Fake I.D.

by Jason Starr

  “Detective Edwards,” he said as we shook hands. “I take it you’re Tommy Russo.”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “And you’re the bouncer here, is that correct?”

  I nodded.

  “Can you tell me what time you left the bar last night?”

  “Around three o’clock,” I said. “I know because I was home in bed by three-fifteen.”

  “Was Gary O’Reilley still here when you left?”

  “Nah, he left about a half hour before me.”

  “So was there anybody here when you left the bar last night?”

  “Just the guys from the kitchen, I guess,” I said. “I thought I was coming down with something and I wanted to get to bed.”

  “Did you lock up the bar?”

  “Nah, like I said, there were still guys around in the kitchen. I figured they’d lock up.”

  Frank had come over toward me and the detective during my last answer and now he was listening to us.

  “When you were leaving,” the detective said to me, “did you see anybody suspicious outside the bar?”

  I shook my head. Then, just as the detective was about to ask me another question, I said, “Come to think of it, I did see Gary hanging out near the bar.”

  Now Frank and the detective were listening with wide-open eyes.

  “And what time was this?” the detective asked.

  “Right when I was leaving,” I said. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time—figured he was waiting to meet somebody—but now, come to think of it, it was kind of weird. I mean what the hell was he doing standing out there in the cold? He was like about ten yards up the block and he was just standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking down. I guess I figured he was waiting to meet one of his friends. Anyway, I said, ‘What’s up?’ or something like that, but he didn’t say anything to me so I just kept walking and went home.”

  When I finished talking, the detective stared at me for an extra second or two, but I didn’t flinch.

  “Thanks a lot,” he said. “You’re gonna be around here for a while, right?”

  “I’m just starting my shift,” I said smiling.

  “Good,” he said. “I might have to talk to you again in a little bit.”

  The detective walked away. I was proud of myself. I could’ve started making up stories—said Gary was still in the bar last night when I left, or that I saw him going into the safe. But what if Rodrigo or somebody else from the kitchen saw Gary leave? It would’ve made me look like I was lying, like I was trying to hide something. This way I looked even more innocent because why would I admit leaving the bar after Gary if I robbed the safe?

  Then I noticed Frank, standing there, shaking his head.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, putting a hand on his back. “There’s nothing you can do about it now anyway.”

  “How could a son do something like this to his father?” he said. “Huh? How could he?”

  I’d never seen Frank looking so beat up. Even when Debbie was cursing him out to his face, humiliating him, he never looked like he was about to start crying.

  I really felt bad for putting him through all this.

  “Where’s Gary now?” I asked.

  “Home, I thought,” Frank said. “The cops are out now, trying to find him.”

  “They better find our fuckin’ money too,” a guy who was listening in shouted. He was a big muscle-head Irish guy with red hair and a mustache. I’d seen him before. He was a regular of O’Reilley’s day crowd.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Frank told the guy and other people who were standing around. “Like I told you all before—if the money isn’t recovered, I’ll reimburse the pool out of my own pocket. The pool is one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

  “So who do you think did it?” the guy asked. “Your fuckin’ kid?”

  “It doesn’t matter who took the money,” Frank said, “all right? I said I’ll back the pool, so what difference does it make to anybody? Just forget about it—it’s over with.”

  The group of guys walked away, shouting about the robbery. When they were out of earshot Frank whispered to me, “I better talk to Gary—tell him no matter what happened last night to forget coming down here for a few days. One of these goons’ll kick the living crap out of him if he took that money or not.”

  Frank went to his office to try to call Gary and I went behind the bar and poured myself a pint of Sam Adams. I saw Kathy talking to the detective. She looked in my direction for a second, then turned away quickly. She was probably still upset at me for backing out of that showcase.

  The blond cop was standing near the door, talking to the other cops. We made eye contact and I thought I saw her smile. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she didn’t need to. She had smooth pale skin and blond hair cut short around her ears.

  She looked over at me again. This time we both smiled. She headed in my direction.

  “Excuse me.” She had a heavy Bronx accent, which kind of surprised me. I looked at her name tag—Officer Cheryl Lewis. “Sorry to bother you, but can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure thing,” I said smiling.

  “Please don’t touch anything back there, especially not the safe,” Cheryl said. “We’re gonna be dusting for prints in a minute.”

  I watched her walk back to the detective.

  One of the male cops came over and started dusting the safe and all around it with a little brush and white powder. I took my beer around to the other end of the bar, trying to act like I didn’t care what was going on. Meanwhile, my heart was racing out of control. Finally, the cop who was dusting told the detective he couldn’t find a good print. Then, looking past the detective, I saw Rodrigo standing there. I didn’t know if he just came in or if he’d been there the whole time. Rodrigo was short and there were a lot of big people in the bar so I could’ve missed him. The way he was staring at me I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Finally, he walked away into the kitchen.

  I finished my beer and poured another. With Frank still back in his office trying to get in touch with Gary, there was nobody to man the bar so I took over and filled a couple of orders.

  The detective came over to me at the bar and gave me his business card. He told me that if, by any chance, Gary showed up before the police found him, that it would be “in his interest” to give the detective a call. Then the detective and the cops left the bar.

  I finished my beer and took a few more orders, making a few more bucks in tips. Frank came out from the back and said that he just got a call from Gary. The police found him in the Village and they were going to bring him in for questioning. Frank told me he was going to meet Gary at the precinct and he asked me if I’d work the bar while he was gone. I said this was no problem. Then, after Frank left, I asked Pedro, a Dominican busboy, to watch the bar for a few minutes because I had to go to the john. Instead, I went to the kitchen and saw Rodrigo there, making hamburgers. I made sure the door was closed and that no one was hanging around outside. Then I went over to Rodrigo and said, “Thanks a lot for that, buddy. I really owe you one.”

  “No problem,” Rodrigo said. “You’re my friend. I always give help for my friend.”

  “Just like the Beatles,” I said.

  Rodrigo looked confused.

  “It was a joke—forget about it,” I said.

  I hugged Rodrigo, slapping him on the back.

  “For this,” I said, “I’m gonna give you a lifetime of free English lessons. Anything you want, just ask me.”

  I let Rodrigo go and started to walk away.

  Then he said, “Tommy.”

  I stopped and turned around. Suddenly, I had a bad feeling in my stomach.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You know I am very poor,” he said. “I have very big family and we are very poor.”

  “I know that,” I said. “You told me all about how bad your life was in Mexico.”

  “Yes, life in Mexico is very
bad,” he said. “So if we have more money, that is very nice. Because we are very poor family.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I no say anything. I just saying to you my family is very poor. We have nothing—no money. Maybe you give me some money because I don’t talk to the policia. Because we are friends.”

  “Are you trying to blackmail me, Rodrigo?”

  He looked at me, confused again. Maybe he didn’t know what “blackmail” meant, but he knew how to do it.

  “You know in America blackmail is against the law,” I said. “It’s not a very nice thing to do to your friends either.”

  “No blackmail,” Rodrigo said. “I just want some more money—for my family.”

  I waited a few seconds, then I said, “All right. I’ll give you five hundred bucks tomorrow night. But that’s all you get, entiende?”

  “One thousand dollars,” he said in suddenly clear English.

  “A thousand?” I said. I looked over my shoulder to make sure nobody was coming, then I said, “You got some pair of balls on you, you know that?”

  Rodrigo looked confused again.

  “Balls,” I said, grabbing my crotch. “Cojones.”

  “You have some cojones too,” he said.

  We stared at each other for a few more seconds.

  “All right,” I finally said, “but you better keep your fuckin’ mouth shut. I’m serious. I don’t want you telling your wife about this or anybody else. Comprende?”

  He nodded.

  I walked out of the kitchen.

  Ten

  I guess you could say it was a quiet Sunday night at O’Reilley’s. After the small football crowd left there were only a few customers left in the bar. I hung around most of the night sitting on a stool, drinking beer and watching TV.

  Around nine o’clock, Frank showed up. He looked pissed off and went right back to his office without saying anything to anybody. I wanted to find out how things went at the precinct, but I decided it probably wasn’t a good idea to bother him now. So I just stayed at the front of the bar, watching TV, figuring Frank would come talk to me when he was ready.

  Finally, Frank came out front. He poured himself a pint of Guinness, then sat on a stool in front of me.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “They let Gary go,” he said.

  “Really? That’s great, huh?”

  “They still think he did it, but of course I didn’t want to press charges and they couldn’t prove anything anyway. He still swears he had nothing to do with it.”

  Frank took a long sip of his drink then put the glass back down on the bar.

  “So that’s great news,” I said. “Isn’t it?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t do it,” I said. “Maybe they’ll catch the guy who did now.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I think they already had the guy who did it—Gary. It figures he’d do something like this to get back at me. And, believe me, he was the only person who knew the combination to the safe.” Frank took another sip, then said, “This whole thing’s my fault. I wanted to install security cameras in here for years, but I never got around to it. Now I got burned.”

  “So what happens now?” I asked.

  “I forget about it, what else? Maybe in a few days Gary’ll confess and give back the money. That kid has always been the biggest pain in my ass—I wish he’d just grow up already. You should’ve seen him at the precinct—making up stories, telling the cops he had nothing to do with this. It was the same way when he was in school—he’d get in trouble and I’d have to leave work and go meet him in the principal’s office. He’d sit there lying, making a goddamn fool out of me.”

  “Let me take a wild guess,” I said. “He told the cops I did it.”

  Frank nodded.

  “I knew it,” I said. “Sorry, Frank. I know he’s your kid and all, but this really pisses me off.”

  Frank was looking at me funny.

  “I hate to say this to you, Tommy, but I just have to get it over with and that’ll be the end of it. I know you’d never do something like this in a million years. Even with your gambling the way it is I know how much respect you have for me. What I mean is I know you’d never—”

  “Hold up,” I said. “You think I—”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  “But I just have to ask you anyway—to get it out of my system. I know you’d never steal from me, that you’re not the type of guy who’d do something like that.”

  “Then why are you asking me?”

  “Because I have to hear it—from your own mouth.”

  “Come on—”

  “Just tell me you didn’t take that money and I’ll never say a word about it again.”

  I let out a deep breath, then I said, “I didn’t take that money, and if you don’t believe me you’ve got more problems than I thought.”

  “Thank you,” Frank said. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

  I got home at around two in the morning and went right to sleep. When I woke up I felt like I had closed my eyes two seconds ago, but sun was shining into my apartment. I looked at my clock and saw it was past nine o’clock. I got out of bed and called Alan Schwartz.

  His snobby secretary answered. I had to go through a whole routine, explaining who I was five times, just to get her to transfer me. Then Alan came on the line.

  “Hey, Alan—Tommy Russo.”

  The line was quiet for a few seconds, then he said, “Oh right, Tommy, how are you?” like I was his biggest buddy in the world.

  “Not bad,” I said. My voice sounded cranky from sleeping. “I just thought we could set up a time to get together, you know—meet.”

  “Did you get those forms my secretary sent you?”

  “Nah, they didn’t come yet,” I said. “But I have the money.”

  “Terrific,” Alan said. “I have an idea. It so happens I’m meeting Pete, Rob and Steve—I don’t know if Pete told you about Rob and Steve—they’re the other guys in the syndicate. Anyway, the four of us are getting together for lunch this afternoon at a restaurant near my office. I don’t know what your schedule’s like today, but if you want to make it a fivesome—”

  “Of course I can make it,” I said.

  Alan gave me the name of a Chinese restaurant on John Street.

  “That’s right up the block from the OTB, right?”

  “Pete was right,” Alan said, “you are a real racing fan.”

  He told me they were meeting at one o’clock. I said “no problem” and hung up.

  I put on some sweats and took a walk to the diner around the corner. I had the bacon, eggs and hash browns special, then I came home and shit my brains out. I’d had it with cheap diner food. From now on I was going to go out to good restaurants or cook at home.

  I took a long shower then I came out and searched through my closet. I wanted to look good today, but I couldn’t find anything to wear. I hadn’t gone clothes shopping in a long time and I realized that I’d have to hit Barney’s or Macy’s one of these days, spend a few bucks on some nice outfits, maybe pick up a few pinstriped suits and some button-down shirts with cufflinks.

  But for today what I had in my closet would have to do. I put on a pair of beige slacks, a white shirt, a black sports jacket, and a pair of brown dress shoes. The shoes needed shining, I’d taken the shirt out of my dirty laundry pile, and the slacks and jacket were wrinkled. Unfortunately, I didn’t own an iron so I put the pants and jacket on as they were and I scrubbed down my shoes with an old pair of underwear. I was going to shave, but then I figured I’d look classier with a little five o’clock shadow. I put on a gold chain and unbuttoned the top three buttons of my shirt. When I was all set to go, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.

  I wasn’t in the horse business yet, but I definitely looked the part.

/>   I took the 6 train to the Brooklyn Bridge. It was sunny and not nearly as cold as it had been the past few days. I walked around the traffic circle near City Hall Park, my leather coat open wide, a gym bag with ten thousand dollars over my shoulder. It was only 12:20 and I had forty minutes to kill so I just walked around the Wall Street area, window-shopping. Finally, at around one o’clock, I cut back up to the restaurant on John Street.

  Pete was sitting at a table with two other guys. When he saw me coming he stood up and shook my hand.

  “Long time no see,” I said. But I really wanted to say, Long time no smell.

  He looked just about the same as the last time I saw him. He still had that big mole on his chin, but it looked like he’d plucked the hairs out of it. And he still had that awful B.O.

  Pete said Alan was running a little late at his office and he introduced me to Rob and Steve. They were both short and weaselly looking. Rob had gray hair, but his face didn’t look old, and Steve had dark hair, but he looked older than Rob. They were both wearing shirts and ties.

  I put my coat over the back of my chair and the gym bag down on the floor. There were two empty seats—I sat in the one farthest away from Pete. We started bullshitting. Rob worked at a bank, doing something with computers, and Steve was an accountant. They asked me what I did and I told them, “I used to be an actor—now I’m a horse owner.”

  Everybody laughed, then Pete said, “Tommy works at a bar on the Upper East Side.”

  “Cool,” Steve said. “What do you do there?”

  Before I could say, I manage the bar, Pete said, “He’s a bouncer.”

  I shot Pete a look, upset that he’d brought that up.

  “The Upper East Side,” Rob said to me, “my old stomping grounds. What bar do you bounce at?”

  I was about to tell him when Pete said, “Here’s the man of the hour.”

  Alan Schwartz was coming toward our table. He looked like he sounded on the phone. What I mean is he looked rich. He was wearing a black overcoat over a gray suit. I didn’t know much about clothes unless I was looking at the labels, but his suit looked like it had cost him a nice chunk of change. He had a rich face too. His skin was tan and his brown hair was slicked back. But for some reason I remember his eyebrows most. They were so thin and neat they looked like they were drawn with pencil.