Men of the Mean Streets

by Greg Herren

  “Hey, did you hear me?” A thin young man with an anxious face waved a bony finger in his face. “Is Ms. Kissme Deadly singing tonight?”

  Kissme was Shanghai’s drag queen persona. The boys loved her. She was everything Shanghai, the main waiter, wasn’t—tall, loud, and deliciously obscene.

  “She’s on at eleven,” Shield said. “Let me see your ID, please.”

  The boy winced as if Shield had flicked a lit match at his skin. “You’re kidding me, right?” The boy’s lips stretched into a mocking, self-satisfied smile across his plain face. “Here’s my ID.” The young man flipped his wallet open and produced a hundred-dollar bill.

  Shield averted his eyes from it as if the boy had shown him a pubic hair. He stared straight ahead.

  “Oh, that’s grand,” the young man snapped, “you’re gonna play high-and-mighty with me? You and me both know there ain’t nothing money can’t buy here.” He stepped up to Shield’s face, breathing out the scent of cherry cough drops. “Not even the law,” he added boldly.

  “Step away from my face.” It was a command, not a threat. Shield knew these types—they got their kicks out of aggravating the doorman.

  “Look, I came here all the way from―”

  “No kid, you look.” Shield turned his eyes to the boy, noting the dullness of his face. “I’m in no mood for your pestering. Get back on your tricycle and roll on out of here.”

  “You’ll regret this.” The young man’s features blanched with anger. For a moment, Shield expected the boy to slap him, but he retreated, backing up to the sidewall. “I know somebody who works here. Didn’t wanna bother him, but I will now. Oh yes, I will.”

  “Yeah? Why don’t you do that.” Shield crossed his hands over his waist, closing the conversation.

  What did it matter anymore? He and Sugar were going to be busting out of this hole soon enough. He’d whisk Sugar away to some place golden, and they’d spend the rest of their lives drinking Manhattans under a foreign sun. After all, everything he’d done in the last three years—all of the trespassing he’d allowed on his integrity—he’d done for Sugar. He’d guarded this door for him only. He’d spent his nights in the cold for him. Always Sugar. Yes, Sugar was involved in Violet’s racket, but only because of his vulnerability. In a world where beauty was the currency, Sugar had offered his to the highest bidder.

  He would change that.

  He would set Sugar free.

  The wind lifted the dead leaves out of the gutter, and Shield shivered.

  Time for a break.

  *

  Shield made his way through the thickening crowd of men, his stare burning every face he passed. Behind the bar, Shanghai busied himself with fixing a Blue Lagoon. Shield leaned on the smooth, polished bar top, heart racing. “Where is he?” he said, trying to be heard without yelling.

  Shanghai raised his slanted black eyes and shook his head. “Forget Sugar right now. Violet wants to talk to you,” he said over the sound of the music. “She’s in the office upstairs.” He tossed his delicate chin up, looking intently over Shield’s shoulder. “You should have let that skinny boy in. He’s connected, I think.”

  Connected. Everybody in this joint was. Shield turned in the direction of Shanghai’s pointed stare, knowing he’d meet a familiar pair of dumb eyes. Indeed, the thin, dull boy grinned at him from the back table, lifting his martini glass. “He isn’t legal―” But Shield stopped himself. What’s the use? he thought.

  “Look, Shield, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but everyone’s a little on edge.” Shanghai pushed the vivid blue drink over to a slouching man in a badly tailored suit—a writer, most probably—and leaned in closer. Shanghai wore the club’s uniform, a black shirt and white necktie, but on his frail frame, the clothes looked more like a disguise than classic attire. “Violet thinks someone’s been playing her.”

  “Yes, and that someone’s got a toe tag.”

  “She doesn’t buy it. She doesn’t think Easy D’s the canary.” Shanghai closed his eyes and touched his lips with two fingertips.

  “But they went through his books,” Shield replied flatly, his gaze scouring the ill-lit bar for that face, that beautiful, perfect face. “Anyway,” he added more strongly, “maybe Easy wasn’t gonna feed any of this to the boys downtown. Maybe he was keeping the information, you know, saving it for a rainy day.”

  “You mean blackmailing.” Shanghai gasped unconvincingly. “Easy wasn’t that smart. He didn’t have the balls for extortion―”

  “What do we really know about him?” Shield leaned back, skimming the counter with the side of his thumb. “What do we really know about anybody here anyway?”

  Shanghai seemed to ponder this. Slowly, he nodded his head to the back room. “Speaking of deceit, Sugar’s in there, going over some numbers, but he asked not to be bothered.”

  Shield glanced back at the main door, knowing he should head back to his spot. “You don’t know Sugar,” he said. “He’s not like the rest of them.” He believed it.

  “Shield, it’s not too late for you. You could quit this. You could disappear.”

  “I can’t. I won’t.” Shield stepped away.

  “I told you once, the minute you get a taste of Sugar, the tramp gets into your system, and you’re hooked for good. I wish you’d listen―”

  “Tell Violet I’ll see her in a minute.” Shield watched the back room’s closed door. Behind it, his drug of choice awaited and he was aching for a bump.

  To hell with all of them.

  He needed to see those baby blue eyes.

  *

  Shield knocked on the back room’s metal door and pressed his ear to it. The music drowned out all other noises and he strained to hear any voices seeping through. Heart in mouth, he pushed the latch down and cracked the door open a peep.

  Clad in his uniform, Sugar stood quietly in the middle of the cluttered room, his back to the door. He appeared to be watching the sky through the windowpane. All around him were scattered papers, and on the desk were five stacks of money, wrapped with brown elastic bands. “Go away,” he said, waving a hand up dismissively. He didn’t turn around. “And close the door.”

  “It’s me, baby.”

  “Oh.” Slowly, Sugar spun around. Under the naked lightbulb, his ashen locks shimmered. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. His voice was dim. He glanced around and over Shield’s shoulder. “Violet wants to see you.” His eyes were clouded, his movements were tense. “Drink?” he asked, plucking an Eagle Rare bottle off the shelf.

  Shield entered and shut the door behind him. His pulse raced. His mind had flown into chaos. He only wanted to put his hands on Sugar. There was only that.

  “You know,” Sugar said, smiling wanly, “Edward Fairmont is here.” When Shield didn’t react, Sugar rolled his eyes. “The famous director.”

  “So what are you doing hiding out in here?” Shield moved in closer, accepting the drink Sugar handed him. “You should be out there, charming him.”

  Sugar frowned. “How much money do you have put away?”

  Shield’s chest constricted. He sipped his drink in hopes of steadying his nerves and set it down gently on the bookcase. “Planning to go somewhere?”

  “I might have to. I don’t know.” Sugar drank the contents of his glass and looked over at the money. Shield could plainly see Ben Franklin’s face staring back at him. Sugar touched the first stack lightly. “Violet’s testing me. She wants to own me.”

  “But you won’t let her.”

  “I won’t?” Sugar laughed. Despair glimmered deep inside his eyes. “And why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re better than them.”

  “I need to think.” Sugar turned away from him. Black rain lashed the glass.

  “I love you.” Shield felt the words leap off his tongue, and a wave of nausea rolled over him.

  Sugar swirled around. A bloom of red heat colored his cheeks. “Have you lost your mind?”

  �
��Go away with me. If it’s money you want, I’ll write you a check―”

  “Don’t.” Sugar regained his usual poise. He adjusted his necktie and wet his lips. “Don’t go tender on me. Not now.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “Look around you, Shield. We’re standing in the flames and you’re asking me if I feel hot.”

  “Then come with me. Tonight.” Panic crept up Shield’s back, and he grabbed hold of Sugar’s hands. “We could book the first flight out of this city and no one would ever find us―” The look in Sugar’s eyes snuffed out the rest of the words.

  Sugar stood close, his hands rigid inside his. “No.”

  Shield shrank back, bruised.

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” Sugar said, dodging Shield’s searing stare. “I never wanted you to get so close.”

  The room blurred around them, and Shield wiped his eyes. Nothing had ever stirred him to tears before. “I always thought you played along. Always thought this was just a game, and you’d fold when it was time.”

  “I play to win, Shield.” Sugar turned his face to the window again. “But you knew that already, big boy.”

  Shield heard his own sharp intake of air as he held back a cry. Yes, he’d known all of it. He’d almost written this scene in his mind, word for word, many times over. From the moment he’d caught a glimpse of Sugar’s eyes, he’d known how the movie would end.

  “You used me, Sugar, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t, Shield. Don’t desecrate what we had.”

  “Desecrate?” Shield’s voice boomed through the room. “I’ve been standing outside every one of your doors for the last three years. I lied for you. Broke all the rules for you. My rules!”

  “It was your choice. I never asked you to.”

  “How can you say that to me?” Shield stepped closer. “Look at me. Why won’t you look at me?”

  Sugar flinched, but his eyes never left the storm outside the window. “I’m sorry, Shield. You don’t belong here. Never did. You should sell everything you own and skip town.” There was a fragile tremor in Sugar’s words, but his body remained sealed from Shield. His face fused with the shadows. “Tonight, before the dirt starts sticking to you.”

  “I won’t leave without you.”

  “Then you’re stupider than I thought. Can’t you see? I needed you, and now I don’t. It’s simple, really.”

  “You don’t mean it. You’re scared.” Shield raised his hand to Sugar’s shoulder, touching it lightly. “I know you―”

  “You’re a fool, big boy.” Sugar swept Shield’s hand off. “Everyone here knows it. You were so busy watching me, you were blind to everything else. Why do you think Violet kept you on?”

  “I’m not blind. I know what’s going on―”

  “You know nothing!” Sugar screamed, his eyes blazing. “And don’t you tell anyone any different, you hear me? You’re a pawn, nothing more. A dumb brute!” He slapped his palm against Shield’s chest. “Now get out! You’re dead weight to me now. I want you to disappear!”

  This time the cry Shield had been fighting tore out of his lips. It seemed to echo even as he stumbled out of the room, into the crowd, past Shanghai’s concerned face, and into the heavy rain. “Whore!” he could still hear himself scream. When Violet stormed out after him, calling out his name in fury, Shield jumped over the puddles, skidding on dead leaves, and never turned around.

  *

  Who killed Easy D?

  Shield sat in his car, smoking his last cigarette.

  Who gave the order? Who delivered his death sentence?

  You know nothing, you dumb brute.

  He flicked the ashes at the floor and leaned his head back on the seat. He’d turned the headlights off and parked across from Sugar’s apartment building.

  He closed his eyes, recalling the image of Sugar’s elegant fingers—the way they’d grazed, yes, almost caressed, the stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  You’re dead weight to me now. I want you to disappear.

  Shield glanced up to the rearview mirror. The gray Oldsmobile was still parked a few spots away, Hank’s boys sitting inside in the shadows. They’d followed him out of the Detour’s parking lot, staying three cars behind but always in plain view. For a moment, he debated about confronting one of the roughnecks, but decided on caution. One of the men might have been trigger-happy, and having his heart blown to pieces was enough for one night.

  There was no need to get a matching set of spilled brains.

  Shield stepped out of the car and tossed his cigarette into the street drain. Inside his jacket pocket, his fingers stroked a set of keys—Sugar’s house keys. Last spring, Sugar had insisted on giving them to him. “You never know when it’ll hit you, big boy. And when it does, I want you to come to me. I’ll give it to you, when you need it.”

  Shield pulled his hat over his eyes, and crossed the quiet, uptown street with long strides. He was greeted in the vacant lobby by Paul, the live-in concierge.

  Paul gasped. “Is something wrong? Did something happen to Sugar?”

  “No, but I need to get something out of his apartment.” Shield jangled the keys and tried to smile as best he could. “I’ll let myself in.”

  “Of course.” Paul made an effort to conceal a burp, but everybody knew the old queen never missed a date with his Jim Beam. “I’ll be sending out a car for him as he requested.”

  Shield stopped short. “Right. Yes, please do. Three a.m., was it?”

  “I believe it was two, but I may be―”

  “No, no, you’re right.” Shield’s heart pummeled inside his chest. “Two is correct. We wouldn’t want him to miss his flight.”

  “I thought he was visiting his aunt.”

  Sugar, you cunning little bastard.

  “I’m sorry,” Shield said, feeling his features knot into a fist. “I’m confused. Long night, you know.”

  “Is there any other kind?” Paul settled back into his chair and resumed his nap.

  *

  Shield flicked the lights on in Sugar’s apartment and went to the window. He caught sight of the gray Oldsmobile and pulled the dark velvet drapes shut. Let Hank’s boys sit there and stew.

  He looked around. What had he come here for? What did he expect to find?

  Plane tickets.

  Or a suitcase full of money.

  Some clue to Sugar’s destination.

  He went to the bedroom first and pulled on the lamp’s string. The sheets were tangled, the bed still undone. He wanted to press the pillow to his nose, but refrained from torturing himself. Instead, he opened the top drawer of Sugar’s oak cabinet, fumbling through underwear and socks.

  “Fool,” he said under his breath, snatching a pair of Sugar’s white cotton briefs out of the neatly organized drawer. He held the clean cotton up to his face and sneered. “He played you like he did the others.” With shaky fingers, he folded the underwear and carefully placed it back in its place.

  He rid himself of his heavy wool jacket and threw it on the bed. He glanced frantically around the room, fuming. He’d given Sugar everything!

  And while they were rolling under those satin sheets this morning, Sugar had been planning to leave tonight. Without a word.

  Shield’s throat stung and he picked up his jacket. What now, my love? he thought. What now?

  Maybe it was time to hit the road. Maybe Shanghai was right. He’d slip Hank’s boys a note. Something like, Left town. Won’t be coming back. Keep the change.

  Violet would be relieved.

  The desire to survive Sugar began to rise inside his chest, and Shield held on to that brittle hope long enough to make it out of Sugar’s bedroom and into the living room. If he could get out of this apartment without having a meltdown, he could get in his car and follow the little tramp’s advice. He’d drive until the tank was empty and think about everything else then. But even as his clammy hand turned the front door’s golden knob, he could feel the town’s black tent
acles closing in around his ankles, his waist. The city was inside him; it beat alongside his heart, and no matter how far he drove, he could never leave it.

  Well, he’d try.

  Shield opened the door and peeked out into the wide carpeted hallway. He stepped out and turned back to take one final look at Sugar’s home.

  The place he’d once secretly renamed Heaven’s Candy Shop.

  His eyes moved over Sugar’s sumptuous furniture, and his heart jumped. On the sideboard, wedged between two tabloid magazines, he caught sight of an envelope. Adrenaline surged through him.

  It had already been neatly opened, and he pulled the thin white paper out of it. Now his eyes raced across the tightly written words addressed to his beautiful, double-crossing lover.

  Sugar,

  This is your last chance. You won’t talk to me. You won’t look at me. I am insane with love for you. It’s done. I went through with it and there is no turning back. I need you, Sugar. I’ve arranged everything. Don’t fret over anything. Come to me. Before it’s too late. There is nothing I can do for you if you choose to stay.

  Forever yours.

  No. Not this. Not this. Shield clutched the letter between sweaty fingers. How could you? Sugar, you’ve done it now!

  He read the letter again, slowly this time, letting the words scald his eyes. Ah, his darling blue-eyed man was in the midst of a getaway. Where was Sugar running off to? And who was the bleeding-heart fool arranging it all? If he could get his hands on this stranger, he’d tear his―

  Enough. Hold on, big boy. Shield stuffed the wrinkled letter into his pocket and bolted out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He was going back to the Detour Club to blow the lid right off Sugar’s kettle of lies. If this was a game to Sugar, then the stakes were about to get higher. Shield flew down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator.