Johnny Porno

by Charlie Stella

  “Another street name to be proud of,” Kaprowski said. “Maybe you should bring him down the morgue, show him the guy he’s replacing. He might reconsider the position.”

  “You think?”

  “He knocked a cop out, how’s he still on the street?”

  “Rumor is Vento had a camera installed because Hastings was shaking down his bartenders. Last thing NYPD needs now is a film of one of its own shaking down a mobbed-up bar.”

  “Kelly tracking down the fuck film?”

  “As of last week, but we haven’t gone out yet. We’re supposed to have something this week. My guess is it’ll be something Vento throws him. Some bullshit arrest can’t hurt anybody, but might look like Kelly is doing his job.”

  Kaprowski was staring down the stocky man with the red bandana. “Some load of shit, that film detail,” he said without taking his eyes off the stocky man.

  Levin watched and waited to see who blinked first. He smiled when he saw it was the construction worker that turned away from the staring contest.

  “It’s a second prohibition for the mob, that movie,” Kaprowski said. “You’d think after Knapp they’d learn something. The spotlight they gave that commission was nothing more than a dog and pony show.”

  “Frank Serpico reminded dirty cops to be more careful,” Levin said.

  “And NYPD did their little dance and went right back to business as usual, which is why I’m running this thing under the radar for as long as I can get away with it. Sooner or later there’ll be cops doing what Kelly is doing with Eddie Vento and every scumbag like him. Our best chance to make a real dent is to lay low enough they don’t find out in time, they can’t duck when we throw our first punch.”

  “That’s pretty ambitious.”

  “Look, this thing works, this unit, I hope to start an Organized Crime investigative division someday, something independent from the feds.”

  “Now it sounds like a fantasy.”

  “Yeah, I know, but otherwise I’m jerking myself off with this unit, and I have better things to do, too.”

  “I had my yarmulke I’d run down the synagogue, say a prayer or two.”

  Kaprowski turned to Levin. “You’re looking to feel me out you’re wasting your time. I’m Polish, my wife’s Sicilian and my best friend’s a Jew. He’s not cheap and my wife is religious. Very much so.”

  “Fair enough. For the record, though, I’m not religious.”

  “Me either, although it breaks my mother’s heart I’m not. She’s still over there, Krakow. Swears her hometown cardinal will become pope some day. Imagine, a Polish pope?”

  “That’s, like, what, a Jewish president?”

  “Close enough,” Kaprowski said.

  The two men shook hands.

  Chapter 2

  Nancy Kirsk-Albano-Ackerman was still recovering from her orgasm when Louis Kirsk emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Nancy was on her back in the bed. Her legs shook one last time as she felt the color drain from her face.

  “You okay?” Louis asked.

  Nancy took a few deep breaths and reached for her pack of cigarettes on the night table. She looked at Louis, taking in his tall, lean body before looking up into his sparkling blue eyes. She licked her lips as he tied his long dirty-blonde hair in a ponytail with a rubber band. Duane Allman, she sometimes thought of, because of the way Louis looked with beard stubble.

  “Your head looked about to explode it was so red,” he said.

  Nancy fished a cigarette from the pack, lit it with her lighter, then sat up and rolled her eyes.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” she said. “That was the best, baby. The absolute best.”

  Louis winked at his ex-wife. “That’s what they all say,” he said, then watched as her smile disappeared.

  The telephone rang. It had been ringing on and off the entire time they were having sex. Louis ignored the phone to glance at his watch. He turned toward the dresser when the towel dropped from his waist. He grabbed his underwear from the dresser, bent at the waist and stepped into them.

  Nancy said, “That your girlfriend calling again?” She pulled the sheets up so they covered her knees. “She’s certainly a tenacious little bitch.”

  “She’s midwestern is what she is,” Louis said. “Thinks she’s gonna be an actress someday. She read a biography about Marilyn Monroe and thinks it’s easy.”

  “She even legal?”

  Louis was pulling his pants on. He feigned amusement. “Very funny,” he said. “You talk to your other ex yet?”

  “About what?”

  Louis hated when Nancy played dumb for the sake of engaging him. It was getting late and he needed to get her out of the apartment. He also needed to know if her ex-husband would be stopping off at her house with all those five-dollar bills again. She had mentioned a few times over the past two months what a pain in the ass it was to have to shop with fives.

  “You know about what,” he said as he sat on the bed and pulled his socks on. “That thing he’s doing you told me about.”

  Nancy exhaled a small cloud of smoke. “What thing?”

  He leaned forward for his boots, but couldn’t reach them and had to get up off the bed. “That fuck movie, the porno, Deep Throat. You said John was doing something with it for somebody in Brooklyn and he was making all those trips to the Island and whatnot. The five-dollar bills he keeps paying you with?”

  “Oh, that,” said Nancy, rolling her eyes again.

  Louis rubbed his face from frustration.

  “He was a head counter or something,” Nancy said. “What he told me anyway. He says that’s what they pay him with, the fives, so he passes them on to me.”

  “Sounds like he’s the one doing the collecting, he has all that cash on him. The fuck’s a head counter anyway?”

  “Something to do with how many people see the movie. He counted them, I guess. Maybe he collects money, too, now, I don’t know. What do you care?”

  “Maybe when the phone rang before it wasn’t my girlfriend.”

  “Who then, your bookie?”

  “Close enough.”

  Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “You borrowed money again?”

  “You should be a cop,” Louis said. “You’d fit right in. You could guess wrong and keep working backwards.”

  “Now how much do you owe?”

  “None of your business, except your other ex might be able to help me out there. He coming to see you with his child support this weekend or not?”

  “Yeah, right. John’s behind two weeks as it is.”

  “Maybe I should be there when he comes.”

  “He doesn’t like you, Louis. You know that.”

  “And I’m not exactly fond of him, but this is business.”

  “None of yours, he’ll say. Besides, what do I do with my husband? You can’t confront John at my house, not with Nathan there. Think about it.”

  He would have liked to smack her for being sarcastic. Louis was hoping to catch John Albano the day he collected, preferably after he was done so the count would be high.

  “When’s he come to see his kid?” he asked.

  Nancy crushed out her cigarette. “Why?”

  “Maybe you’re still banging him, too, I wanna know.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if you were jealous, but it shouldn’t be over John. It’s pretty obvious we hate each other.”

  “When’s he pay for the kid? Which day?”

  “Usually Sundays,” Nancy said. “When he shows up, but he didn’t show up last week. He owes me two weeks now.”

  “Morning or afternoon? When he shows.”

  “Used to be mornings, before the weekend stuff he’s doing. Now it’s whenever. What’s this sudden interest in John anyway?”

  Louis ignored the question. “He have the money with him when he comes?”

  “What? No, I just said. He’s late.”

  “I’m talking about the other money, the cash he collects.”
<
br />   “How do I know? Besides, he isn’t going to deal with you about child support. He won’t discuss anything that has to do with his son. There’s no talking to him about that kid.”

  “Except you say he isn’t paying on time and he don’t spend enough time.”

  “Because he’s broke and he’s working two jobs,” Nancy said. “But don’t kid yourself, his son comes first. John would walk away from a million bucks if that kid called.”

  “He would, huh?”

  “He isn’t going to discuss child support with you, Louis.”

  She didn’t get it, the dumb fuck. “You’re sure of that?”

  She leaned toward the night table for the ashtray. “No way,” she said. “And thank God he never knew about us when I was married to him. He might’ve killed you for that.”

  “He might’ve tried,” Louis said. He finished tying his boot laces and stood up. “Point is, he’s got all that cash, he shouldn’t be late paying you. He should be flush, the work he does for his new friends.”

  “John doesn’t even like those people, the ones he’s working for, and he’s barely making it now. He’s still working two jobs, even with this thing he does with that movie. By the way, did I tell you I know a woman knows the guy directed it?”

  “Who?”

  “Some woman gets her hair done where I go. Sharon Dowell. A real piece of work. Loose as they come. In her forties going on fifty, tries to look twenty. Word in the salon’s always been she sleeps with gangsters. Looks like she’s been around the block a few thousand times, so it might be true.”

  “I take it you don’t like her.”

  “We say hello. We’ve talked a few times.”

  “And she knows the director of the movie?”

  “What she says. He was a hairdresser.”

  “What’s he, a fag?”

  “Not according to Sharon. More like a swinger.”

  Louis was interested. “This broad balled him?”

  “She’s probably balled everybody, but don’t get any ideas. She’s not your type, Louis, trust me. Too old, for one thing. You like them young as I recall.”

  Louis stroked the air with a fist.

  “And she’s bossy,” Nancy said. “Very bossy. Apparently she has connections. Maybe from the director guy, I don’t know, but the girls at the salon think he’s mobbed-up, too.”

  “Yeah, well, everybody knows somebody,” Louis said. “She really screw this director?”

  “She sure made it sound like she did. She likes to drop names, though, so who knows. She claims she fucked one of the Vignieris, the one in jail, I think.”

  “She fucked old man Vignieri, she is connected.”

  “Who knows. All I know is I was sick of hearing her one day and got her jealous talking about you. I told her you look like Duane Allman. I don’t doubt she left a wet spot on her chair after.”

  “You got a mouth on you, you know that?”

  “Please.”

  “Tell me this much. How’d John find that job in the first place, the movie thing?”

  “Something to do with a fight in a bar. I don’t know.”

  “He ever connected? His family, whatever.”

  Nancy rolled her eyes again. “Please. John’s a straight arrow. His mother’s brother was involved or something way back and wound up dead, but that was a long time ago.”

  “Those guys he’s working for are connected.”

  “Like I said, he mentioned something about a fight in a bar. Ask him, you’re so interested.”

  “I wish you would find out how much money he’s carrying when he stops by to pay you.”

  “I ask him something like that and he’ll tell me to fuck off. He’ll tell you the same thing.”

  “Can’t you call him?”

  “If it’s that big a deal and you’ll stop bugging me I guess I can. He gave me the phone number of the bar where to reach him on weekends. It’s in Brooklyn. Williamsburg, I think. John said I should call there if I need him in an emergency.”

  “What’s the name of the place?”

  “I don’t remember. Something fast, with the word ‘fast’ in it. I’ll give you the number.”

  “I’ll bet six-to-one it’s connected, the bar.”

  “You’d bet on anything.”

  “And I’d win, too.”

  “Except your bookie isn’t being paid.”

  Louis stopped what he was doing and stared at her.

  “What?” she said.

  “I forget,” he said, “is this why we divorced, because you can be such a cunt?”

  Nancy lit a fresh cigarette. He knew she hated the C-word, but it was his best weapon when she got on him about gambling. Usually the C-word stopped her cold.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Look, John is always broke, so I don’t know what you think will come of being there when he comes to drop off the money he never has,” Nancy said. “Like I said, he owes me two weeks now. He drives around in that beat-up Buick and I don’t think I’ve seen him with a new shirt in two years.”

  “So buy him one.”

  “Very funny.”

  The phone rang again. Nancy’s face tightened.

  Louis yanked the cord from the back of the phone. “There,” he said. “Happy now?”

  “Excuse me,” Nancy muttered. “Excuse me for driving over here, doing your dishes, your laundry, blowing and then fucking you.”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining about that last one while your legs were up in the air.”

  They stared at each other until Louis glanced at his watch.

  “Don’t you have to pick up your kid soon?”

  “I guess I’m being pushed out the door again,” Nancy said. “That last call a warning from the next Marilyn Monroe, little Miss Ohio? Is it her turn to service you now?”

  “It was Oklahoma and she was a runner-up.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I have things to do, Nan. I’m just reminding you about your son, the one you always claim you need a vacation from, even though he’s always at his grandma’s. He there now?”

  “Fuck you, Louis. He’s there a few hours a day a few days a week. And John’s mother, the bitch, she’s no piece of cake either. I swear that old bag moved to Queens just to haunt me.”

  “Except it’s a good place to dump the brat off when it’s convenient, right?”

  Nancy slid to the edge of the bed, stood up and headed for the bathroom. “I’m gonna shower,” she said. “Asshole.”

  Louis slapped her on the rump as she passed.

  Nancy stopped in her tracks. “That hurt,” she said.

  Louis winked at her. “You love it,” he said.

  Nancy tried but couldn’t suppress a smile.

  Louis liked his ex-wife’s perky ass and the fact she was still a looker. She’d had a kid but there was no way to tell from her body. At thirty-five, her stomach was still flat and her breasts had remained firm.

  “Talk to the man,” he said. “Find out how much money he’s collecting for those guys.”

  “Why do I sense your wheels are turning?”

  “Because they are.”

  “Okay, but John really does hate you.”

  “He’s just jealous is all,” Louis said. “Probably knows I still get to nuzzle up to that little landing patch of yours, which I believe I’ve come to fall in love with again.”

  “Yeah, well, you might visit it more often.”

  “I might,” said Louis, winking at her again. “Find out how much money your ex collects every week and I just might.”

  * * * *

  It was a few minutes past eleven when John finally stopped at a diner to eat. His stomach had been growling the last two hours and his head had started to ache. He told the hostess he’d sit at the counter and took a seat at the end nearest the kitchen.

  It had been a tough night and it was starting to feel like it would never end. After bypassing an accident on the Southern State Parkway by taking the M
eadowbrook across the Island instead, John had run into emergency road construction: three lanes forced into one. Traffic had slowed to a crawl. When he finally made it to the LIE, weekenders returning from the Hamptons made it worse.

  Then John had caught shit at the bar from the guy he’d like to punch in the face someday. Nick Santorra was a wannabe with an attitude John was sure was one big put-on. Sonny Corleone, John had thought the first time he met him, what Santorra was shooting for with his tough-guy routine.

  “The fuck is this?” the punk had asked after recounting the receipt money earlier.

  “My stops say it’s slowing down,” John had told him. “Pretty much everybody has seen the movie already.”

  “Or maybe your guys are skimming,” Santorra said. “Or maybe you are. It’s humid enough. Maybe you stopped off and bought yourself a new air conditioner. Maybe I should come out to your car and check the trunk?”

  John had stared the guy down then. It was when he had wanted to hit him the most.

  “Be my guest,” he had said instead. “It’s the ten-year-old Buick with the dented fender across the street.”

  Santorra had turned to smirk at the bartender then. “A wiseass,” he’d said. “I tell you what, wiseass. You can do the head counts at your stops next week.”

  “How’m I gonna do that? I have seven stops. I can’t be at all seven at the same time.”

  Santorra had turned red then. He looked at the slips of paper attached to each stack of money and pointed to George Berg’s from Massapequa. “Start with this one,” he’d said. “Then go to the next worse.”

  “He sees me he won’t skim,” John had said.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll send somebody else you don’t know. Just in case you’re both jerking us off, you and this guy in Massapequa.”