by Starr, Jason
It seemed like a bad idea to leave the body just lying there, so I covered it with a blanket and then I piled up the couch cushions on top.
I finished getting ready for work, putting on my usual jeans, black crew-neck, and motorcycle boots, but I missed my gold barbell chain. I realized I was starving and then I saw the two containers of hot-and-sour soup that Debbie had brought over for me. I drank the lukewarm soup straight from the containers, then I put on my leather coat and left the apartment.
Outside my building, I looked around, but there didn’t seem to be anybody watching me. There were still some flurries coming down, but the snow was pretty much gone from the sidewalks. It was getting cold again—the wind whipping down First Avenue like a motherfucker—and I missed the eighty or whatever the hell degrees it was in Las Vegas.
I was glad it was a Wednesday night and the weather was bad because the last thing I felt like doing tonight was checking a lot of IDs. Gary was supposed to work tonight, but Gil was behind the bar, so I figured Gary was still pissed off at Frank or maybe he had quit for good.
“Hey,” I said to Gil.
“How’s it going, Tommy?”
Gil didn’t look up from his book when he was talking to me. There were about ten people in the bar and a reggae CD was playing on the stereo.
“Frank around?” I asked.
“He went out for a second. He’ll be right back.”
I went to hang up my coat. Kathy came by with a tray of mozzarella sticks.
“Hey, how’s it going, Kath?”
“Fine,” she said, walking past me.
I was still hungry, but I didn’t feel like dealing with Rodrigo in the kitchen. I figured I’d just order a pizza or something later on. When I came back out front, Frank was just coming into the bar.
“What’s this?” he said. “You growing a beard?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Like it?”
“It’s okay.” He looked at me closer. “You feeling okay?”
“I just didn’t get too much sleep last night.”
“It’s gonna be a slow night. If you want, you can go home. Gil’s gonna take off soon, but Kathy can cover the bar.”
“It’s all right,” I said.
Frank went to the back. The room was starting to spin and I felt like I was going to pass out for real. Without my coat on, I jogged down the block to the Korean deli. I bought a large coffee, a couple of those little carrot cakes, two Snickers bars, and two packs of Starburst. I figured that filling myself up with sugar and caffeine might be the only thing to keep me awake.
When I got back to the bar Frank was sitting at a table across from a fat man with curly brown hair. I’d never seen the guy before, but I knew right away that he was the detective Frank had hired.
The guy was wearing a big black winter jacket, jeans, and work boots. He looked over at me for a second, then he looked back at Frank. Over the reggae music, I couldn’t hear everything he was saying, although a couple of times I heard him say “Debbie.” But I wasn’t worried. If the detective saw Debbie going into my apartment today, he would have come to talk to me by now. I sat down at the bar with my coffee and opened one of the carrot cakes. Looking straight ahead, I was watching Frank and the detective in the mirror behind the bar, and there was a break in the music so I picked up on more of their conversation.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” the detective was saying. “I went back to the building and the doorman said he didn’t see her go in. I hung out awhile, for maybe an hour, but she didn’t come back.”
“Well, what can you do?” Frank said. “You’ll just have to try again tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll catch her,” the detective said. “I just need another day or two and tomorrow I’m gonna wear a disguise so she won’t see me.”
“Do whatever you have to do,” Frank said.
After they bullshitted for a little while longer, Frank and the detective stood up and shook hands. Then the detective left the bar without looking in my direction. Frank came over and sat down on the stool next to me.
“That was the guy I told you I hired to follow Debbie.”
“He find anything out?”
“He saw her leaving the building this afternoon, probably on her way to meet one of her lover boys, when she stopped and told a cop that some guy was following her. So the cop stopped Fred—that’s his name—and by the time Fred explained what was going on, Debbie was gone—in a cab.”
“That really sucks Easter eggs, huh?” I said.
“I just hope this guy Fred knows what he’s doing—Gil, lemme get one on the rocks—I mean he’s a professional so he should know.”
“I don’t think you gotta worry,” I said. “Knowing the way Debbie gets around I bet he’ll get some good pictures for you to use in no time.”
Now Frank was staring off. I realized I’d probably said the wrong thing.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s all right. You’re just telling the goddamn truth.”
Gil put down Frank’s drink. Frank took a long sip then said, “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but in a way I still love her. Pretty pathetic, huh?”
“No, I understand,” I said. “I mean she’s your wife, you share the same bed...”
“I know you’re right,” Frank said. “You’ve always been right, giving me good advice, but I never had the sense to listen to you. The shrinks have a name for what I’m talking about—Jesus, I swear, my fuckin’ mind’s going.”
“But you know what I think?” I said. “I think once she’s out of the picture you’ll forget all about her. You’ll be out there in Arizona with all those beautiful women—you’ll find somebody who’ll treat you a lot better than Debbie ever did.”
“You ever seen me in swimming trunks? It’s not a pretty sight.”
“Come on, I’m sure you look great,” I said. “And a guy like you, from New York, you’ll have no problem at all.”
“No, I think Debbie was the best I’ll ever get.”
“You gotta be kiddin’ me. What you gotta do is start moving up. I’m serious. Instead of looking for women in their forties, look for women in their fifties and sixties, maybe even in their seventies. Arizona’s like Florida. They got all those rich widows down there, waiting for a guy to come along. And once you get that bar going, forget about it—you’ll have a woman for every night of the week.”
“Co-dependent,” Frank said.
“What?”
“That’s the word I was thinking of before—I’m co-dependent. I like to be with sick, fucked-up women because I’m sick and fucked up myself. I never told you this before, but my first wife was an alcoholic too. She wasn’t as bad as Debbie, but she was close. My point is maybe the problem’s me, not her—maybe any woman would run around on me. Maybe I should call off the divorce and try to patch things up.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not? You know, most of the problems we have are all because of booze. If I could just get her to lay off, maybe we could go get some counseling, try to work things out—”
“You’re not serious, I hope.”
“No, I wish I was, but I know it’s too late. I’ll go through with the goddamn divorce, go out to cactus country and see what life has in store for me. But I’m telling you—I don’t think anything I find out there’ll be better than what I have in front of me right now.”
Frank took another swig of his vodka-tonic. I stood up and stretched.
“So I guess Gary’s not coming in tonight, huh?” I said.
“Haven’t seen or heard from him since Monday,” Frank said. “His tape picks up when I call—for all I know he left New York. But I’ll tell you one thing—I’m glad you’re taking over the bar instead of him. The damn kid is just too unreliable. I need somebody running this bar I can trust.”
“You can trust me.”
“I know I can. You’re probably the only person in the world I can tru
st right now. Jesus, you look like you’re about to fall down. Why don’t you go home?”
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“No, I’m serious. I mean I appreciate you coming in here when you’re feeling like this, but it’s gonna be a slow night—Gil can proof at the bar—”
“Forget about it,” I said, patting Frank on the back.
I went into the bathroom and passed out. I came to a few seconds later with a nice bruise on my ass. I splashed cold water on my face.
Eating the Snickers bar and the second carrot cake gave me a boost. I was hoping it would be a slow night, but some fuckin’ kid picked tonight of all nights to celebrate his twenty-first birthday and he had to do it at O’Reilley’s. College kids were spilling in all night—most of them looked eighteen or nineteen, and some looked younger, but I was too tired to do my job right. I just sat on my stool, waving everybody in, even a kid with a bogus Jersey license that looked like it was made on a computer.
I drank a couple of Cokes to keep the caffeine coming, but at around 11:30 I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Frank I was taking off and I headed down First Avenue.
The wind had picked up and the temperature must have dropped another ten degrees. It was probably in the teens now, heading down into the single digits. My hands and feet were frozen stiff and it felt like I had icicles on my face. I was starting to get a sore throat.
I was turning the corner onto my block when I realized what deep shit I could be in. This afternoon I’d parked my car in front of a hydrant. If the cops towed it away I didn’t know how I’d get rid of the body.
I jogged up the block and thank God the car was still there. It was like a fuckin’ miracle—I didn’t even get a ticket.
Amazingly, the engine caught on the first try. I drove up the block and double-parked in front of my building. Leaving the engine running, I went inside. I was dizzy, going up the stairs. In my apartment, I spread the blanket down on the floor and then I lifted Debbie up. She was already stiff and purple, but for some reason her body was warm. I was about to get the pillow to finish her off, when I realized that she only felt warm because my hands were so fucking freezing.
I let out a deep breath and smiled, thinking this would all seem very funny someday.
I laid Debbie down on the blanket. I put the fur coat back on her and then I put her pocketbook over her shoulder. I looked around to make sure she hadn’t brought anything else into the apartment with her. All I noticed was the shopping bag from the Chinese restaurant, but I figured I’d get rid of that later. I rolled Debbie up in the blanket.
Normally, I could’ve carried her down to the street, no problem, but I was so tired it felt like she was twice her actual weight. On the second floor, I thought I heard somebody coming out of their apartment. I froze, but the noise stopped.
When I got down to the vestibule there was a man passing by outside, but he was looking straight ahead and didn’t see me. I waited until he was down the block and there were no cars passing by and then I carried Debbie outside. Thanks to the cold, there weren’t any other people on the street. Moving fast, I opened the trunk. I had a lot of shit in there—a spare tire, tools, old clothes—but I couldn’t start cleaning now. I stuffed her inside. Part of her body wouldn’t fit so I had to bend it. But part of her must’ve still been blocking something because I still couldn’t close the fucking thing. I tried a few more times and then, finally, using all my might, I slammed the trunk down and it locked.
I got on the FDR Drive, heading downtown. I took the Manhattan Bridge and stayed on Flatbush. The Brooklyn streets were empty and if I could’ve gotten my car going over twenty-five miles an hour I might’ve made every light. As it was, it was stop-and-go like I was in rush-hour traffic. A couple of times I caught myself dozing at the wheel and I fought to stay awake. I figured that some loud music would help keep me up so I turned on the radio to a rap station and cranked the volume.
I was driving past Church Avenue when I spotted the police car behind me. Then the siren came on and the cop came on the bullhorn and told me to pull over.
I figured there was probably just something wrong with my car—maybe one of my taillights was out or something. No matter what, I had to stay cool. The police car stopped behind me with the brights shining in my rear-view mirror.
A cop came up to my window. He was a white guy, about my size and age. He had a mustache.
“Hey, how’s it goin’?” I said.
“Can you turn that music down please?”
I lowered the volume, realizing that with the way that rap music was blasting they must’ve thought they were pulling over a drug dealer.
“Can I see your license and registration please?”
I took my license out of my wallet and the registration out of the glove compartment and handed them to him. “What’s the problem?” I said. “I know I couldn’t’ve been speeding—not in this piece of shit.”
I laughed, hoping he’d laugh too but he didn’t. He took out a flashlight and shined it at my face.
“Your eyes are bloodshot. Have you been drinking tonight?”
“You kiddin’ me? I’m exhausted. I’m just trying to get to my brother’s house so I can get some rest.”
He shined a flashlight into the car—looking on the floor in front of the front seat—then he checked out the back seat.
“Do you have any alcohol or drugs in the car?”
“No,” I said.
“We were following you for a few blocks. Your car was swerving pretty badly.”
“Sorry about that,” I said. “It’s just because I’m so tired. I just worked a twenty-hour shift at my job at the factory.”
“Factory?”
“Yeah, I work at a watch factory down by the Navy Yards.”
“You shouldn’t be driving if you’re exhausted.”
“I wouldn’t’ve, but it didn’t hit me until a few minutes ago. But I got my second wind back now.”
“Where does your brother live?”
“Avenue J.”
He stared at me like he knew I was lying. I thought he was going to say “Get out of the car” and ask me to open the trunk. I had no idea what I’d do then, but instead he gave me back my license and registration and said, “Just be careful, pal.”
I drove away, making sure I didn’t swerve. The cop car followed me for a few more blocks and then it pulled over in front of a grocery store. I let out a long deep breath. The way my heart was pounding there was no way I was going to fall asleep at the wheel now.
I stayed on Flatbush for a couple more miles, then I made a right on Avenue U. When I got to Marine Park I made a U-turn and stopped by the curb under a busted lamppost. There were a few cars passing by and I made sure the coast was totally clear before I got out. I opened the trunk and took out the stiff body. Then, walking as fast as I could, I headed toward the marsh.
When I was a kid I used to go fishing in the Marine Park inlet. The water was so polluted I spent most of my time taking garbage off my hook and the only fish I brought home were the ones I found dead on the shore. The land before the shoreline wasn’t as overrun by weeds as I remembered, but maybe this was because I was never there in the winter.
I walked in the darkness over the snow and mud. My feet were wet and cold, but I wanted to make sure I was far enough away from the street before I put the body down. After walking for a little while longer, I was up to my ankles in freezing slush and I couldn’t go any further. I dropped the body instead of putting it down, which turned out to be a big mistake. Slush splashed up all over me, including on my face. I was going to just walk away, but then I decided that it’d probably be a good idea to take the blanket with me. So I unrolled Debbie into the slush. She wound up on her back and at the same moment some clouds must’ve moved away from in front of the moon because, suddenly, there was pale blue light shining down on her white body.
If it was summer, the body would probably be discovered right away. But
in the winter, in that mud and slush, they might not find her until March or April.
I got back into my car—first making sure nobody was around—then I drove away. On the off chance that the same cop car was still cruising Flatbush Avenue, I decided to take a different route home. I must’ve gotten my second wind, because I wasn’t tired at all. I pulled into the parking lot of a supermarket on Coney Island Avenue and drove to the back where there was a dumpster. The supermarket was closed and the lot was empty. I got out of the car, tossed the muddy blanket into the dumpster, and drove away. Then I got on the Belt Parkway and headed back toward the city, chugging along in the right lane.
I still had mud all over me and I’d gotten the car dirty too.
Tomorrow I’d clean off my jeans and sneakers and I’d clean the mud out of the car, although I probably didn’t have to. Even if somebody did discover Debbie’s body before the spring, nobody would ever suspect me.
Driving back to Manhattan my second wind was gone. I had to concentrate to stay awake, slapping myself in the face and wiggling my toes. Luckily, there was a spot right in front of my building that would be good until Friday morning at eleven o’clock.
I wobbled up the stairs to my apartment. I yanked the phone cord out of the wall and killed the lights. Then I collapsed onto my open bed and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Fourteen
When I woke up, it was almost noon. I plugged the phone into the wall, figuring I’d give Alan Schwartz a call. Just when I was about to dial, the phone rang.
“Can I speak to Tommy Russo please?”
“This is Tommy.”
“Tommy—Alan Schwartz.”
“This must be a sign of something,” I said. “I was just picking up the phone to call you.”
“I tried you earlier, but there was no answer,” Alan said. “I have some very good news, great news really. Bill Tucker’s going to try to claim a horse on Saturday. It’s the one I mentioned the other day at the restaurant—Sunshine Brandy. We hope you can make it to the track.”