Keeplock: A Novel of Crime

by Stephen Solomita

  “Don’t be too hard, Eddie,” she said. “You know how it is with young lovers. Peter prob’ly had to get one last piece before—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Eddie snarled. “I don’t wanna hear that cunt bullshit anymore.”

  I thought he was going to hit her, but he settled for ordering her into the kitchen, then turned back to me.

  “We’re gonna meet in my office in an hour to go through it again. Be there.”

  “You got it, Eddie.”

  The last thing I needed was a confrontation with Eddie Conte. The whole deal would be over in thirty-six hours and I’d already decided not to rock the boat. If Eddie needed to see me crawl, I’d crawl. I’d do anything short of giving up the 9mm tucked behind my belt.

  I strolled into the kitchen, looking for a cup of coffee. Annie was bent over the sink, washing dishes. The view from that angle was spectacular. She wasn’t wearing panties and the seam of her gym shorts cut a deep line from her crotch to the top of her ass. Parker and Morasso were sitting at the kitchen table. Morasso was drooling. Parker was oblivious.

  “Whatta ya say, John,” I called out. “You fit and ready?”

  “I’m in mourning,” he announced.

  “For who?”

  “For me. We tossed the computer last night. Just took it and threw it in a dumpster. It was horrible.”

  As far as I could make out, he was serious.

  “Well, what’d you expect to do, carry it along on the job?”

  “Yeah,” Morasso snorted. “If shit happens, he was gonna ask the fuckin’ computer what to do.”

  Actually, Parker wasn’t going to get out of the van at all. His job was to jam any attempt by the guard inside the truck to broadcast an alarm.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Pete.” He ignored Morasso. “But why couldn’t we leave it where someone could take it? Even if the serial number was traced, it couldn’t come back on us.”

  “Ain’t that sweet,” Morasso persisted. “The asshole wants to find a nice home for his baby computer.”

  “What is problem here?” Avi came into the room. His voice was rock hard. Even Morasso jumped.

  “No problem, Avi,” I said. “Tony is just being his usual cooperative self.” I noted the huge revolver Avi carried in a shoulder rig. It was either a .44 or a .357. I couldn’t tell which and didn’t care. With its eight-inch barrel, it looked more like a cannon, anyway.

  Avi sat down at the table. The tension had finally gotten to him. “This job we are doing tomorrow is perfect. We are only ones who can fuck it up. This will not happen.”

  He gave me a significant look. It told me that we were in this together. Eddie was too distracted, Parker too obsessed, and Morasso too crazy. He and I would hold it together.

  At least that’s what I thought he meant. It’s easy to make mistakes when you try to read people’s minds. I nodded my acceptance, hoping for the best.

  “You pick out a gun yet?” I asked.

  “Is not called ‘gun.’” He shook his head in disgust. “Is called rifle. Is called weapon. Is not ‘gun.’”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Stern. Have you chosen a rifle? Or a weapon?”

  “I have.”

  “It’s about fuckin’ time,” Morasso growled. Eddie had cut out the dope and Tony had gone right back to being a complete asshole.

  “Ya wanna eat, you better get your orders in. You got a meeting in an hour.” Annie had managed to turn around. She was leaning back against the counter, probably pissed that we weren’t paying any attention to her.

  I looked closely at Avi while he and the others mulled over the possibilities: eggs and bacon, eggs and sausages, onion omelets. Avi looked directly at Annie without showing a hint that anything besides food was on his mind. I decided that I couldn’t trust a man I couldn’t read. Then remembered that I’d just made a pact with him. Then decided I’d have to watch him all the time. Then remembered that he was going to be arrested before he ever got to the roof of that school.

  “I don’t want a fuckin’ omelet,” Morasso shouted. “Omelets are fa fags. Whatta you say, Pete? You want a fuckin’ omelet?”

  “I ate before I got here. I’m not hungry.”

  “So it’s onion omelets?” Annie asked.

  “Two against one,” Parker announced. “Democracy in action.”

  “I ain’t eatin’ no fuckin’ omelet. That’s fuckin’ Jew food.”

  I came across the table, putting everything I had into my right hand. Morasso froze and I caught him flush on the mouth. He went head over heels, taking the chair with him. The back of his skull smashed into the linoleum with a satisfying thud.

  When he came up, shaking his head to clear the dizziness, the top of his shirt collar was already soaked with blood.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” he hissed through broken teeth.

  Death threats are never tolerated in the Institution. That’s because the convict making the threat has to follow through. To do less would be dishonorable. My hand dropped to the little 9mm, but the weapon never cleared my belt. Avi had dragged the cannon out of his pocket and trained it on the center of Morasso’s forehead.

  It was funny, in a way. I hit Morasso because I was afraid that Avi would kill him. Avi once told me that a Jew is a Jew forever. Despite the fact that an Israeli court had sent him to prison for doing what the army had trained him to do. Despite the fact that he’d been hounded out of the country after his release. Avi had been the only Jew in Cortlandt, and as far as I know he’d never taken a backward step.

  Now Avi was out there trying to stop me from killing Morasso. At least I hoped he was. He was giving a very convincing performance. Especially when he drew back the hammer.

  “Why are we needing this man?” he asked. “I cannot understand why we cannot do this without him.”

  Morasso’s eyes widened, then he said the magic words: “Please, don’t kill me, please.”

  “Don’t do it, Avi,” I said, playing my part. “Let it go. Tony’s gonna be good. Right, Tony?”

  He nodded, his eyes glued to the barrel of the gun.

  “Let the hammer down, Avi.” I glanced at Parker and Annie. Parker was watching with interest, Annie with anticipation. Nobody in the room saw Tony Morasso as a human being about to have his heart blown through his rib cage. He was an expendable detail or a pain in the ass or a problem to be solved. Anything, but human. “C’mon, Avi. Think about how you’ll feel if you blow the job over a piece of shit like Tony Morasso.”

  Avi tilted the barrel of the gun up toward the ceiling and let the hammer down. “You are right. Even if we are not really needing this man, Eddie is thinking that we do.”

  I went over to the refrigerator and filled a towel with ice. I’d played my part to the hilt, but now that our little domestic drama was over, I felt the weariness fill my body. I wanted to go into a bedroom and lie down, to face the wall and ignore the bullshit, to sleep without dreaming.

  But of course I didn’t do anything like that. My life was on the line, too. I turned back to the table and handed Morasso the towel. “Put this on your mouth,” I said. “You wanna look nice for tomorrow.”

  A half hour later we were in Eddie’s office, running through the details. It was maybe the tenth time we’d done it in the last three days, and halfway through, I realized this was Eddie’s way of dealing with the tension. The meeting didn’t last very long, because we all knew our lines.

  Eddie asked me to stay after the others left. He asked me what had happened to Morasso’s mouth and I explained it. Then we spent an hour trying on blond wigs, dark glasses, and false beards. Eddie had researched the matter himself and knew, in theory at least, how to apply the phony hair. Still, no matter how we arranged our disguises, we looked like refugees from a bad movie.

  “Perfect,” Eddie announced.

  “Perfect? You gotta be kidding me.”

  “All right, cuz, so it’s not perfect. But it’ll get us up on the platform and it’ll keep us from be
in’ identified later on.”

  “What about Tony?”

  “What about him?”

  “No disguise?”

  “Tony’s gotta look ugly, cuz. That’s the whole fuckin’ point. I don’t see how it’s gonna matter. Where he’s goin’, he don’t have to worry about witnesses. What you and Avi did before was good. Now he knows that you got a gun and I got a gun and Avi got a gun, but he only got his dick to shoot with. Even a fuckin’ bug like Morasso could figure it out from there.”

  Eddie dismissed me a few minutes later and I wandered through the upstairs apartment looking for something to do. Avi was busy cleaning his weapon of choice, a .30-06 Winchester Model 70. Parker was in the garage, fitting out the van with a two-way radio. Morasso was in his room, nursing his wounds and his grievances. I decided to go to my own room and get comfortable.

  Annie was making up my bed when I walked into the room. She turned to me and smiled.

  “You really put it to Tony,” she said. “What a shot. He’s lucky he’s got his head.”

  “Yeah? I guess somebody up there likes him.”

  She sat on the bed and patted the mattress. “Nice and firm,” she announced, emphasizing the last word.

  “Ya know, Annie, one day Eddie’s gonna figure it out. He’s gonna figure it out and he’s gonna kill you.”

  “Never.” She shook her head firmly. “Eddie loves me. Besides, he already knows. I tell him about it in bed. It gets him hot.” She leaned back against the wall, put her heels on the edge of the mattress, and let her knees fall apart. “Speakin’ of hot …”

  “Forget it, Annie. I’m not interested.”

  “That girlfriend must be something else. Looks like she got it all. Too bad. By the way, if you and her should ever feel like doin’ a threesome, make sure to let me know.”

  I took her by the arm and led her to the door. I was tempted to swat her on the ass, but I was afraid my hand would get stuck. As I closed the door, I heard her laugh. Somehow it didn’t bother me. There was a small bureau against the wall. I dragged it in front of the door, put the 9mm under the pillow, and fell asleep.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I’M IN CHARGE OF erecting a massive structure. Not a single building or even a complex of buildings, but an entire city. The city is composed of transparent boxes, twelve fluorescent white lines against an inky-black sky.

  Nothing goes right. I jump from one crisis to another, repairing and rearranging. Doing whatever’s necessary to keep the project going.

  There are no other workers to be seen, but still the structure grows. I know I should be anxious, because the city will crumble if I make a mistake, but I feel calm, almost peaceful.

  Suddenly I realize that I’m falling behind. The structure is too elaborate and I can’t cover the whole project by myself. I lose a wing then a tower, then entire neighborhoods.

  These disasters fuel my determination. I introduce new designs, reinforce foundations, convinced there’s some way to get it right; some arrangement that will support the weight of the project.

  Though I don’t slacken my efforts for a minute, a depressing thought enters my consciousness. I don’t know what I’m making. I can’t summon up an image of the finished structure. There’s no way I can be the master builder. I’m an ordinary worker, maybe even a slave.

  Nevertheless, I continue to work at top speed. I never stop to consider the possibility of another approach. I don’t have time for that. If I slow down, disaster is sure to follow.

  I woke to a knock on the door. Parker’s voice followed, announcing that dinner was almost ready. I looked over at the clock. It was six-thirty.

  “All right, John. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “I’d like to talk to you.”

  I glanced down at my crotch. I had a firm erection, one of those nocturnal jobs that won’t go down. “Let me get my pants on.” The request must have seemed odd, considering that we’d come from a world without privacy. Where, as often as not, the most intimate acts—dressing, showering, shitting—were performed in the company of others.

  Whatever Parker thought, he waited patiently while I dressed. I tried to move the bureau away from door as quietly as possible, but it scraped and squeaked despite its being empty and made of glued sawdust.

  “Did I wake you up?” Parker asked as he stepped into the room.

  I took a quick look down the hall. It was empty and the other doors were shut. “It doesn’t matter.” I closed the door. “Actually, I feel pretty good. If I had a cup of coffee, I’d feel even better.”

  Parker’s face lit up. “I’ll get it. Give you a chance to wash your face.”

  I closed the door behind him, then took the 9mm from under the pillow, and shoved it behind my belt. I hadn’t been lying to Parker. Despite the dream, I felt refreshed and alert. I went into the bathroom, took a leak, then washed my face, combed my hair, and brushed my teeth. Halfway through the last operation, I heard the bedroom door open. The piece was in my hand before I made a decision to pull it.

  “It’s only me,” Parker called.

  I didn’t bother to tell him how close he’d come to being shot. Instead, I resolved, awake or asleep, to keep the door blocked.

  “You oughta knock, John,” I announced, coming into the living room.

  “Sorry, Pete. I didn’t think.”

  I took the coffee and drained half of it. “It don’t pay to be an absentminded professor if you’re in the crime business.” I must have expected some sort of an answer, because I took the time to finish the mug. “What’s up, John? Whatta you need?”

  He pointed at the gun at my waist. I wasn’t making any attempt to hide it.

  “That’s a weapon.”

  “Damn, you scientists don’t miss a thing.”

  He blushed, then grinned. Parker was very easygoing. Add that to the fact that he had no conscience and you come up with a very rare combination—the amiable psychopath.

  “All right, wise guy, here’s what’s bothering me. You, Eddie, and Avi are all armed. We’re not going to do the job for another twenty-four hours. Is there something I don’t know?”

  “There’s lots of things you don’t know. But they have nothing to do with this specific situation. You’re very intelligent, John, and you’ve got balls, too. What you don’t have is experience. When you’re confined to a house with four violent criminals, anything can happen. Why do you think they call us criminals? Because we’re good at social cooperation? There’s a lot of strain here. It pays to watch your back.”

  He grimaced. “I see your point and I’d agree with you except for one thing. Eddie told us no guns. I remember feeling relieved because of Tony Morasso. I also remember assuming that Eddie’s gun rule was to last until we were actually doing the job. Now, all of a sudden, I find that I’m the only one without a gun.”

  “You and Tony.”

  “Tony doesn’t count.”

  I waved him into a chair. “I have a gun because I took one and put it in my pocket. You wanna know about Eddie and Avi, ask them. But I have a question for you: if you did have a piece, what would you do with it? You already told me you never handled a gun in your life.”

  “That’s another reason why I was happy with the no-gun rule.”

  “Your problem is that you started too high up. You should’ve done a few burglaries first, maybe a couple of gas stations. You need to get a feel for treachery. Now you’re in the shit and you don’t have a shovel.”

  But Parker did know something about prison. What we were doing was negotiating. He needed protection and I was the one most likely to supply it. Not that he could come right out and ask me to do it as a favor. You don’t ask for favors in prison. You don’t accept them, even if they’re offered, because if you do, you become obligated to the giver. Sooner or later the favor must be returned and there’s no way of knowing exactly what repayment will entail.

  “You think shit’ll happen,” he asked quietly.

  “Shit always
happens, but if someone has plans for you, I haven’t heard ’em.”

  He hesitated, shifting in his chair. I could see the words forming in his mind.

  “Why don’t you just come out with it, John? Say what you gotta say.”

  “I need someone to watch my back.”

  Protection, the most common of prison rackets. The going rate varies with the resources of the particular inmate seeking the service, but a carton of cigarettes a week is usually enough to keep even the richest convict safe from attack.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Five percent of my take.”

  I have to give Parker credit. He didn’t waste his time trying to bind me with emotional ties. Of course, the irony of his coming for protection to the very man who intended to betray him wasn’t lost on me either.

  “The price is right, John, only you should understand what I can and can’t do for you. First, you’ve got nothing to worry about until after the job is done—Eddie needs you to jam the radio—but even if he has something else in mind, I’ll be up on the platform and that doesn’t do you much good. So what we’re looking at is the period between the end of the job and the final split in the Bronx. You wanna pay five percent for that? We could be talkin’ about ten grand.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I want.” His voice was steady, as hard, in its own way, as Avi’s. “If Eddie wants my end for himself, he’ll take me out in the Bronx. You keep my ass in one piece until I get to the airport and I won’t have any problem parting with five percent. No matter how much it comes to.”

  Our high finance brought to a satisfactory conclusion, we got up and headed for the dinner table. Annie had fried up a dozen tough, greasy pork chops, but nobody complained about the meat or the burned string beans. We were still chewing on the first mouthfuls when Eddie dragged a sawed-off, double barreled, 12 gauge shotgun out of a box and laid it on the table next to Morasso. Even lying on its side, it was vicious enough to command our total attention.

  “You like that, Tony?” Eddie asked. “That’s yours.”