Pete took a bite of his egg roll and chewed slowly. “But hey. You dodged the Big C. Time to celebrate!” He twisted around. “Hey, Chen. You got any champagne in that lousy kitchen of yours?”
Chen’s face scrunched into a frown. “Sorry. No champagne. Next door. I go?”
“Naw. Don’t bother,” Gus called out. He looked over at Pete. “It’s not worth it.”
“You sure?” Pete looked like he wanted to argue, but then thought better of it. “Well, at least have some Dim Sum.”
“I don’t—”
“Chen. Bring the man one of your fucking Dim Sum, okay?”
Chen disappeared into the kitchen.
“So you ready to get back to work?” Pete asked.
“Why? You got something?”
“I got lots of somethings.” Pete grinned. “I was waiting to hear about you. There’s this sweet job out in Barrington, for openers.”
Chen brought the Dim Sum on a plate. Gus studied the puffy white thing, not sure how to eat it, then palmed the whole thing and took a bite. It was surprisingly good.
“There’s this trader. Mostly retired now, see. Lives in a mansion, but they’re gone most of the year. You know, snowbirds in winter, Michigan in summer, Europe in between. The place is empty. We get Billy to disconnect the alarm, and take our time—”
“Not Billy. Christ. He’s a maniac on wheels. Remember the last time? He nearly got us picked up.”
“I know.” Pete made a brushing aside gesture. “But he’s good with electronics. The best.” When Gus didn’t answer, Pete said, “Okay. Lemme think about it.” He hesitated. “Hey. There’s something else we need to talk about.”
“What’s that?”
“I think we got a problem with Charlieman.”
Gus shot him a look. “What kind of problem?”
“Well, you probably didn’t notice, what with being preoccupied with your—your situation. But I got a feeling something’s—well, he’s just not himself. I think he’s in trouble. I’m thinking he made a deal with the devil. Maybe even surveillance. So, I found this other guy, but he’s not in Chinatown, see? And I—”
“No.” Gus shoved his bowl of soup away.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“Charlieman would have warned us. We’ve been working with him a long time.”
“I don’t know, Gus. He’s different.”
Chen came with their food: chicken chow mein for Gus, sweet and sour pork for Pete. Gus sprinkled crunchy noodles from a wax paper bag on top. For a few minutes, the only sound was the clink of forks on plates. They never used chopsticks.
After a while, Pete blurted out, “Hey, man, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t try to con a con. I know you twenty years.”
Gus stopped eating. “You’re right.” He laid his fork across his plate. “When I was sitting in the doc’s waiting room, there were all these patients there. Most of them were really sick, you know? You could—I could tell from their faces.”
Pete nodded.
“The doctor was over an hour late. I don’t know why the assholes can’t get their act together, know what I mean?”
Pete giggled nervously. “If we were that late, our asses would be warming the benches at Cook County.”
Gus nodded. “I’m antsy, you know? I hate hospitals. So I decide to take a walk down the hall. So there I am walking, and there’s this pay phone at the other end. I walk past it and I see this woman on the phone.”
Pete speared a chunk of pineapple.
“She was in a hospital gown, and she was crying.”
“Fuck. I hate to see a woman cry.”
“Me, too. So I turn around and go back the other way, but as I did, I sneak a look at her.” Gus paused. “There was something familiar about her. I don’t know. Something about her face. Her voice, too. I’d heard it before.”
“Yeah?” Pete shook out a cigarette from the pack he kept in his shirt pocket.
“I walk away real slow, but I can still hear her, you know? Turns out she’s talking to her insurance company. Asking them to pay for a new kidney. But they don’t want to. She’s begging them, Pete. Says she don’t got nothing left. She’s got to get some help, or she’ll die.”
Pete struck a match and lit the cigarette. “That’s tough.”
“She looked bad, too. Scrawny. Pale. All bent over.” He sighed irritably. “I mean, the woman’s looks like she’s about to keel over any minute, and no one lifts a finger to help.”
“Maybe her—what d’ye call it—maybe she reached her limit.”
“I dunno. Well, I’m just turning around on my way back to the doctor’s office, when it dawns on me how I know her.”
“How?”
Gus licked his lips. “We, pal. She was one of our marks.”
“What?”
“You remember the job we did in the high rise downtown? About six months ago?”
An uneasy look came over Pete. “The one where the woman was in her bedroom and we had to—”
“Yeah. The one where we scored the jade elephant.”
“No, man. You gotta be wrong. What are the odds—”
“I’m telling you it was her. I was the one…” He paused. “… who took care of her, remember?”
“I remember.” Pete frowned. “Hey, do you think that was how—?”
“I don’t think anything. Except that she’s gonna die because she can’t pay for a goddamn kidney transplant.”
“Shit. That’s Twlight Zone stuff, you know?” Pete shook his head. “But we didn’t make her kidney dry up. All we did was rip her off.”
“You think?” Gus went quiet.
“Hey.” Pete went on. “This ever happen to you before?”
“No.”
“Me neither, but Pauly… remember Pauly?”
“We worked a couple jobs with him, right?”
“Yeah. So he’s doing a job out on the North Shore. Something looks real familiar. He can’t place it. Then all of a sudden, he realizes he ripped off the place five years earlier. The same place. But this time, he trips a silent alarm and some guy comes after him with a shotgun. He got five to ten.”
Gus kept his mouth shut.
“Hey, don’t get all squirrelly on me. Nothing about how God put her in your path. It’s just the way it goes. Her luck ran out. Yours didn’t.” Pete wiped a napkin across his mouth. “By the way, my new fence, Mike, says he could get us ten grand or more for that elephant.”
“That much?” Gus asked.
“That’s what he said.” Pete nodded.
***
They did the job in Barrington the following week, and another in Winnetka after that. Gus insisted they use Charlieman to fence the goods, but Pete wasn’t happy about it. He wouldn’t even go into the pawn shop. Gus had to handle the negotiations. While he was there, Gus scoped out the place, looking for tiny cameras, bugs, or recorders, but he didn’t see a thing. The place looked like it always did: shabby and crowded with junk. He did ask Charlieman how much he wanted for the jade elephant, but Charlieman said it wasn’t for sale.
The next few weeks flew by. The city glittered with lights, music, and tinsel. Even the shop windows in Chinatown were decked out, and if you walked down Cermak, you could hear a tinny rendition of “Silent Night” from somewhere. Pete convinced Gus to have lunch at a new restaurant in the Loop, but the waitresses were too young for the attitude they copped, and the food was too rich.
After lunch Gus bought himself a new coat and gloves at Field’s and started walking. He noticed the squealing kids and their parents in front of the department store windows. The Salvation Army volunteers shaking their bells. People gliding around the skating rink, sappy smiles on their faces. Why was everyone so damn cheerful? Come January, all the unkept promises that littered the streets like garbage would come back. Now, though, the promise of hope and deliverance floated through the air. Gus fastened the buttons on his new coat.
He hadn’t planned it—or maybe he did—but just before dusk he found himself in front of a condo off Michigan Avenue. It was prime property, the middle of the Gold Coast. That’s why they’d cased it in the first place. They’d hit more than one place in the building, and truth was, it had been a good day. In addition to the jade elephant, they’d scored some jewelry and a roll of bills some idiot had stored in his freezer.
“Got us some cold cash,” Pete laughed afterwards.
“Everyone’s a comedian,” Gus replied.
Now, he peered up at a series of porches that jutted out from the building like horizontal monoliths. She lived on the eighth floor, he remembered. He counted out eight slabs. Light seeped around the edges of the window shades. What was she doing? He was surprised to realize he hoped she wasn’t alone. That someone was looking in on her. He wondered how she got the jade elephant in the first place. Did she travel to some exotic spot to buy it? Was it a gift? He lingered on the sidewalk, half-expecting to see some sign she had found a way to pay for her kidney. But all he saw were flat granite facings, slabs of porch, and light seeping around the window shades.
He took the subway and then the bus to his apartment on the West side. He turned on the tube to some tear-jerker about a lost baby and a frantic mother. Ten to one there’d be a “Christmas miracle” where they found the little bugger. A few minutes later, he snapped it off and pulled out a bottle half-filled with bourbon.
An hour later, the bottle was empty. He dug out a Christmas card he’d bought at Field’s, signed it, and licked the envelope closed.
***
The next night Pete told Gus he couldn’t meet him for dinner. Just as well, Gus thought. He wolfed down a sandwich and a brew at his neighborhood bar. Then he went home, and dressed in dark clothes, gloves, and a stocking cap. He filled his pockets with a knife, picklock, and flashlight. Opening a drawer, he lifted out his 38 Special. He raised it to eye-level and sighted. He’d cleaned and oiled it for the Barrington job, but they hadn’t needed it. He lowered the gun, feeling its heft against his palm, and slid it into his holster. He belted the holster around his waist. Then he slipped the greeting card into his pocket.
It was after midnight when he got off the Red Line at Chinatown. The Hawk was hurling blasts of arctic air that sliced through him like a blade. Halfway to the pawn shop, he heard footsteps behind him. He moved into the shadows. Three Asian goons swaggered down the block like they owned it. They probably did, thanks to an uneasy alliance with the Russians. The street was full of Boris’s and Wan Chu’s these days; Tony and Vito had been relegated to bench-warmers.
Gus waited until they were gone, then snuck into the alley behind the pawn shop. A lamppost spilled weak light on Charlieman’s back door. The smell of garbage was strong. He pulled out his picks and was about to start working the lock when he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Curious. Charlieman never forgot to lock up. Gus put his ear against the door. He heard a faint rustling. Mice? Then he heard a couple of steps. Not mice.
Gus stuffed his picklocks back in his pocket. If Charlieman was working late, his lights would have been on. So it wasn’t Charlieman. Maybe it was one of the Asians? Charlieman had been talking about getting a silent alarm, but Gus figured he was too cheap to spring for it. Still, he crept out of the alley and went around to the front and peered at the window. Shit. The jade elephant which usually sat in Charlieman’s window was gone!
Suddenly the overhead lights snapped on, and a harsh fluorescent glare poured over everything. In the stark illumination, Gus saw Charlieman at the back of the store, aiming a gun at someone. Gus squinted and craned his neck. The gun was pointed at Pete, who was standing near the back door, a bulky bag over his shoulder. In his free hand he held the Jade Elephant.
Gus froze, unsure what to do. He thought banging on the window and yelling, “Hey, Charlieman, don’t shoot.” He thought about pulling out his 38, but he knew he couldn’t get to it in time. How could he shoot his fence anyway? Maybe he could buy Pete some time. Make a disturbance. Take Charlieman’s attention off his friend. He started toward the front door, shouting, “Stop. Both of you.”
Pete looked his way, surprised. So did Charlieman. Gus jiggled the doorknob. “Listen, this is all a misunderstanding. We can work it out.”
Charlieman’s gun hand waved dangerously from side to side, and wild Chinese exclamations spewed out of his mouth. But Pete took the hint. He feinted left, then broke right and lunged. He even managed to throw open the back door. Charlieman whirled around and pulled the trigger. The flash of blue made Gus blink. Pete dropped the bag and bent over so far his face nearly touched the floor. Then he lurched through the open door.
Gus ran back into the alley. Pete had collapsed on the ground. He was still clutching the jade elephant. Gus crouched next to his friend.
“What were you thinking, pal?” he said softly. “Why now?”
The only thing that came out of Pete’s mouth was a gurgle.
Sirens whined in the distance. Gus looked up. Charlieman was at the back door yelling hysterically in Chinese and making big swooping gestures. But Gus was so far back in the shadows he was sure Charlieman didn’t recognize him.
The phone rang inside the shop. Charlieman backed up to answer it. Pete lay curled up on his side. If it weren’t for the dark pool of liquid underneath, he might have been asleep. Gus gazed at the jade elephant. By some miracle, the thing wasn’t broken, but Gus could see streaks of red marring its green surface. Merry Christmas.
The sirens grew louder. The flashing lights were only a block away. Gus tried to ease the elephant out of his partner’s hands, but Pete’s grip was too tight. Gus had to pry back one finger at a time before he it came loose. Clutching it to his chest, he scrambled up and hurried away from the shop.
***
The next morning, Gus wrapped the elephant in newspaper, stuffed it in a shopping bag, and headed downtown. The streets were full of beggars. Everyone had their hand out this time of year. He tried to steer around an old woman hunkered down on the pavement. She had a black kettle in front of her and a hand-lettered sign that said “Need money for food.”
When the doorman made him cool his heels in the lobby, Gus grew uneasy. He shouldn’t be here. This was crazy. He was just about to leave when the doorman got off the intercom and pointed him to the elevator. The numbers on the car’s panel blinked as he flew up, but the door was slow to open. When Gus finally stepped off, the woman was waiting for him in the hall. She looked every bit as pitiful she did at the hospital.
He handed her the shopping bag. “This belongs to you. Merry Christmas.”
She peeked into the bag then set it on the floor. “I’ll be damned. I didn’t think it would end up like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I remember you. And your partner.”
Gus swallowed. “He’s dead.”
“Too bad.” She said it almost cheerfully. Then a steely look came into her eyes. “I remember what you did to me. The rope. The gag. And the rest of it. You almost killed me, you know.”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m—well—I hope this helps.” He looked down.
Silence pulsed between them. “I saw you at the hospital,” she said. “While I was on the phone.”
Gus looked up, surprised. “You did?”
“Afterwards I went to the nurse to get your name. I even got your address when the nurse wasn’t looking. I was going to call the cops, turn you in.”
Gus fingered the button on his coat. “But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I had a better idea.” She cocked her head. “Why did you come here?”
“I told you. I wanted to give this back to you. It’s worth a lot of money.”
She eyed him curiously. “You trying to turn over a new leaf?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Aren’t we all.” She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, and something abou
t it pricked the hair on his neck.
“So are we square?” He asked.
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “We will be.”
It was Gus’s turn to cock his head.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”
“About the jade elephant?”
“No.” She slipped her hand in her pocket and pulled out a 22. “Did you know we have the same blood type?”
Gus frowned. “Huh?”
She laughed. “I’ll say one thing. You saved me a trip to your place.” She aimed at his head, so as not to damage his kidneys.
THE END
This story was first published in 2000 in Blue Murder Magazine, which has since disappeared. It was reprinted in Twilight Tales’ Blood and Doughnuts, and most recently in the ONCE UPON A CRIME ANTHOLOGY edited by Gary Bush. An “only in Chicago” story, it’s goofy and noir at the same time.
DUMBER THAN DIRT
Derek’s father used to call him dumber than dirt. His mother said he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the dishwasher. Both of them said he had more luck than brains. Like the time he accidentally shoved the gearshift in reverse and backed his father’s ‘78 Dodge Challenger into a wall. No one got hurt, but eight-year-old Derek felt his sore bottom for days. He felt something else, too. He’d only gripped the wheel for a few seconds, but the thrust of the engine was so powerful, his sense of control so profound, that Derek immediately got hooked on cars.
As he grew up, his passion deepened. He didn’t care much about the engineering, or the technology. But the cold sleek lines of a classic design, the supple leather of a bucket seat, the hum of a perfectly tuned engine triggered an urgent need in him—a need that could only be met by flooring it every chance he got. He spent his high-school years happily scouting, admiring, and borrowing the objects of his desire, sometimes without the owner’s permission. But Derek never thought too much about the consequences of his actions, and when his friends went off to college, Derek went off to East Moline for two to five. He swore afterwards he’d never be seduced by a V-8’s siren song again.
The summer he got out, he found a job at Lindsey’s, a pub on Chicago’s north side. Lindsey’s sported lots of polished oak, soft lights, and a dartboard in back. They served tiny steaks with blue cheese on top, and the place was always crowded. Chuck Lindsey was a Sixties liberal who thought everyone deserved a second chance. He hired Derek to wash dishes and sweep floors. Derek found a room a few blocks away and walked to work. In Lakeview, most folks did, and the dearth of cars helped Derek avoid temptation. He cheerfully joined the throngs of pedestrians hoofing it down the street, another skinny young man with long hair and a slightly sleepy expression.
Nice Girl Does Noir -- Vol. 2 (Intro by J.A.Konrath) Page 3