Johnny Mash took the photo and studied a wiry man who wore a chartreuse suit, yellow shirt open at the collar, pointy shoes, narrow-brimmed fedora, and sunglasses. He was walking alone on a city sidewalk, and the picture looked as if it were taken with a telephoto lens high up on a building. “He dresses like a fuckin’ clown,” Johnny Mash said.
“He is a fuckin’ clown.” Al Liggio handed Johnny Mash a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen. “Take down this stuff I’m gonna tell you.” Slowly and carefully he pronounced the addresses where Tino Fernandez lived and hung out, and where his girlfriend, Rita Piscopo, lived and worked. While Johnny Mash wrote the information the button with the broken nose returned and laid a gun on the desk. “You got it all?” Al Liggio asked Johnny Mash.
“Yeah.”
“Memorize it as fast as you can, and then get rid of that piece of paper.” Al Liggio picked up the gun. “Here’s your heat—a Colt .45 just like we used in the Army.” He pressed a button and the clip dropped out of the handle. “It’s loaded with six slugs—more than you’ll need. Like I said, just come up behind him and hit him in the head. That way you’ll be sure you got him. Then throw the gun in the Hudson River and come back here for the rest of your money.” He turned around his swivel chair and bent over a safe against the wall behind him. Its door was closed but not locked, and he pulled it open and took out a stack of bills. He counted some, put the rest in the safe, and then recounted. “Here’s twenty-five hundred,” he said, passing the thick green sheaf to Johnny Mash. “You’ll get the other half and expenses when you finish the job.”
Johnny Mash reached forward for the money. “You got a paper bag or somethin’ like that?”
Al Liggio opened a desk drawer and took out a large manila envelope. “Put it in here.”
Johnny Mash stuffed the money into the envelope and thought of all the things he could buy. He slid in the gun and the sheet of paper he’d have to memorize. He was a hit man now, and he felt like a movie star. “That it?”
“Yeah. When you’re finished I should have a bartender thing for you.” Al Liggio stood behind his desk and held out his hand.
Johnny stood and shook it, but couldn’t withdraw his fingers when it was time. Al Liggio gripped his hand tightly and wouldn’t let go. He pulled Johnny Mash closer to him and gazed deeply into his eyes. “I don’t suppose I should haveta tell you this, Johnny, but if you run off with that cash without doin’ the job—you’re dead.”
Johnny Mash nodded, a jitter of fear in his spine. “I know, Uncle Al.”
“And don’t forget to stop by and see your mother.”
“I will.”
Al Liggio smiled and loosened his grip, and Johnny turned and headed for the big wooden door. The young button man opened it and Johnny passed through the corridor to the pool room.
“Hey, Johnny—come on. Finish the game!” called Tony La Barbara.
“Sorry, babe, but I gotta go someplace.”
Johnny Mash put on his leather jacket, tucked the manila envelope under his arm, and left the Palermo Social Club.
* * *
When Teddy Holmes opened his eyes he thought he might be dead and in heaven because he was completely numb and could only see whiteness. After a few seconds he realized he was lying on his back in a white room, and most of him was bandaged. It was a hospital room and a bolt of fear struck him because at first he couldn’t understand why he was there.
He felt dizzy, couldn’t breathe through his nose, and couldn’t move. There was a bitter taste and huge empty spaces in his mouth. What the hell had happened? He closed his eyes, searched through his stunned mind, and finally remembered Mark, the handsome dark-skinned lawyer. He had taken Mark home with him, they had sex together, and then everything came to an end. Teddy’s eyes filled with salty tears that rolled into the gauze surrounding his eyes. He had been kind to Mark and Mark had done this terrible thing to him. Sobs of misery and regret welled up from Teddy’s throat.
After a while an obese nurse with short gray hair entered the room, felt his pulse, and looked at her wrist-watch. “You’re awake?” she asked.
“Yes, for about an hour now.” He couldn’t move his jaw and his words slurred together. “Is my jaw broken?”
“Yes, it’s all wired up. Are you hungry?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can probably take some nourishment. By the way, the police left word that they’d like to talk with you. Do you feel up to answering some questions?”
“I think I could.”
She shuffled out of the room and Teddy stared sadly at the ceiling until she returned several minutes later, pushing a little table on wheels.
“Because of your jaw, you can only take liquid nourishment,” she said, presenting a bottle with a plastic straw protruding from it. Inside the bottle was a thick oatmeal-like substance. “Hold this in your right hand.” As he gripped the bottle she inserted the straw between his lips. “Suck.” She pulled down his covers all the way to his knees. “I’ll check your bag.”
Teddy looked to his side and saw muddy brown liquid in a transparent vinyl bag, tied to a nozzle that protruded from bandages around his ribs. “What in the world is that?”
“Your body wastes.”
“In that bag?”
“That’s right.” The nurse pursed her lips. “Oh, I guess nobody told you yet. When you were brought in here you had a big nail hammered into your rectum, and you won’t be able to use the toilet for a little while. The doctor will tell you about your other injuries when he comes by later in the day.”
“Is my face marked up very badly?”
The nurse nodded her head. “Very badly.”
Teddy felt nauseated. He handed the bottle to the nurse. “I don’t want any more of this.”
The nurse left with her cart, and Teddy lay and cried for a long time. He swore he’d never have sex with anybody again in his life.
The doctor, a heavyset man with long, curly graying hair and a baby face arrived with a young, ugly brunette nurse as the room was growing dark. Deftly and mechanically, the doctor inspected Teddy’s bandages, listened to his heart, looked in his mouth, and examined his eyes.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” the doctor asked.
“Three.”
The doctor pressed Teddy’s ribs. “Feel anything?”
“It hurts a little.”
The doctor cast a look at the nurse, who was writing everything down. Then he stood erect, put one hand in a pocket of his white coat, and told Teddy the nature and extent of his injuries, causing Teddy to become even more distressed. The doctor said Teddy would have to be hospitalized for several more weeks, and then he left with the nurse.
As Teddy lay and tried to assimilate the frightening information, he was visited by an elderly wraith of a woman with a pinched face and spectacles perched on the end of her nose. “Hello, Mr. Holmes,” she said, looking down at papers in her hand. “I’m Mrs. Connolly from the administrative office.” She raised her eyes to him. “It’s necessary for me to inquire about your finances. Have you any hospitalization insurance?”
“No.”
“Do you have any other resources of your own?”
“I have a few hundred dollars in the bank.”
“That won’t be enough. You’re in a post-operative room right now, and I suggest that tomorrow you be moved to a ward, which will be one-third cheaper than a private room. Will you give me permission to have you moved?”
“Move me,” Teddy said.
“Good, we’ll do that tomorrow.” She made a note on the pad she was carrying. “If you’re here another month, which is what’s indicated by your injuries, your bill might be several thousand dollars, perhaps. How soon can we expect a payment?”
“I don’t have my checkbook with me.”
“Do you think you could have one of your friends get it for you?”
“I’ll see.”
“We’d appreciate it, Mr. Holmes.” She made a false
, toothy smile. “Well, that’s all for now. I’ll be speaking with you.” She turned and left the room.
An hour later he was given two injections by a pretty blonde nurse in a short white uniform.
“What are these for?” Teddy asked.
“They’re painkillers and antibiotics.” She snapped the rubber cord off his bicep and withdrew the second needle.
After she left he was brought dinner, the same thick substance that tasted moderately sweet when he sucked it through the straw. When finished he put the bottle on the stand beside him and closed his eyes. He wondered how he could get the money to pay his medical bills, and shuddered when he thought of how he looked with scars, a broken nose, and no teeth in front.
Later in the evening two men wearing tan raincoats and fedoras appeared in his doorway, and the man in front, who had red hair and a florid face, knocked gently on the open door. “Mr. Holmes?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Jenkins from the Sixth Precinct, and this is Detective Agnelli. We’d like to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind. Can we come in?”
“Come on.”
The two detectives removed their hats and entered the room, moving chairs to positions beside Teddy’s bed. They both sat down and took out notepads. A shaded bulb in a wall fixture furnished illumination.
“How’re you feeling?” Jenkins asked with a friendly smile.
“I can’t feel anything, to tell you the truth.”
“Do you remember who did this to you?”
“I’ll never forget him.”
“Would you describe him for us.”
Teddy saw Mark standing on the white flokati rug taking off his clothes. “He was about six foot tall,” Teddy began, “and had a dark complexion, as if he just came back from Florida.” Unable to hide the sorrow in his voice, he gave the detectives a complete description of Mark, to whom he had been so powerfully attracted.
“Where did you meet him?” Agnelli asked.
“I tend bar at the Corral on Christopher Street, and I met him there. He was one of the customers.” Teddy felt embarrassed talking about his love life with straight cops. “After we closed up I brought him home with me. We had sex together, and I guess at one point he knocked me out.”
“Can you think of anything that might help us find him?”
Teddy thought for a few seconds. “Well, he told me he was a tax lawyer and that he lived on Long Island. He said he was married and had a son.”
Agnelli harumphed. “He told the last guy he was an airline pilot.”
“I’m not the first one?”
“You’re the fourth,” Jenkins said.
“How do you know it’s all the same person?”
“Because the descriptions match,-and because all four of you were found with the same kind of railroad spikes up your…in your rectums. He’s a real animal.”
Teddy didn’t reply. Mark hadn’t seemed like an animal at all. He was so decent and good-looking.
“Can you think of anything else?” Jenkins asked.
For a minute Teddy raked through his memories. “Not right now.”
“Well if you think of something later, call me at the Sixth Precinct.” Jenkins took a card from his jacket pocket and placed it on the stand beside the bed. Then he and Agnelli stood up. “I guess I don’t have to tell you,” Jenkins continued, “that you should be careful who you bring home. Get to know them a little before you make with the invitations, know what I mean? It’s best to run with people you’ve met through friends, but I guess you gay guys go in for love at first sight a lot. That’s life, I guess.” Jenkins put on his hat. “Good luck, kid.”
“Thanks.”
Teddy watched the two detectives leave his room, and hoped this was a dream from which he’d soon awake.
* * *
Leo Anussewitz didn’t go to the movies that afternoon. After Dorrie left with Harry for the party he watched the Packers play the Colts on television and at the same time read the Sunday Times, but he couldn’t concentrate much on either. He felt that he’d been betrayed by Dorrie. During a commercial, he walked to the kitchen and fixed himself a double scotch and soda, finishing it before the end of the first quarter. By half time he had gulped three more doubles and fallen into a drunken gloom. It galled him to think that he never had a love affair with a pretty girl, and Dorrie Caldwell was a fresh and unwelcome reminder of this lack.
Before the end of the game he fell asleep on the sofa.
He awakened at seven-fifteen during a news broadcast. In the East Bronx two uniformed patrolmen had been shot by unknown assailants, the handsome announcer said, and Leo hated him, too. Hungry and suffering from a fierce headache, he went out to a delicatessen and bought half a broiled chicken with French fries, bringing the food home and devouring it on the kitchen table on which the coffee cups from breakfast still lingered. He felt miserable, rejected, and alone. After finishing all the food he paced the living room floor, drank more scotch, watched evening television, and scanned the Times, but the images and words rolled off his mind like rain on a tin roof, while inside he was obsessed with Dorrie Caldwell.
At one in the morning, completely fatigued and defeated, he undressed and went to bed, hoping to escape into sleep, but after almost two hours of tossing and turning, was unable to do so. In this uncomfortable semi-comatose state he had weird fantasies of beating up Dorrie Caldwell, screwing her, or committing suicide and watching her weep at his grave. He realized he shouldn’t have invited her to stay with him; he had too many frustrations concerning women.
He heard the front door lock click open shortly before four in the morning, and his mind leapt fully awake. The second lock was snapped and then he heard the front door open and close. He heard many footsteps; she was not alone.
In the corridor outside his bedroom he heard her whisper: “Are you sure Leo won’t mind?”
“Leo’s okay,” Harry Ryker said. “He won’t give a shit.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
Leo was furious that she would bring Harry Ryker home to fuck, but he’d look like a schmuck if he blew his top and threw them out. All he could do was crawl out of bed and tiptoe to the door, press his ear against it, and listen for sounds that would shatter him further.
He heard them enter his parents’ bedroom, close the door, murmur, and move around. After a few minutes he heard the squeak of bedsprings; they were starting in already. At first the bedspring sounds were uncoordinated, and he imagined them going through the preliminaries of kissing each other all over and playing with each other’s bodies. After several minutes the sounds became rhythmic, and Leo’s felt a sudden increase of pressure underneath his skin. Only fifteen feet away, in his parents’ bed, Dorrie Caldwell and Harry Ryker were fucking! The bedspring squeaks became more energetic, Dorrie moaned, and Harry grunted. Leo imagined them together, Harry with his manicured hands grasping Dome’s round ass, and Dome’s legs wrapped obscenely around Harry’s waist. The vision made Leo swallow nervously. He heard Dorrie say “ooh-ooh-ooh” and “eye-eye” louder and louder, and then she was screaming, actually screaming like a female cat in heat, so excited and passionate that she didn’t care who heard her!
Leo listened with his ears and fingers welded to the door. His breath came in short gasps and his heart pounded in his ears. He could imagine her pretty face contorted in sex-lust and her cunt twitching in orgasm, but not for him, goddammit. He balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, thinking he couldn’t take much more of this, but he was unable to stop listening and go to bed. His pain brought him closer to her, and he preferred that to having nothing with her at all.
The mattress stopped creaking and their love cries ended. Now there was only the silence of the night, and Leo wondered if they’d go to sleep or just rest for awhile before fucking some more. He was so jealous he could murder them both with his bare hands; and for the first time in his life he understood crimes of passion.
He listened for a long time, his neck and shoulders aching from his position, and a slick of perspiration on his forehead. Finally he concluded they had fallen asleep, so he returned to his bed and stretched out on his back, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. Leo loathed Dorrie for preferring Harry for the most superficial physical reasons, yet Leo knew he himself desired her for the same superficial reasons. This riddle was too much for him and he slept fitfully, uncomfortable in whatever position he tried.
* * *
Beside the cash register at the Reno Lounge, on a wooden shelf that held bottles of whiskey and wine, the white kitten slept, curled into a complete circle, its chin on its paw. Whenever Jake Griffin rang up money on the cash register he looked at his kitten and was surprised that the noise didn’t awaken it.
It was after midnight and he had about eight bums at the bar and twenty sitting at tables. The night had gone quickly for Jake because he’d been able to amuse himself watching the kitten. There had only been one fight so far and nobody had been hurt.
“Hey, Jake, fill me up!”
Jake took down a bottle of red port and poured it into the glass of the bum, who wore a blue French beret, four moth-eaten sweaters of various designs, and an orange and black striped wool muffler.
“Thanks, Jake.”
“Thirty-five cents.”
The bum pulled a dollar bill from somewhere inside his sweaters and handed it to Jake, who took it to the register, rang it up, and returned with the change.
Seated near that bum was a skinny floozie wearing a filthy Air Force parka, lipstick applied haphazardly, and stringy black hair lined with gray. “Is the kitten a boy or a girl?” she asked wearily.
“I dunno.”
“Didn’t you look?”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t see nothin’.”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t know what to look for.”
“Whataya look for?”
“It’s kinda hard to explain, but I’ll look for you sometime.”
“How do you know what to look for?”
the Bar Studs) Page 11