Poughkeepsie Shuffle

by Dietrich Kalteis

  Checking his watch, he offered Ginger a lift, taking her down to parking, getting in his car. An hour before meeting Liz for dinner, the two of them hoping to divide their property without the need of blood-sucking lawyers. Maybe they’d reminisce about Jenny when she was a kid, back when times were better. That kind of talk always softened Liz, brought her back to better times, times before she got her edge. Maybe she’d spend the night at the condo. It had happened twice before. Then she’d be gone again, driving back to the country place they’d bought out by the Bay of Quinte. Spend her time digging in her garden.

  En route up Bay, he turned at Nathan Phillips Square and dropped Ginger out front of the Sheraton, guessed she had another john, watched till he lost sight of her inside the doors. He was heading over to University when he spotted the grey van a couple cars back, two guys inside, guessing it was the ones Jeff told him about. Tailing him now.

  The traffic was light this time of night. Ted drove in the opposite direction from his place. Reaching in the glovebox, he got on Front and drove west. Turned at Bathurst and took the Lakeshore where the Gardiner loomed above him. Thinking how to play it, he slowed as he rolled by the CNE. Pressing down his window, he let the van pull alongside. The guy on the passenger side cranked down his window, smiling down at Ted, saying, “Know who we are, right?”

  Holding the wheel with his left hand, Ted put his right hand across his forearm, steadied the Ruger and fired a round through their side door. Didn’t say a word, just watched the van swerve then screech off. These two morons slow getting the word that Mal Rocca’s ticket had been punched, the two of them out of work. Ted guessed that ought to take care of it.

  . . . Meat Was Here

  “Guy goes by Meat Loaf,” Vick said, handing me a beer in a glass, “you know, the Bat Out of Hell guy.”

  I just looked at him. The man wearing a camel blazer with the patches on the elbows over a white turtleneck, Levi jeans and Roots shoes, the kind that looked like the heels were in the front.

  “Ought to turn on a radio sometime,” he said, the two of us clinking glasses. “Anyway, Ricki heard it from a waiter.” His date was into the guy’s music, hoping to get an autograph.

  I thanked Vick for the beer he’d brought from the open bar, watched him go back over to Ricki on the other side of the long table. She was a dirty blonde packed into a tight black number, her heels putting her eye-level with Vick. Hand on his arm, she giggled at something he was saying. I guessed her to be a hooker, at least an indebted affair. Couldn’t see something like that going for a broke middle-aged ex-con losing his surfer hair.

  A squad of servers in white jackets juggled trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne in flutes, rushing in and out. The private room at Valencia’s was hopping with a mix of Ted’s family and friends. Stepping next to Ann, I made some small talk with Bonnie and her fiancé, Allen, some runt of an ex-jockey. I asked Bonnie about coming back to work. “You kidding?” Bonnie talking about the showroom getting shot up.

  Guessing I’d have to explain why I hadn’t mentioned it to Ann later, I asked Allen about his horse racing days, the guy talking a blue streak about that post-time feeling, how many mounts he’d raced at Woodbine and Fort Erie, coming in second behind Sandy Hawley, missing that win by a nose.

  Trying not to yawn, I finished my beer. Ann tugged me away, the two of us stepping to the bar for refills. Ann asking why I didn’t tell her about the showroom getting shot up.

  “The way you worry?”

  Rolling her eyes, she said we’d talk more later.

  Waiters corked wine, letting it breathe. Liz Bracey made the rounds, checking the place settings and introducing herself, working the room. Athletic and brunette. A bleached white smile and a firm handshake. The woman looking good for near fifty.

  Ted had confided over corned beef and pickles at Deli-cious that the two of them were in a marital sand-trap, pretty much giving up on trying to revive the spark, not seeing much of each other these days. Liz had grown weary of taking the back seat to Ted’s ventures, mild objection turning to resignation. Moving to the Prince Edward County house, loving that rural elbow-room, Liz dug her hands into the earth while Ted took in his penthouse view of the Toronto Islands. High ceilings and marble counters. Working his deals was in his blood, and lately, I guessed, Ted had been thinking some of it could get spilled, the reason he moved first and stamped out the debt with Mal Rocca.

  At the top of the hour, Liz took her spot by the door, signaling for the lights to be turned low, everybody getting set.

  A unison of “surprise” as the lights snapped back on, and Ted stood there stutter-stepping like he’d been struck. His daughter, Jenny, steadied him, kept him from bolting for the door. A nice round of applause, then Liz and Jenny led him to the head of the long table.

  After a “fuck me” or two under his breath, Ted pulled it together and stuck on that frozen smile of his, holding onto the back of his chair, saying to everybody, “You guys, you’re all fired.” Saying somebody better get him a drink.

  Everyone laughed.

  “Should’ve seen your face,” I heard Liz say, brushing her lips against his cheek. “Thought you might keel over.”

  “No such luck.” Ted kissed her back, making it look real.

  Liz rubbed a thumb over the lipstick smudge on his cheek, the only color on his face, her other hand patting his chest, looked like she was feeling for a heartbeat through one of Walter’s suits.

  Leaning close, Ann said, “So, who’s the tart?” Flicking her eyes across the table. “One with Vick?”

  “Goes by Ricki.” I sipped my rum and Coke, saying she was his date. Then accepted a plate of antipasto being passed around, taking a bread stick, and passing the plate to Ann.

  “Yeah, but, I mean, who is she? Fake boobs flopping out one end, butt hanging out the other. Not the cockeyed woman you described.”

  “No, that one’s Jackie. One with the hair deal.” Biting the bread stick, I glanced over at Ricki as she stood and tugged at the hem of her dress, pulling away from Vick, starting for the door. Guessing she was going in search of Meat Loaf, get his autograph.

  “Well, ‘Vick and Rick,’ kinda cute, I guess. Still, imagine me walking around dressing like that,” Ann said, biting into a chilled prawn, looking for somewhere to put the tail.

  The clap on the back had me coughing bread crumbs, my own heart leaping.

  “You old dog,” Ted said, pumping my hand and squeezing, talking through smiling teeth, “Could’ve warned me.”

  “Sworn to secrecy.” I smiled, clearing my throat. “But I figured nothing gets by you, right?”

  Ted turned to Ann. “Nice to finally put a face to the name, Ann.” Still squeezing my hand. “Got to say, you’re all this old boy talks about.” Finally letting go, he offered Ann his hand.

  Switching the prawn tail to her left hand, she let Ted take her hand, saying, “Well, I doubt that, but it’s so nice to be included in your special day, Ted.”

  “You kidding? You people are like family.” Letting go of her hand, Ted looked at me. “You’re one lucky dog, you know it?”

  Ann saying he was too kind.

  “Mind if I bend this boy’s ear a minute?” Ted said, the frozen smile, taking my sleeve.

  “No shoptalk on your birthday.” Liz stepped up, the two women smiling and exchanging hellos, taking each other in the way women did.

  Ann said, “So, I hear you’re quite the gardener, Liz.” Something Ted had told me at the deli.

  Liz admitted she was, saying it gave her peace. Saying she’d heard we’d been house hunting. Ann telling her about the place with the blue shutters, then saying Jenny was Liz’s spitting image. Saying no, we didn’t have any of our own yet, but something we were working on.

  Ted led me to the far wall, glancing over at Ricki standing by the door, the girl looking up and down the hall. “W
as hoping that was gonna jump out of my cake.” He watched her walk out the door, then he caught Vick wandering over to his daughter, Jenny sitting alone at the table, Vick introducing himself, asking if she needed a top-up.

  “Jesus, so help me . . .” Ted said.

  Catching his arm, I stopped him and reached in my pocket, pulling out a slim gift box, trying to fluff the flattened bow, saying, “Liz said not to get you anything, but, well . . .”

  “Hey now.” Smiling, Ted tore away the wrapping, handed it to me, and opened the box. “Montblanc. Now there’s one smart fucking pen.” He twisted it a few times, holding it like a dagger, looking over at Vick, saying to me, “Guess I better not snap this one, huh?” Clipping the pen in an inside pocket, handing me the box. Taking out a pair of Cohibas from the same pocket, he said, “Come on, let’s go catch some fucking air before we eat.”

  •

  Puffing away, Ted told me what happened on the Lakeshore, how good it felt putting a round through the sheet metal of the grey van. The two of us watching Ricki step past the glass doors, the dress hiking up and her tugging at the hem.

  “Suppose they’re real?” I asked.

  “Either way, world-class tits.”

  “Meant them being a couple. Girl like that going out with Vick? Maybe pen pals when he was in the joint.”

  “You kidding? C-note says five bills gets you time on her clock,” Ted said. “Something like that lets something like him on top, she’s got the meter running, trust me.” Ted puffed his cigar to life. “Hooker of the first order. Sure didn’t spend his money on clothes, right?”

  Vick and Robbie Boyd came out the glass doors, Vick tapping a cigarette from his Player’s pack.

  “Good of you boys to come,” Ted said, offering his hand first to Vick, squeezing it, asking if Robbie was having a change of heart.

  “Guess that’s you joking, right, Ted?” Robbie shook with his left, taking a smoke from Vick’s pack, saying he was surprised he got invited.

  “Still think of you as family, Robbie, you know that,” Ted said.

  Lighting up, Vick said, “Speaking of which, man, that daughter of yours, nice girl and sweet as a peach.” Smiling at Ted.

  “Don’t know about a peach, but let’s agree forbidden fruit.” Ted looked like he might squash his cigar in the man’s mouth.

  “And that’s one nifty pen, Jeff, a class gift.” Vick grinned at me. “Bit ass-kissy you ask me, but, hey . . .”

  “Would’ve got you one, too, Vick,” I said, “for your memos, you know. Only trouble, Crayola doesn’t make one in your size.” First time I realized we were at odds.

  “Come on now, boys.” Ted laughed, clapping Vick on the back. “How about we cut the crap, at least for tonight?”

  “It’s your day,” Vick said, flicking a match on his thumbnail for Robbie, smiling, saying, “Hey, you boys seen Ricki around?”

  “Hard to miss.” Ted pointed through the glass in the direction she had gone. “Nice-looking girl.”

  “Yeah, she’s good people, but kind of obsessed with Meat Loaf being here.” Explaining to Ted it was the Bat Out of Hell guy. “Gone to get his autograph.”

  “Gonna ask him to scrawl Meat was here,” I said, “find a patch of skin somewhere.”

  Vick gave me a look, like what’s with you?

  I waved him off, said I was going to the men’s. “I see your girl, I’ll tell her you’re looking.” Cupping the stogie in my hand, I held it low on account of the no smoking sign inside the door, asking a busboy to point me to the can.

  . . . Brass Ring

  Standing before the urinal, feet planted apart, the cigar at the corner of my mouth, the tobacco smoke masking the whiff of the urinal cakes. Subway tiles in front of me looked like they were sweating, the flusher handle, too. No way I was touching that. Not sure why I was ticked off at Vick, I zipped up, thinking I should check the Windsor knot on the new tie, red with blue stripes. Turning, I caught the flash of a ring.

  The punch knocked my head into the tiles. The cigar squashed to pulp, sparks jumping before his eyes. I landed in the urinal like it was a seat. Felt the wet. Thinking it was Vick who threw the punch, the crack about Ricki setting him off.

  Shaking my head, I pushed up and threw one back, taking another hit to the side of the head. It was Bundy. Felt like he had a roll of quarters in his fist, the floor rushing up, took a kick to the groin.

  Bundy and Egg looked down at me as I tried to breathe, tapped my pocket, feeling for the pistol, the one out in the glovebox.

  Next thing, I was pulled up by the silk tie and felt myself being shoved toward the service exit, past the guy with the ponytail working the dish pit, the guy barely glancing up from the heat and steam. Bundy saying their buddy was sick on account of the slop they served in this joint. The guy saying yeah, he wasn’t surprised.

  Pulling back the side door with the bullet hole through it, Bundy shoved me in the grey van, getting in and slamming it behind us. Balls in misery and still dazed, I made a crawl for the back, Egg putting it in gear and driving away from where Ted, Vick and Ronnie stood smoking. Fishing out his pruners, Bundy tossed me down, pinned my shoulders with his knees and was yanking at my belt, saying, “Told you this was to be continued, right? And by fuck, I’m upping the ante.”

  Sight of the pruners got my adrenaline kicking in. First thing you learned in the Don: you got no choice but to fight, you let out the beast. My fingers went for Bundy’s eyes, nails dragging down his face, skin catching under my nails as I bucked him off.

  Grabbing the cross from the rearview, Egg growled and swung it, tried gouging me with it but missed.

  Landing a big slap to his ear, I felt the van swerve. Egg slammed the brakes and Bundy made another grab. Clutching the hand holding the pruners, I got an elbow up under his nose, feeling the cartilage crunch. Hit Egg on the ear a second time. Losing control, Egg hip-checked a parked car. Thrown around the bare metal interior, I scrambled for the back doors, Egg hitting the gas and Bundy clutching my legs below the knees. I was twisting around as the rear doors flew open, and both of us were pitched out into the street, with me landing on top.

  Hosing the sidewalk in front of his fish shop, the storekeeper looked on, two guys spilling into the street, the grey van hopping the curb and taking out a parking meter. A shower of change raining down.

  Pushing me off, Bundy got up slow, holding his arm like he’d hurt it, getting to shaky legs and stumbling for the back of the van, climbing in and slamming the door shut. Egg backing off the bent meter, putting her in first and rolling on, a hubcap dropping and wobbling off.

  Twisting off the nozzle on the hose, the shopkeeper watched the van drive away, then asked if I was all right.

  “Never better, friend,” I said, told him we were Hollywood stuntmen, just practicing a scene, nothing to get excited about. Getting to my feet, I groaned, scads of hurt, guessing they might swing around the block and try for round two, these guys not giving up so easy. Nothing felt broken, a torn sleeve, ripped knee, the seat of my pants wet, the suit I just picked up from Walter’s. Asking the shopkeeper where I was, I hobbled in the direction of the Valencia, wishing him a good evening, guessing Ann was waiting on me to pick an entrée, then a dessert for sharing.

  . . . Needles and Pins

  The old Norge chugged like it was on its last legs, the vinyl floor vibrating underfoot, Ann saying she was going call the landlord, demand a new dishwasher.

  She wasn’t buying my story about getting in a fight out back of the restaurant, my cigar smoke bothering the greaser who worked the dish pit. Walking back into the party looking all beat up. Accused me of keeping things from her. Then she was back to looking at the phone, anxious that we hadn’t got word from Penny Mansell about our offer.

  “Soon as she presents, she’ll call,” I said, my lip thick and throbbing. I might have got up and paced if it wasn�
�t for the jab in my hip. Think I got that when I flew out of the back of the van. I switched on the kitchen radio, the news anchor talking about another gang shooting out back of a strip club down on King.

  Ann telling me to turn it off, saying, “Isn’t there enough bad news without that?” She wrung her hands. “Sure we’re doing the right thing here, Jeff?” Her eyes scared and pleading.

  “It’s all you been talking about.” Going to the dining room, I picked the makeup mirror off the sill. Out past the brambles, Dmitri’s Firebird sat on our boulevard lawn. Damn neighbors. I looked up and down the road.

  The ringing phone had me jumping, nearly dropping the mirror, the jab poking through my hip.

  •

  “Another five? Jesus H . . .” Ann clapped a hand to her chest.

  “Not like I had a choice,” I said.

  Dropping into her chair, she repeated the amount, giving a sharp exhale.

  “And it wasn’t five, started there, but ended higher.”

  “How much higher?”

  “Ten.”

  Mouth going into an O, Ann hissed air.

  “Was that or we let it go.”

  Her thumb scraped at the cigarette scab in the Formica.

  “It’s the sellers, Ann, greedy bastards squeezing every dime.”

  “But why ten?”

  “Penny said it’s better.”

  “Better for who?”

  Looking at the clock on the stove, I told her I had to go. Time to head over to Vick’s, meet this guy Randy.

  “You can’t go, not now.”

  “Gonna all work out. Penny’ll get it done. Plus there’s nothing more we can do.” Grabbing my torn jacket from the hall closet, the Ruger in the pocket, I told her I’d call from Vick’s, check in, told her again not to worry.