tornado Alley would be ablaze with trash-can fires, but at the peak of summer only a few small flames flickered—Sterno cooking fires. There was nothing else but body after body, most keeping a little space between themselves and the bodies around them.

  Tanner worked his way through the Alley, carving out a wandering path among the sleeping bodies. The Alley was fairly quiet, silence broken only by snores, mutterings, and occasional stifled cries. Once someone clutched at his ankle, but he freed it easily—the person’s grip was weak, sickly—and resumed his progress.

  When he reached the boundary of the Alley, Tanner looked up and down the street, trying to decide where to go next. Finding a cab in this part of the city, this time of night, would be impossible. Walking back to his apartment was too far and too dangerous. Besides, he wasn’t so sure going back to his place was a good idea—Max almost certainly could learn where he lived.

  A transient hotel? Not a great idea, either. Who lived around here? The only people he could think of were Hannah and Rossi. Tanner sighed heavily. He knew they would take him in, no matter what time of night it was. But the idea depressed him. Still. It was his best option; he did not want to stay out on the streets any longer than was necessary, and it was better than sleeping in Tornado Alley.

  It was a short walk, a total of three blocks to a five-story building on Larkin. Tanner pushed Hannah and Rossi’s doorbell, waited a minute, then pressed again. He pressed it a third time, and Hannah’s sleepy, gravelly voice came over the intercom.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Tanner.”

  “Tanner who?”

  “Hannah, it’s Louis.”

  A pause, then, “It’s three in the fucking morning.”

  “I need a place to drop for the night.”

  Another pause, then the door buzzed several times, locks and bolts thunking back. Tanner pushed the door open and stepped into the building. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, walked down the hall, and knocked on Hannah and Rossi’s door.

  The door opened and Hannah, wearing only a long T-shirt, stepped back to let him in. She was in her early forties, but looked older, worn out and worn down. Living with Rossi had done that to her.

  “So nice to fucking see you,” she said, closing the door. “You look like shit.”

  The front room was lit by a floor lamp. Rossi was passed out on the sofa, one leg drooped over the edge, surrounded by piles of cracker crumbs. He reeked of gin. Rossi had been a cop once, too. He hadn’t quit, though. He’d been shit-canned. The force put up with a lot of drinking these days, but Rossi had gone above and beyond the call too many times. He had fucked up too many times. Tanner knew he still did.

  “You can sleep with me,” Hannah said. “You’ll never move him off the couch.”

  They went into the bedroom, and Hannah immediately got into bed, her back to Tanner. In the light from the front room, Tanner undressed, then climbed into bed with his own back to Hannah’s. They both shifted positions until their backs were firmly pressed together. Neither said a word. Tanner closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep.

  22

  TANNER WOKE TO the sounds of vomiting. Bright orange light slashed through the window blinds, ragged strips across the bed. He was alone in the room, the bed rumpled but empty beside him. He felt better than the night before, but not really rested. He lay in the late-morning heat without moving, listening to Rossi.

  The vomiting sounds ceased; they were followed by the toilet flushing, then water running in the sink. A minute later Rossi stumbled out of the bathroom, came around the corner, and stopped in the bedroom doorway, grinning sickly at Tanner. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and no shirt, belly drooping over his belt, holding cigarettes and matches in his left hand. He looked even older than Hannah.

  “Hey, Tanner. You haven’t been screwing my wife, have you?”

  Tanner did not answer. He was fairly sure Rossi wasn’t serious. He sat up, wincing at the stab of pain in his ribs. “Good morning, Rossi.”

  Rossi coughed several times, then lit a cigarette. “You haven’t been by in a while,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Maybe you should be,” Rossi said.

  “What?”

  “Screwing my wife.” He shrugged, looked out the window. “You might as well. I mean, somebody should be.”

  Jesus, Tanner thought, I don’t need this now. “Is Hannah still here?”

  Rossi shook his head, still looking out the window. “She went to work.” He turned back to Tanner. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “Can I use your phone?”

  “Sure. I think Hannah’s paid the bill.” He turned, staggered back into the bathroom. Tanner heard a spluttering hiss of water, then a steady spray.

  Tanner got up and dressed, then went out to the front room. Gin smell still hung in the air along with stale cigarette smoke. He stepped into the kitchen, hoping to see some coffee already made
, but all he saw were stacks of dishes in the sink, glasses all over the counter, and half a dozen open cracker boxes. Tanner returned to the front room, sat in the stuffed chair next to the phone, and picked up the receiver.

  His first call was to Carlucci. The dispatcher patched him through to Carlucci’s comm unit, and he keyed in his old priority code and Rossi’s phone number. He hung up and waited. Two minutes later, Carlucci called.

  “Tanner?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Figured it was you. The priority code came up blank. I’ll set up a new one for you.”

  “We need to meet,” Tanner said.

  “We sure as hell do. I was hoping to hear from you sooner. Some shit’s gone down in the Tenderloin you should know about.”

  “I probably already do, but yeah. I’ve been off-line for a couple of days.”

  “Where are you now? Inside or out?”

  “Out. Rossi’s place.”

  There was a pause, then, “How’s Hannah doing?”

  “All right, I guess. Surviving.” Tanner looked toward the bathroom, listening to the shower sounds. Carlucci wouldn’t ask about Rossi. Carlucci had no tolerance for drunks, especially if they were cops. Especially when it was Rossi.

  “You know where Widgie’s is?” Carlucci asked. “It’s not far from you.”

  “Yeah, just a few blocks. Meet there?”

  “Yes. An hour okay?”

  “Make it two. I’ve got a few things to do, and I’ve got to get something to eat.”

  “Two hours, then. I’ll see you.”

  “Right.”

  Tanner hung up. The shower was still going. He should call Rachel, make sure she was okay. Max must have the card with her name and address. Tanner called information, but there was no listing for Rachel, so he called Alexandra.

  “This is Tanner,” he said when she answered.

  “About time you called.”

  “Why?”