Fake I.D.

by Jason Starr

  I couldn’t rob the safe tonight anyway—not after Frank saw me crawling around behind the bar—so I told him I’d go. I went to the back to wash up and get my jacket. I couldn’t believe I didn’t have that money. I could still feel the stack of bills in my hand and I could still see Andrew Jackson’s face on the twenties. Some banks were open on Saturdays—maybe Frank was going to make a deposit tomorrow morning. This might’ve been my one shot at getting the money and I blew it.

  We took a cab to the Green Kitchen on the corner of Seventy-seventh and First. Frank once told me how he’d been going there for twenty years and how it was his favorite diner in New York. As usual on a weekend night, the place was packed with the drunken spillover from the nearby bars. There were mostly preppy college kids, assholes who couldn’t handle their liquor, carrying on, trying to pick up the tired, haggard waitresses. Frank and I sat at a table for two on the side, next to the windows. Frank ordered a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. I was famished, and since the meal was on Frank anyway, I decided to pig out. I ordered pancakes, scrambled eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon, and a side order of French toast.

  Frank went on and on, talking about Debbie. At first, I was zoning out, still pissed off about missing out on the chance of getting that money. Then I caught on as Frank was saying:

  “...I mean how much longer can it go on like this? I think I’ve been very patient, as patient as anybody could be under the circumstances. I’ve tried to make her see a shrink, but she won’t go. It’s like all she cares about is making my life miserable.”

  “Dump her,” I said.

  “I’m going to,” he said, “but it’s not so easy. “We’ve been together a long time—seven years.”

  “You wanna be married to her for seven more years?”

  “No—of course not.”

  “Then tell her you want a divorce. Don’t even think about it anymore. Just do it.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “That’s what I’m gonna do—soon.”

  The waitress came with our food. I dug in, blocking out Frank again. I was so hungry I think I might’ve sucked in some bacon strips through my nose. But I started listening again when Frank said:

  “So here’s my offer to you, Tommy. After I divorce Debbie I’m gonna want a change of scenery. I don’t think I’m ready to go into the sunset, but getting some sun might not be a bad idea. I’m sick of these cold fucking winters—I figure I might give Arizona a shot. I know I can’t trust Gary to run the bar and I think you’ve got a bigger head for business than him anyway. But there’s a condition involved—I’m not gonna turn over the bar to you just like that. You have to prove that you’ve quit gambling, and I mean really quit. No more going to the racetrack or taking trips to Atlantic City. I’m not gonna give you my bar for you to blow all the money at the track. You go cold turkey or there’s no deal.”

  “But what about my acting career?” I asked.

  “This is just something to fall back on,” he said. “If you get your big break and make it in Hollywood you can say sayonara and I’ll get somebody else to take over. Believe me, I’ll have no problem doing that. I just think you’re a good guy and you deserve a chance to be successful and I want to help you any way I can. So what do you say? Will you do it?”

  “You mean it?” I said. “You’re really gonna retire?”

  “I never said the word ‘retire.’ Let’s just call it a permanent vacation. I’ll probably come back and forth to New York and, who knows, maybe I’ll open an Irish bar in Arizona.”

  “Man, I can’t believe this,” I said. “You’re really asking me to run O’Reilley’s?”

  “I’m only doing this because I have faith in you,” Frank said, “and because I know you’re the one guy in the world I can trust. And because I think you’re the best man for the job.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I said. “Believe me—I won’t let you down.”

  While I finished eating, Frank told me more about his plans to divorce Debbie and to move to Arizona. I told Frank he would be happy out there and other things I knew would make him feel good. After Frank paid the bill at the register we went outside into the cold. Frank said he was going to take a cab home. We hugged goodbye, then I held open the door of the cab for Frank to get in.

  I’d always liked walking the streets at night, especially in the winter. There was nobody around, not even any homeless people. Tonight I was thinking how crazy my life was. A few days ago I had nothing—now I was going to be the manager of a bar. Soon the days of getting turned down at audition after audition, feeling like a loser, were going to be gone for good. The new job would help me with the robbery too. Nobody would believe that the future manager of a bar would rob his own bar’s Super Bowl pool.

  Eight

  The next day, Saturday, all I could think about was getting another crack at that safe. I was getting stir crazy sitting home so I decided to go to the gym to pump some iron.

  Nowadays, I only worked out once or twice a week and sometimes I didn’t go for a couple of weeks at a clip. It didn’t really matter as far as work was concerned though because I had big muscles naturally and I always looked like I was in shape.

  My gym was part of the Lenox Hill Neighborhood Association. It was a shitty gym, but it was cheap, running me only about three hundred bucks a year. I spent about an hour in the weight room, working my back and chest, then I went into the gym to play some pickup basketball. My team was losing and I was getting frustrated. This big blond guy tried to box me out for a rebound, pushing me back with his ass, so I took a swing at him, busting his lip. A few other guys broke up the fight, then the blond guy went to get some first aid. I played a few more games, then I jogged back to my apartment and took a shower.

  I relaxed on my couch awhile, eating peanut butter sandwiches and watching college basketball, then at around five I got ready to go to work. Tonight, when I opened the safe, I was going to be prepared. I had a big black Hefty bag to put the money into so if anybody saw me leaving the bar they’d think I was just taking out some garbage.

  At six o’clock I arrived at O’Reilley’s. Gary was sitting at a table near the front of the bar. Right away I knew something was wrong. He looked up at me, then looked right back down at his plate of chicken wings.

  “How’s it goin’?” I said, but he still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Leave me the fuck alone,” he said.

  “Hey, don’t get pissed off at me,” I said. “Talk to your father if you got a problem.”

  “You’re not running this bar,” Gary said. “There’s no fucking way. You don’t know shit about running a bar. You’re just some idiot bouncer.”

  I grabbed Gary by his shirt and lifted him out of his seat.

  “Let me go,” he said.

  “Watch it,” I said. “Just watch it.”

  I let Gary go and went to the back to hang up my coat. I was mad for a while, then I got over it. Gary was a jealous fuck, but what difference did that make? Soon I’d be the manager of a bar and the owner of a race horse. What would he be?

  I already had it planned out—on Monday I’d call Alan Schwartz and set up a time I could meet with him, Pete and the other guys. Then I’d meet Bill Tucker and the other big shots at the racetrack and my life would be completely different.

  I was in a good mood again when Kathy came over to talk to me at the door. I could tell something was wrong. She was hanging her head and her shoulders were drooping.

  “Cheer up,” I said. “It’s the weekend.”

  “I didn’t get the part.”

  “Part? What part?”

  “You know—in that play I told you about...at the Manhattan Theatre Club.”

  I stared at her for a couple of seconds and then it clicked.

  “Oh, right. Sorry about that, Kath. That’s too bad.”

  “My agent says they probably had this other woman in mind all along. She was in two plays at the MTC last year and the director likes her.”

&nbs
p; “I guess there’s nothing you can do about it,” I said.

  “I know,” she said, “it’s just so frustrating. I knew I could be great in that role, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Anyway, I was at this bookstore on the West Side before, looking at plays, and there’s this old Lanford Wilson play—you know, a one-act—and I think it would be great for our showcase.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that,” I said. “I’m not gonna be doing that showcase with you.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “Because I’m just not. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on. I just don’t want to do the showcase.”

  “But why? I mean if we get producers to come down maybe we could—”

  “Come on, I don’t want to argue with you about it, all right? I’m not doing the showcase. If you want to do it, you can, but I’m not doing it.”

  She looked at me, shaking her head, then she walked away to take somebody’s order. I felt sorry for her. She’d probably be a waitress until some guy came along and asked her to marry him. Then she’d quit acting and realize she’d never had the talent to make it in the first place. She’d be in her mid-thirties, her looks fading, feeling like she’d wasted her youth. I wished there was a way I could help her see the light sooner.

  It was a packed Saturday night crowd and people were lined up outside the bar all night long in the wind and cold. Usually, a busy night would be a big pain in the ass, but tonight I was in a good mood, joking around with everybody.

  At around two o’clock, when the crowd started thinning out, I started thinking about the safe. It was like when I make a big bet at the track and I’m staring at the starting gate, totally focused, like me and the starting gate are the only two things in the world. You could have taken away the bar and all the people and put me in the middle of an empty street with that safe and I wouldn’t have known the difference. Frank came to me at the door and asked me if I was feeling all right, that I looked “out of it tonight.” I told him I was fine, but I thought I might be coming down with a cold. Frank walked away and I realized I had to act more like my usual self. I didn’t want Frank getting any ideas about me tomorrow when that money was missing.

  Then I had a big break—Frank told me he was planning to go home early tonight.

  “I don’t think I’ve shaken my cold yet either,” he said. “I think I’m gonna get home and get some rest. You leave early too—the flu’s going around and it’s a nasty one this year. Gary and the guys from the kitchen’ll do the cleaning up tonight.”

  It was like Frank was on my side, helping me rob him. Kathy left early too, so all I had to do was get Gary out of the bar and I’d be set. But, it turned out, I didn’t have to worry about Gary either. I watched Frank go to the bar and talk to Gary. The music was loud so I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it wasn’t hard to guess. Frank was telling Gary to stay late and clean tonight and Gary was obviously pissed off. He said something and walked away. A few minutes after Frank left, Gary went home. There was nobody around to work the bar so I took over. It was closing time soon anyway and the crowd was clearing out.

  I couldn’t believe how everything was working out for me. It was almost too easy, like it was some kind of trap. Maybe I moved the money around last night and Frank noticed. Maybe he set up some hidden camera behind the bar and he was going to catch me red-handed.

  Stop being so paranoid. Just steal the fucking money.

  I flashed the lights for last call. There were mostly single guys left in the bar, all trying to hit on these two drunk girls. To speed things along, I told the two girls that I wasn’t going to serve them any more beer. This got the girls out of the bar in a hurry—they were probably going to one of the bars down the block that stayed open later—and most of the guys soon followed.

  Finally, about ten minutes later, the last guy left the bar and I locked the door. The music was still playing—Hootie & The Blowfish—but I was alone in the room. I went right behind the bar to the safe and got down on my knees. I missed a digit in the combination and whispered “Fuck,” biting down so hard on my bottom lip I tasted blood. My hands were shaking. Finally, the safe door opened and the money was still there, looking exactly like it did yesterday. Moving fast, like a bank robber, I put the bills in the Hefty bag. It took about thirty seconds, then I stood up, holding the bag of money. Nobody was there and Hootie was still singing. I was about to just leave, get the hell out of there, when I realized I didn’t have my coat. Fuck. Taking the Hefty bag with me, I went down the corridor to where my black leather coat was hanging in a closet near the bathroom. I put on my coat and walked back toward the front of the bar. When I got to the door, I turned around, sensing someone behind me. Rodrigo was there, scrubbing the bar with a rag. I could’ve just left, but I didn’t think this was a good idea. If I took off in a hurry, without saying anything, it might not look good tomorrow.

  Trying to smile, I said, “Don’t you work hard enough in the kitchen?”

  Rodrigo looked up like he was seeing me in the room for the first time.

  “Frank tells me to clean the bar tonight,” Rodrigo said with his Mexican accent.

  “Yeah, well Frank should pay you double your salary for doing that,” I said. I could tell Rodrigo couldn’t understand what I was saying so I rubbed my fingers together and said, “Mas dinero.”

  “Yes, mas dinero,” Rodrigo said smiling.

  “Well, I’m gonna drop this garbage out on the street and go home. Take it easy. Adios.”

  “Adios,” Rodrigo said.

  At home, I dumped the stacks of bills onto the kitchen table and started counting the money. I counted the bills at least three times and got the same total—fourteen thousand dollars even.

  Nine

  I was too pumped up to fall asleep so I sat on my bed in the dark watching Perry Mason and some old John Wayne movie. Finally, I conked out.

  When I woke up, around noon, I went right to the bag of money and counted the bills. I counted them again, then I put the bag away in the closet.

  It was another nasty day—a mix of rain, sleet and snow—and I didn’t feel like going anywhere. My muscles were still sore from working out and playing basketball and I figured I’d just hang out at home and watch the football games on TV. I ordered two sausage heros with extra onions from a pizza place on First Avenue, then I called the Korean deli and ordered two six-packs of Sam Adams, two containers of barbecue-flavored Pringles, and three of the little carrot cakes I liked.

  There’s nothing better than sitting on your couch on a nasty day, stuffing your face with great food and watching football. During halftime of the twelve-thirty game I got hungry again so I ordered some chicken wings—abusive-style—and a side order of cheese fries.

  At five o’clock, I showered, then I got dressed and left for work. The rain and snow had stopped. It was dark, but it wasn’t as cold as it had been the past few nights. I walked down First Avenue with my leather coat wide open. I was thinking about tomorrow morning. I’d call Alan Schwartz at about nine o’clock—set up a time to meet the guys. Or maybe I’d throw Pete a call from the bar tonight, just to make sure everything was still cool.

  A block away I spotted two police cars double-parked in front of O’Reilley’s. I wasn’t surprised. I knew that Frank would call the cops as soon as he noticed the money was missing. I just hoped that Rodrigo wouldn’t rat on me. I didn’t see why he would—he was a good guy, an amigo—but I was still worried about it.

  Looking in the window, I saw that the bar was crowded—a lot more crowded than it usually was on a Sunday at six o’clock. O’Reilley’s didn’t have big-screen TVs so we usually didn’t get a big football crowd on Sundays like the sports bars did. I took a deep breath and went inside.

  I was expecting the cops to come over to talk to me right away, but this didn’t happen. Instead, people hardly noticed me. Frank was in the mid
dle of the crowd and people were shouting at him and the police —two male cops, one female cop, and one older guy in a jacket and tie—were trying to calm everybody down.

  Frank saw me behind the crowd and I made a face to him that said, “What the hell’s going on?” Frank pushed his way through the crowd and came up to me.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Somebody robbed the safe.”

  “The safe? You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me. How the fuck did—holy shit, you mean the Super Bowl money—?”

  “Fourteen grand,” Frank said. “I’m such an idiot for leaving money like that lying around. I was gonna go to the bank on Friday, but I figured it could wait till Monday.”

  “Jesus, I can’t fuckin’ believe this,” I said, shaking my head. “When the hell did this happen?”

  “We don’t know. Last night...this morning. I just found out an hour ago.”

  “So what’d they do, bust the safe open?”

  “Nah, they went in and out—used the combination. And I have a good idea who did it.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Gary,” Frank said. “Who else? He’s the only one who knows the combination besides me and he was pretty upset last night when I told him I was gonna let you manage the bar. I wasn’t gonna call the cops on him, but I figured I had to, with all this money gone. The thing is I just can’t believe he’d do something like this—steal from his own father.”

  One of the male police officers came over and said something to Frank and then Frank introduced me to the officer. I was trying to look as pissed off as Frank.

  The officer said he wanted to have the detective ask me a few questions and I said that was fine with me. While he went to get the detective I was looking over at the female cop. She was about thirty with short blond hair and blue eyes. She was very good looking.

  “Tommy Russo.”

  Still looking at the blond cop, it took me an extra second or two to realize that the detective was talking to me. He was standing next to me—a guy about my height, but he was built like a rail and he was about fifty years old. He had a shiny bald head.