by Steve Lowe
“Hold on,” Jimmy said. “It gets better. Sonny leaves, and I’m coming out of my skin. I’m ready to tear my good friend here a brand new asshole. How can he do this to me? How can he expect me to throw this fight? He tells me it’s just one fight. That I’ve lost before, and to worse fighters than Ochoa. It won’t hurt my career. And besides, we needed the money.”
Jimmy shook his head at Sully, talked directly to him. “I didn’t need the money, Sully. You needed it. You were the one in trouble. Desperate to get the sharks off your back. You didn’t do it for me. You did it for you. And where did all that cash you walked away with go, huh? Flushed it all away, didn’t you? Shot it all up your arm.”
Silence in the bar for a beat, then Vic leaned over and said, “But you won that fight. How did he get paid if you didn’t go through with the fix?”
Jimmy cracked a smile that contained no humor. “That’s the best part. Old Sully here, he’s a smart kid. Smarter than he looks by a long shot. He had it all planned out. Knew exactly what would happen. Hell, he even invited Sonny to come back to the locker room before the fight, just so it would play out this way. I find out about the fix, he plays dumb about why he did it, I go out there full of piss and vinegar and righteous indignation and proceed to put an ass-whipping on Alcides Ochoa the likes of which he has yet to recover from. Ref should have stopped it in the first round, but he let it go on. I dropped Ochoa in the second with the first combination I put on him. The place goes apeshit. I go back to the dressing room after the ringside interviews, but Sully’s not there. He’s not, but Sonny Porter is. Sully was off collecting on the bet he put down. Yeah, he knew exactly what I was going to do. Played me like a fiddle, man. He took the underdog in that fight, and made out like a bandit. What’d you win again? Something like fifty K?”
Sully shrugged, shrank in his chair a bit.
“It’s all gone now, of course. Probably has been for a while too. He took off to, what was it, Memphis? I think it was Memphis, by way of St. Louis. Whatever it was, Sully was gone. And I was left to explain what happened to Sonny Porter.”
Jimmy held up his right hand for the bar to see. “This is what Sonny thought of my explanation.”
Sis the waitress placed Jimmy’s burger in front of him and pointed at Sully. “You’re a piece of fucking shit,” she said.
Vic said to Sully, “How the hell could you do something like that to a person you called a friend?” Turned to Jimmy and said, “What they hit you with? I heard it was a drywall hammer.”
Jimmy shook his head, said around a mouthful of grease and cheese, “Nope, sledgehammer.”
The crowd winced in unison. More catcalls reigned down on Sully. He looked around, nervous and waiting for someone to come at him. Jimmy saw that it could turn ugly at any moment, but he waited a little longer, savored the scene. It was good to see Sully squirm. Lord knew the little shithead deserved more. Even a year ago, if they had been sitting in that bar as they were then, Jimmy would have simply stood up and strolled out, got in his truck and gone home. Left Sully to deal with the mob on his own.
He deserved it. But Jimmy wasn’t going to let it happen. Before the drunks got too close and touched something off, he stood and said in a loud, hard voice, “But we’re not here to dwell on the past. I used to work out my grievances with my fists, but I’m not a fighter anymore. Life is too short for that nonsense.” He looked down at Sully, at his quaking hands, twitching head. Tremors coming on full blast. “I see that now.”
The crowd murmured at that a bit, but they eased up. Jimmy still knew it was time to go. He had his fun. The mob backed away as Sully and Jimmy headed for the door.
“You trying to get me killed?”
Jimmy hit the I-94 ramp and gunned the truck into the moderate traffic zipping along at 80 miles per hour. “That’s funny, I’ve wanted to ask you that very question for a long time.”
“I apologized, JP. You know I wasn’t right in the head back then. If I could take back what I did to you, I would.”
“But you can’t, so there’s no point in talking about it now.”
Quiet for a minute, no more than that. Sully smiled and said, “You remember that fat kid from St. Stan’s? Joey Bell? Used to bloody your nose for you until I came up behind him and kicked him in the nuts?”
Jimmy said nothing.
“The rumor was one of his testicles burst and the doctors told him he’d never have kids?” He laughed, waited for Jimmy to crack, laugh with him. It didn’t happen.
“I’m done with reminiscing,” Jimmy said, voice quivering.
If Sully said another word, Jimmy didn’t think he’d be able to keep from busting his lip. Anger and empathy fought for control, but neither won out. The sight of his old friend, sickly and dying, wasn’t enough to tamp down the entrenched rage he’d nurtured for two years. Not something he could simply brush aside, no matter how pathetic Sully looked. Sully must have sensed it, too. He looked out the window and said nothing for several miles. Jimmy welcomed the quiet and drove.
It was completely dark outside when they neared the state line. Jimmy could see Sully shaking out of the corner of his eye, bouncing to a silent beat. A road sign informed them of places to stop and eat or get gas and Sully perked up in his seat.
“Hey, we need to make a pit stop.”
“I’m not stopping until we get to Sacred Heart. And even then I’m only going to slow down enough for you to jump out.”
“That’s what you want to do, that’s cool, but your seat’s gonna be covered in piss in about ten seconds. These meds fuck up my bladder control. Can’t hold it much longer.”
The exit was coming up fast. At the last second, Jimmy, swerved across two lanes and took it. He pulled into a Speedway station and parked on the side of the building.
“You have five minutes,” he said. “If it takes you six to piss, you’re walking the rest of the way.”
“Alright, I get it.”
Sully got out and shuffled into the station. Jimmy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and watched the clock. Green digital minutes ticked by. At five minutes, and no sight of Sully, he put the truck in reverse. And sat there, his foot mashing the brake pedal. He should just leave, he knew it. Instead, he shut the truck off and went inside.
A tremendous fat woman sat behind the counter, barely lifted her eyes at him before returning them to the book in her hands. Jimmy headed to the back, steamed toward the two doors marked GUYS and GALS and put all his weight behind the kick. The GUYS door flew open, smashed against wall. Sully’s head jerked up, shocked and scared. Like he was expecting a moment like this for a long time, only the guy on the other side of the door would be carrying a gun.
Jimmy looked down at Sully’s arm. The sleeve of his jacket pushed up to his shoulder. Belt tied off above the elbow. Empty needle dangling from Sully’s bone-skinny, scabbed up arm. Jimmy shook his head and walked away without a word.
“Fuck, JP, hang on, man.”
Sully scrambled to collect his things, chase after Jimmy, who was already pushing out the door. The fat clerk behind the counter shouted after him, “Hey, you broke that door. Hey, come back here!”
Jimmy gunned the truck and nearly ran Sully down as he scrambled out in front of the grill. Jimmy held the brake down with his left foot and gunned the gas with his right. Sully screamed and jumped back, but he didn’t move out of the way.
“Dammit, JP, let me in the truck!” Jimmy didn’t respond and Sully said, “Man, give me a break with this self-righteous crap. You don’t know what I go through with this shit. The only quality of life I got left is what I get outta that needle.” Eyes shining, near tears. He said, “You don’t know fucking shit, man.”
“Don’t move,” Jimmy said out the window. “It’ll be quicker if I hit you square on.”
Sully dropped his hands to his sides and stood up straight. The fear fell away from his face. “Alright, go ahead,” he said. “You want to do this, then do it. I ain’t afraid to di
e. I’m already fucking dead, JP. You might as well finish me off if it makes you feel better.”
Jimmy gunned the engine again, but Sully didn’t flinch. They remained that way for several moments until Jimmy relented and geared the truck into park. Sully, white as paper in the glare of the headlights, shuffled forward, opened the passenger door. Got in and leaned his head against the window. Said nothing more.
Jimmy didn’t drive off right away. Waited until his breathing normalized. Told Sully, “I better never see you again after tonight. If you turn up again, I won’t hold back.”
Sully shoved his hands into his pockets and turned his face to the window.
THIS EVENING
The cellphone in his breast pocket buzzed against his nipple. He pulled it out, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly.
“Nichols.”
“Detective, we got a call into the precinct you might be interested in.”
“Why’s that?”
“Some guy over in Indiana, says he might have information about one of your burn victims.”
“What kind of information?”
“Like he might have seen the guy the night of.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
He clicked the phone off and tossed it onto passenger seat. From the glove box, he pulled out a small handheld black light. The bulb glowed blue and he moved it up and down his pants, searching for any stray splatters. Next he did his shirt and then the car door and the floor beneath his feet. Satisfied he hadn’t brought any of the alderman with him, he started the Caprice and edged away from the curb.
He was parked three blocks away from the alderman’s apartment building, a stately brownstone on a shady street where the neighbors knew to keep their blinds drawn and their mouths shut. Nichols still took no chances. Sims’ nephew was a popular figure in his ward. The shit would hit the fan big time once they found his body.
Nichols drove just under the speed limit. He turned down a poorly-lit alley about five blocks away and chucked the little .25 pistol out the passenger window, into an open dumpster out back of a closed barbeque joint. The alderman’s wallet, emptied of its cash, went out next and splashed in a puddle. When they found the gun and ran the ballistics, the name Curtis Telfair would ping back. Poor Curtis wouldn’t tell them much, though, as he’d been buried in a pauper’s grave some ten months now, gunned down in a crack house, probably by the shot-gunned Haitian kid Nichols took the gun off outside the liquor store. The file on Telfair would reveal a deal gone bad between junkies. No suspect ever arrested, no justice for poor Curtis Telfair. Another statistic in a city full of them.
Nichols wheeled the Caprice into the empty parking lot of a bakery with wood over the windows. He pulled behind the building and shut the car off. He went to the trunk, pulled out a folder, plastic bucket, and a bottle of lighter fluid. He set the bucket on the cracked pavement, dropped the folder into it, reached in his pocket and produced a flashdrive, which also landed in the bucket. Sprayed lighter fluid over everything, lit a match, dropped it and the whole book of matches inside.
Once the bucket began to melt and collapse, Nichols tossed the lighter fluid back into the trunk. He removed the latex gloves he was wearing and tossed them into the fire, then got back in the car and drove away.
PART III:
SETTLING UP
They were in Chicago 30 minutes later. Jimmy followed 94 north, merged onto the Dan Ryan, which teemed with summer traffic even at ten o’clock.
“I need you to get off at 76th.”
“Why would I get off at 76th? Sacred Heart is north of Midway. Be quicker if I cut over to the Stevenson.”
“Because I don’t want you to drop me at Sacred Heart.”
Jimmy looked across the bench seat. “What is this shit now? You want me to swing by your dealer? You can go fuck yourself, man.”
“No, it’s not like that. I know a guy has a body shop off of 76th. He’s holding onto something and I need to get it.”
“No fucking way. I’m dropping your ass at the nearest street corner. I’m done with this bullshit.”
“It’s not something for me. It’s something that belongs to you.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“Twenty thousand dollars.”
“The hell you say.”
The exit for 76th came up and Jimmy hesitated a moment, but took it.
“Where the hell would you get twenty thousand? And what makes you think I want your fucking money, anyway?”
Sully closed his eyes and laid his head against the window again. “Because now you need it.”
“I’m not getting caught up in another one of your fucked up schemes, Sully. It’s not happening.”
“It’s not a scheme. The money’s already there. My guy is waiting for me. All we have to do is walk in, collect it, and you’re heading back home. And then you and I are square.”
Jimmy scoffed. “So you think twenty thousand is enough to make up for my hand? My fucking career?”
Sully shook his head. “No, but that’s the best I can do.”
“Where’d the money come from?”
Silence. Sully watched the side streets roll past.
“Either tell me or I stop right here.”
“Alright. The truth is, my mom’s not at Sacred Heart.”
“Is that right? Where is she then?”
“She’s dead.”
Jimmy’s turn to clam up. He wondered if it was true or just more bullshit from a professional bullshit artist. “When?”
“About three months ago.”
Traffic got heavy and they crawled along at five miles per hour. People all over the streets. Shouting, laughing, arguing. Summer in Chicago made folks crazy with the heat, still in the 80s and humid. Jimmy’s shirt stuck to his chest, wet down the back. Sully sat with his window still up, jacket zipped to the top, arms jammed in his pockets. He could have been a cadaver sitting there, if not for the tremors.
“You didn’t go to her funeral, did you?”
Sully shook his head.
“You still didn’t tell me where the money came from.”
“Her estate. My big inheritance, the money left over from the sale of her house, less taxes and what the nursing home took to cover her bill.”
“And how much was left?”
“About twenty-six thousand.”
“You have twenty-six thousand dollars waiting for you in a body shop on the south side, and you’re just going to hand over most of it to me.”
“Yes.” No further explanation.
“Sully, man, you’re so full of shit. You think I’m going to believe this crap you’re slinging at me?”
“You do what you want, I’m not making you do anything.”
“Why a body shop? Late at night on a Friday in this part of town? Who is this guy of yours?”
“The guy is the lawyer in charge of Mom’s estate. An old family friend. He’s the one got Mom into Sacred Heart and he’s the one who contacted me when she died. The only way I could get the money is if I came to pick it up from him in person. I explained to him my tenuous social status in this city and he suggested the body shop. It’s his brother-in-law’s joint. In and out fast, get the money and get the hell out of Chicago before anyone finds out I’m back. Hang a right at the next light.”
Jimmy flipped on his directional, perfunctory, not even thinking about it. Poking holes in Sully’s story until it looked like Swiss cheese. He knew there was no way any of this was true. Couldn’t be, no matter how convincing Sully was, with his matter-of-fact attitude and vibrating muscles. Every bit of sense in Jimmy said to go no further.
He beat that voice of reason down, and hard. He thought of Annie and the baby and what twenty thousand dollars could mean for them. A house. New car that you didn’t have to worry about getting started in the morning. Annie could quit that shit hole toll road rest stop coffee corral. Jimmy never was greedy when it came to himself, but when it came to Annie and their child…
&nb
sp; “Where is this place already?”
Sully eyed him quickly and said, “Keep going, it’s the second right up here. Narrow street, kind of looks like an alley.”
They pulled up to it, Charlton Avenue. The street light at the corner was busted and the entire block was a corridor of black. Jimmy turned and crept along. They watched the crumbled store fronts and derelict homes pass, one empty lot after another, houses burned and razed, like dead teeth pulled from a rotting mouth. More sheets of plywood than glass in the windows of the remaining structures.
“It’s on the right up here. See the awning hanging out over the sidewalk?”
“I don’t see shit. Don’t they believe in streetlights around here?”
“Dealers give the neighborhood kids twenty-two pistols to shoot them out. Soon as the city replaces the bulbs, they get broken the next day.”
Nothing moved on either side of the street, but Jimmy had the distinct, eerie sensation of eyes on them, watching the two white boys in the rusty pickup truck tooling along through the hood.
“We’re going to get fucking shot down here.”
Sully pointed to the left side of the street. “There’s a space, park right there.”
“But I’m pointing the wrong way.”
“Dude, I don’t think you’ll get a ticket over here.”
They drove by the burned-out shell of a car and Jimmy pulled into the open space. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
He was nervous, possibly scared, but wouldn’t admit that much, not even to himself. He turned off the truck and they sat in the dark watching the front door of the body shop until he couldn’t stand it any longer.
“What the hell now, you going in or what?”
“Yeah, I’m just waiting a sec. I wanna see what’s what out here.”
“You don’t think this lawyer’s here or something?”
“Not that, I know the guy is here, but I’m not exactly comfortable just strolling around this hood with a bag full of money.”