Dirty Deeds

by Armand Rosamilia

  I’d eaten pizza in many cities across the country, and you couldn’t beat a real New York slice. Seriously. I always tell people, if they travel anywhere near this city, make a stop and have a slice or three.

  I stared at the pizza in the display and was deciding what I wanted, making sure I kept my bottle of Coke hidden. Places frowned upon bringing outside food and drink in, which I understood. The candy bars were already in my pocket for future use.

  I tilted my head and could see one of the goons stop in the open doorway and look at each person in turn. His gaze stopped at me, lingering too long, before he stepped outside and disappeared.

  I was next in line so I ordered two pepperoni slices and bottled water. I figured if I had to run I didn’t want a fountain drink splashing around and I could stuff two slices in my mouth while I moved with ease. When you’ve eaten as much pizza as I have you get good at it.

  Marisa once asked me what my dream woman would be like. I told her half-joking she would need to be able to drive a car and eat pizza at the same time.

  I took a bite of the too-hot pizza, scalding the roof of my mouth, and stepped to the rear of the dining area, watching the door. I was three bites into my first slice when I saw one of the goons across the street watching the pizza place.

  I’d been spotted, even in this ridiculous outfit.

  I slipped into the bathroom, stuffing the rest of the first slice into my mouth, and threw the denim jacket and baseball cap into the trash can. I left the sunglasses on the sink and took a deep breath before folding the second slice of pizza and eating it as quickly as I could. I washed it down with half the bottle of water, trying to remain calm.

  A splash of water on my face and I was ready. I left the bathroom, expecting to dodge a bullet, and headed for the kitchen.

  “Can I help ya?” a young guy making a plate of delicious-looking baked ziti asked as I passed him.

  “I’m good. Back door?”

  He shook his head. “Go out the front, dude.”

  “I need the back door. Now,” I said, pulling out my wallet. This day was getting way too expensive. I figured another hundred would keep this guy quiet for awhile.

  He didn’t take the money, looking past me.

  When he turned and left the kitchen quickly, I knew I was in trouble.

  I was guessing the other goon was behind me, and when the gun was pressed to my back I can’t say I was surprised.

  FOURTEEN

  “Why are we playing hide and seek?” Keane asked and spun me around in the kitchen.

  I noticed right away his pistol was still in his hand and his finger too close to the trigger.

  “I didn’t realize you and I were playing,” I said.

  Keane finally holstered the pistol and walked to the open doorway to the kitchen.

  “We need to go. Chenzo’s men will see the cook running out and know there’s trouble.” Keane turned back to me and smiled. “I saved your life again. That’s got to be worth something, right?”

  “It would be but you’re the reason I keep getting into trouble this week,” I said.

  “We need to go out the back door. Now,” Keane said.

  “As soon as you answer a few questions,” I said. I still didn’t know which side Keane was on and why he was being so cryptic in every meeting we’d had lately. The guy had done a complete turnaround since Will Black/Little Chenzo had come to light.

  I needed to know why.

  Keane put a hand on his holster and frowned. “Come with me. I’ll fill you in on everything I can. I promise. We’re wasting time.”

  I was about to stomp my foot like a child but someone yelled in the pizza place and I didn’t need to look back to see what was going on. The goons had figured it out and were heading in our direction.

  Once again I was reacting, running out the back door because of things set into motion and out of my control. I was starting to rethink my career choices again.

  Yes, like anyone else who’s been doing a job for a number of years, I sometimes wanted to stop being in this business. It had a certain stench to it. Even though I never killed a kid, the idea people thought I did was sick and twisted.

  Even the constant travel for the sports card business was getting to me as I got older. Marisa kept telling me to stop doing the shows and just worry about the website and mail-order and I’d still be fine. The overhead for storage and shipping was more than enough, but traveling from city to city, shipping in my setups and cards and hotel rooms and food was an added cost. Sure, it was all write-offs when you came right down to it, and it helped me with my taxes and staying on the right side of the law, but it was getting to me. I was getting too old for any of this.

  Like running. By the time we got to Keane’s car I was winded and slid into the backseat, where I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath.

  “With any luck we can get someplace safe,” Keane said as he started the car.

  Right on cue the back window was shot out, glass dropping onto my body. I was lucky I wasn’t sitting up, or I might have a hole in my head.

  Keane screamed in shock before recovering and taking off, the car scraping against the side of the building before he righted us and got onto the street.

  I wisely stayed down and the sound of horns honking and tires spinning was enough to let me know to not move.

  “At least I know another piece of the puzzle,” Keane yelled.

  I rolled over onto my back, wiped glass shards from my body, and willed myself not to be curious and peek out the missing back window.

  There was gunfire from behind us and Keane cut the steering wheel quickly, throwing me around and slamming my head against the car door.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in returning fire for us?” Keane asked.

  I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

  “Let me guess. . . your FBI buddies are now trying to kill us,” I said.

  “That’s pretty much what’s going on right now. If I can lose them we can get to somewhere safe and put this all together,” Keane said.

  I slid over but kept my head down, lining up so I could see him in profile.

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked. I didn’t trust Reggie Keane right now. Too many things were happening too quickly and conveniently for this to be all coincidence. I’d keep my opinions to myself for the time being, though. I still needed to escape from whoever was trying to kill us and Keane was driving. I was going to keep my mouth shut and offer nothing, taking it all in.

  “I’m guessing the FBI safe houses are all unsecured in the city and maybe New York State. We need to find somewhere safe to hole up until we figure out what’s going on,” Keane said.

  And there it was.

  He wanted me to help him by giving up part of how my operation worked. If I had a safe house somewhere in the area he wanted to go there. Was I being paranoid? Maybe. I didn’t want to find out the hard way I was following along with someone playing me. Keane and I had spent way too much time together lately.

  “I know a place in New Jersey,” I said, regretting it immediately. If Keane was setting me up, making feel like I had to go with the flow and trust him, I might be opening up a big can of worms. If he knew what I was capable of he’d never underestimate me again, and he’d never let me be until he nailed me. Either as a straight-shooting FBI agent and upholder of the law, or as a Chenzo guy who wanted to help bring me down and get in the good graces of The Family.

  Either way I was in deep trouble.

  “Don’t you think Jersey is a little too close for comfort?” Keane asked.

  “The last place Chenzo would think to look is in his backyard. But we can’t just go there. Can you drive towards Connecticut? If we can get as far as New Haven I can land us a new ride,” I said.

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I have money, which means I have connections. It also means you need to drop me off once we get there so I can do my thing,’ I said.

/>   “No way. You’re not leaving my sight.”

  No one had been shooting for awhile and Keane was still driving like a maniac, so I took a big gamble and sat up. Besides, my neck and back were hurting from being so low in the seat. I turned and looked behind us. For now we weren’t being pursued.

  How convenient.

  “You lost them pretty quickly,” I said, trying not to sound sarcastic. I’m not sure if it worked or not.

  Keane glanced at me in the rearview mirror and grinned. “I still got it.”

  I was having my doubts about this setup. The bad guys were coming to get me and Keane rescued me at the last minute, and now we’d hole up in a remote cabin in the woods and over a bottle of scotch I’d cry and tell him all the bad things I’d done in my life before he slapped the cuffs on me.

  I causally pulled my cell phone out, made sure it was on mute and texted Marisa. With my lack of skills texting and my giant sausage fingers it took me forever but I got the message to her. She was tracking me already.

  I smiled and sat up, leaning forward.

  “You planted a bug on me, didn’t you? Back in Staten Island? It’s the only way you knew my every move,” I said.

  Keane didn’t answer, making pretend driving on the road in a straight line was suddenly worth all of his focus.

  I sat back in the seat.

  “We need to switch cars. If a cop sees the busted window he’ll pull us over. If he calls it in first it will alert the guys after us,” Keane said.

  I checked my pockets and found a small round disc with a touch of glue. I’d used them a couple of times myself and knew they were expensive but effective.

  “How’d you get it on me without my noticing?” I asked, tossing it past Keane and onto the dashboard.

  I could see the small grin on his face but he didn’t bother to answer.

  Marisa was tracking me by my phone. I pulled it from my pocket and called her, smiling when Keane gave me an alarmed look in the rearview mirror.

  “Hey, I need a favor. We need a car,” I said.

  “We?” Marisa asked.

  “Keane is driving Mister Gaffney right now. But the vehicle has seen better days. While I do enjoy sitting in the backseat without the rear window and letting the breeze blow through my hair, it is kind of noticeable. I’d appreciate some help,” I said.

  “He still thinks your name is James Gaffney? Cute.”

  I winked at Keane when he looked back at me again.

  “He’s starting to catch up. Not the worry right now. We need a new set of wheels. Something fast but inconspicuous will do,” I said. “And not a hybrid. You know I hate the environment.”

  “You seem to hate everything,” Marisa said. I could hear her typing quickly, about eight times faster than I could on my best day. And she wasn’t doing it fast, either.

  “Not true. I enjoy food.”

  “We need to get you a pet. You like cats?”

  I groaned. We’d been over this a million times already. “I hate cats. I love dogs and goldfish but I travel too much. Any pet would starve to death and then you’d finally see me crying.”

  “I’ve seen you cry before,” Marisa said. “It’s anything but manly.”

  Keane was listening to every word of the conversation, probably wondering how to break the code we were using. There wasn’t any. Marisa and I often chatted about anything and everything. We joked quite a bit and both knew when it was time for business all joking was over.

  She also knew I was in a spot right now and needed to get out of it.

  “Do you want to stay with Keane or dump him?” Marisa asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. What do you have for me in this area?”

  “Tell Keane to take the next exit and go right at the light.”

  I relayed the information.

  “Are you sure?” Keane asked.

  “Do you want me to help you or no? Just follow the directions so we can get out of this mess.” I shook my head and went back to my phone call. “Let me know what to do next so I can relay it.”

  “Just say the word and the guy at the other end will do you a big favor. For a big fee, of course,” Marisa said.

  “We just need a good car,” I said.

  “Suit yourself. Go four blocks and make another right.”

  I wondered if simply getting rid of Keane would help or hinder me at this point.

  FIFTEEN

  I didn’t let the big bruiser eliminate Keane, even though I could tell he wanted to. Instead, he met us outside, took the keys from Keane and stared at me for direction.

  “I just need the car,” I said.

  He nodded and tossed me a set of keys from his pocket. “Around the street. Black Mustang.”

  I thanked him. He was a giant of a man, at least six and a half feet tall and with enough prison tats to fill my skin twice. He knew who Keane was and I knew I’d paid more for this car and silence than stepping onto a lot and buying it new, but I needed the car quickly and quietly.

  “I’m driving,” Keane said.

  I smiled and shook my head. “You don’t know where we’re going. I do. It’s time for you to ride shotgun.”

  “I’d rather stretch out in the backseat,” Keane said.

  “I really can’t argue with the logic,” I said as I got into the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t drive too fast.”

  “You’re telling me? You broke a dozen driving laws in the last couple of hours. Sit back and enjoy the ride,” I said. I was actually a very cautious driver. Marisa made fun of me because I kept it no more than five miles over the speed limit and always used proper signaling. You never wanted to get noticed and never wanted to have a cop pull you over for a brake light out or failure to use a blinker and nail you for the unconscious kid in the trunk.

  I had the same thoughts on tipping in a restaurant: never make a scene. Never send food back, never special order, never flirt too much or be rude with the waitress, and always pay in cash and leave exactly fifteen percent. You never want to be remembered as the cheap guy or the generous tipper.

  A few miles later I turned onto a side street and pulled over, watching my mirrors.

  “What are you doing?” Keane asked.

  “Watching for the bad guys. If we’re being tailed they’ll stumble upon us. I’d rather have a shootout now. It will do us no good if the safe house is found out,” I said.

  “When all of this is over, you and I are going to have a long talk,” Keane said.

  “Agreed. But right now. . . we hang out and wait. It won’t be long if we’re being followed,” I said and watched. After ten long minutes in silence I started the car. I turned to Keane, sitting in the back seat. “Sit up front. I don’t like anyone behind me.”

  “You don’t think they hung back?” Keane asked as he got out and sat in the passenger seat.

  I shook my head. “There’s no way for them to see us after we made the turn. They’d assume we kept driving and they’d stumble onto us.”

  “Then what?”

  “You shoot them and we continue on our merry way,” I said.

  “I can’t let you shoot anyone.”

  I smiled. “I don’t carry a weapon and when I do it isn’t loaded. I’m a pacifist.”

  “Doubtful. I was about to smack you with the irony of your words and mention dead children, but now I’m beginning to wonder what your game really is. Something isn’t right with you,” Keane said.

  “You’re not the first person to say it.” I pulled away from the curb, expecting the bad guys to get behind us at any moment. “You do realize, for a single moment when you got out of the car, I toyed with driving away and leaving you behind?”

  “Why do you think I made the transition so fast?”

  I knew even if we’d ducked them for a little bit, they weren’t going to stop looking. If the FBI was involved they’d get state and local police units out looking for us, too. This was going to get really bad before it magically got good for us
.

  “How’d you get into collecting baseball cards?” Keane asked me.

  He wanted to make small talk. I was fine with it. Chit-chat made the time go faster, and if I was being honest with myself, besides Marisa and really bad people, I had no one else to talk to.

  The redhead from the card shows came to mind but I pushed the thought away for another, simpler day. Too much going on right now to add a further complication.

  “My dad was a huge fan. I grew up in Atlanta. He’d take me to see the Braves, even when they were horrible. It didn’t matter whether they won or lost. We had a great time,” I said.

  I needed to watch every word I was saying because I knew Keane would file it away to get back to my roots somehow. Yeah, I’m still paranoid. I didn’t and couldn’t trust Keane just yet. I really wanted to but I needed to survive more than anything, and too many guns were aimed at my head right now.

  “To be honest, I’m not much of a baseball fan. Too slow for me. I love college football.”

  “Even though I grew up in the south I never got into college ball. I’m also a big Falcons fan. I root for the home team in all sports,” I said. “I collected Braves cards. Dale Murphy, Phil Niekro, Dusty Baker. Great players on bad teams. Niekro made a hundred grand in 1975 for salary. Crazy it was the highest on the team.”

  “I’m going to guess you make that on a good weekend at a major show,” Keane said.

  I looked at him, expecting a knowing look or some hint he wanted to talk money, but he was looking out his window.

  “I’ve often wondered if I was in the right line of work. Most days I love it, but there are times I look back through my life and wonder where I went wrong. At what point was the wrong road taken? I was a decent painter as a kid. Watercolors and acrylic, not house painting. A talent. But I was talked into doing something not so creative and common sense.” Keane tapped the glass with a finger. “I always wonder if I’d followed my dreams if I’d end up in the same spot, worse or better.”

  “Why aren’t you painting in your free time?”

  “What free time?” Keane said too quickly. I knew it was his snap answer whenever he was asked this simple question. He was a guy who had an excuse not to do what he loved and complain about what he was doing instead.