The Friends of Eddie Coyle

by George V. Higgins

  “Do you know of anybody looking to buy machine guns?” Foley said.

  “Come on, Dave,” the black man said, “you know me: white man’s nigger. I don’t know any more about the Panthers’n you do. Or any other brothers. Am I the best you can do? Haven’t you guys got somebody in there that can tip you? I mean, you asking me, you need help bad. You want to know what I hear on the street, I can tell you. But I’m on the government tit, too. Different government and all, but still on the government tit. The brothers don’t talk to me. Oh, they talk to me, but they don’t talk serious. If they were buying cannons, they wouldn’t tell me about it.”

  “Deetzer,” Dave said, “I need a favor. I want you to go out and see what you can hear. I got a line that the brothers’re mobbing up, getting guns from somebody that’s in with the wise guys. The idea kind of bothers me.”

  “Jesus,” the black man said, “competition I heard of. There’s always some lunatic looking around to take the numbers action. But a treaty? News to me.”

  “News to me, too,” Foley said. “See what you can find out, huh Deets?”

  9

  Jackie Brown found the tan Microbus on the upper level of the Undercommon Garage, near the stairs to the kiosk at Beacon and Charles Streets. The interior of the vehicle was dark. There were flowered curtains covering all of the windows behind the front seat. He rapped on the driver’s window.

  There appeared at the window a puffy face surrounded by straggly blond hair, collar length. The face contained two suspicious eyes. Jackie Brown stared back at it. In a while, a hand came up and opened the vent window. The face also had a voice. “Whaddaya want?” it said.

  “What do you want?” Jackie Brown said. “A man told me you wanted something.”

  “That’s not good enough,” the voice said.

  “Fuck you,” Jackie Brown said. He turned around and began walking.

  The left rear window swung open. Another voice, lighter, said: “Are you selling something?”

  “That depends,” Jackie Brown said.

  “Wait a minute,” the lighter voice said.

  Jackie Brown turned around. He did not walk back. He was about twelve feet from the bus. He waited.

  The puffy face reappeared at the driver’s window. The vent window opened again. The voice said: “Are you a cop?”

  Jackie Brown said: “Yes.”

  The voice said: “Don’t hassle me, man. Are you the guy we’re looking for?”

  “That depends,” Jackie Brown said. “That depends on what you’re looking to do.”

  “Wait a minute,” the voice said. The face withdrew. Then it reappeared. “Come to the back door.”

  At the back door Jackie Brown found a young girl inviting him in. She looked like Mia Farrow. He stared at her. “Who’re you?”

  “Come inside,” she said.

  Inside the bus there was a small sink and a double bed. There was a portable radio, AM-FM-Police Band. On the bed there was a forty-five automatic. A great many paperback books lay on the floor. There was a sharp-smelling smoke.

  “Look,” Jackie Brown said, “I came here to do business. You people want to fuck and blow a little pot, what the hell did you bring me for? I understood there was going to be somebody here that wanted to do business.”

  The puffy face came in from the front. “This is Andrea,” the voice said. “I’m Pete.”

  “I’m Jackie,” Jackie Brown said. “What the hell is Andrea doing here?”

  “This is Andrea’s,” the voice said, the hands indicating the bus. “Andrea’s got the money. Andrea wanted to see you.”

  “I wanted to see you,” Andrea said.

  “I’m sorry,” Jackie Brown said, “I must have the wrong number. I thought I was supposed to see somebody that wanted to buy something.”

  “You were expecting a black,” Andrea said.

  “Yeah,” Jackie Brown said.

  “That was Milt,” she said. “He’s with us. Milt is with us. He was talking about us. We were the people who wanted to see you.”

  “What about?” Jackie Brown said.

  “We understood you could get us some machine guns,” Andrea said in a soft voice.

  “Look,” Jackie Brown said, “you want to burn your fucking bra, all right. What the fuck do you want with a machine gun?”

  “I want to hold up a fucking bank,” she said.

  “I can get you five machine guns by Friday,” Jackie Brown said. “M-sixteen rifles. Three hundred and fifty dollars apiece. You want ammo, it’s extra.”

  “How much extra?” Andrea said.

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars for five hundred rounds,” Jackie Brown said.

  “That’s two thousand dollars,” Andrea said.

  “More or less,” Jackie Brown said.

  “Be here Friday night with the stuff,” she said.

  “Half now,” Jackie Brown said. “Machine guns’re hot items. A grand in advance.”

  “Give him a thousand dollars, Pete,” Andrea said.

  Jackie Brown accepted a packet of money. It consisted of twenty fifties.

  “Friday night at eight-thirty,” she said.

  “Friday afternoon at three-thirty,” Jackie Brown said, “you call this number and ask for Esther. Someone will tell you that Esther stepped out, and ask you for a number. Stay in the pay phone after you give the number. Hold the handset up to your ear and pretend to be talking. But hold the cradle down. The phone will ring in three minutes. You’ll get directions to a place that you can reach in forty minutes from downtown Boston. Forty-five minutes after you get those directions, the machine guns will be gone from that place, and you’ll lose your deposit.”

  “I don’t like that,” Pete said.

  “I don’t give a good fuck what you like,” Jackie Brown said. “I got two problems selling machine guns to people like you. The first is selling machine guns. That’s life in this State. The second is selling to people like you. You aren’t honest. You know where I’m going to be, and what time, I’m liable not to get the rest of my money. I’m liable to lose my machine guns. Another thing: you have the rest of the money with you. You show up with no money, no guns. And you show up. Keep this in mind. I got more than five machine guns. The rest’ll be pointed at you.”

  “Bastard,” Andrea said.

  “Life’s hard,” Jackie Brown said, “life’s very hard. Good night.”

  10

  The stocky man seemed pressed for time, and had no patience for conversation. He said to Jackie Brown: “You owe me ten more guns. I need them fast. When am I going to get them?”

  Jackie Brown shrugged slightly. “Jesus, I don’t know. I got you the first batch when I said, and I was a week ahead on the dozen. I’m doing the best I can, you know. These things sometimes take time.”

  “Time is what I haven’t got,” the stocky man said. “I told you the kind of people I deal with. I’m getting pressure. Tomorrow night I’m supposed to see the man. I need the guns.”

  “I can’t get them for you by tomorrow night,” Jackie Brown said. “I can’t possibly get them to you before the weekend. You got to understand, the factory just makes one thing at a time. When you get a mixed batch, it’s because you’re getting some of the last batch and some of the batch they’re making now. I don’t even know what they’re turning out. Maybe the new stainless stuff. I just don’t know. It’ll take me a couple days to find out what’s available.”

  “I don’t care whether it’s the stainless or not,” the stocky man said. “I got to have the stuff tomorrow night. I got a long ride and I got to have the stuff with me when I make it.”

  “No day,” Jackie Brown said. “No day, no way. No can do. I told you: I get quality stuff. It takes some time. It isn’t like buying a fucking loaf of bread. I got a thing set up that works pretty good, dependable stuff that won’t get anybody in trouble. I’m not going to screw it up just because your people’ve got hot pants. I got to think of the future. You’ll have to tell th
em: Wait. The stuff’ll come. What’s the big emergency, anyway?”

  “One of the first things I learn is not to ask a man why he’s in a hurry,” the stocky man said. “The man says he’s in a hurry and I already told him he could depend on me, because you told me I could depend on you. Now things’re working out different, and one of us is going to have a big fat problem. Now let me tell you something, kid,” the stocky man said, “that’s another thing I learn. When one of us’re going to have a problem, you’re going to be the one, I got anything to say about it.”

  “Now look,” Jackie Brown said.

  “Now look, nothing,” the stocky man said, “I’m getting old. I spent my whole life sitting around in one crummy joint after another with a bunch of punks like you, drinking coffee, eating hash, and watching other people take off for Florida while I got to sweat how the hell I’m going to pay the plumber next week. I’ve done time and I stood up, but I can’t take no more chances. You can give me a whole ration of shit and this and that, and blah, blah, blah. But you, you’re still a kid and you’re going out and coming around and saying: ‘Well, I’m a man, you can take what I say and it’ll happen. I go through.’ Well, you’re learning something too, kid, and I advise you, you better learn it now, because when you say that, when you get me out there all alone on what you say, well, you better be there in back of me. Because once you say it’s going to happen, it’s going to fucking happen, and if it doesn’t you got your cock caught in the zipper but good. Now I don’t want no talk and shit from you. I want ten guns from you and I got the money to pay for them, and I want them tomorrow afternoon at the place where we were before, and I’m going to be there and you’re going to be there with those goddamned guns. Because if you’re not, I’m going to come looking for you, and I’ll find you, too, because I’m not going to be the only one that’s looking and we know how to find people.”

  “I got to go to Rhode Island tonight,” Jackie Brown said. “I’ll be back late. I got to see some people late tomorrow afternoon. Can I meet you early some place tomorrow? So I can get free by, say, three o’clock? Because you’re coming up faster’n we said, you know, and I already told you, I got other people I see too.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon’s okay,” the stocky man said. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at the same place we were before. You still got that Plymouth?”

  “Yeah,” Jackie Brown said, “but that’s no good for me. Too far from here. I got to be around here by four. I can’t make it. I don’t want, I can’t afford to take no chances. Got to be somewhere around here.”

  “You know where the Fresh Pond Shopping Center is?” the stocky man said. “Cambridge?”

  “Yeah,” Jackie Brown said.

  “There’s a grocery store there,” the stocky man said, “and a five-and-ten. I’ll be in one of the stores there tomorrow at three o’clock. You drive in and park. I’ll see you. If it’s all right, if I think it’s all right, I’ll come out and we can get this thing over with. Don’t wait no more’n ten minutes. If I don’t come out, something isn’t right. Leave and go to where I got that number for you, and I’ll call you there and we’ll set something else up.”

  “You got a tail?” Jackie Brown said.

  “Next month I’m getting sentenced up in New Hampshire,” the stocky man said. “I can’t afford no bust right now, for anything. I got to be careful.”

  “Yeah,” Jackie Brown said, “but if it don’t come off over there, I’m not going back to where you got me before. I can’t do that. It’ll have to be tomorrow night if it burns tomorrow afternoon. You call and say what time, and leave me a number or something, and I’ll be where you say.”

  “All right,” the stocky man said. “I’ll look for you tomorrow.”

  “Have the money,” Jackie Brown said. “Six bucks. Have it there. I work this fast, I’m going to need money fast.”

  “No sweat,” the stocky man said. “I’ll have the money.”

  11

  Foley explained the delay. “I got your call from the office,” he said. “I was out in the woods there. I came as fast as I could. What’s on your mind?”

  Along the Lafayette Mall, the streetlights disposed of the gloom of the autumn early evening. Near the first subway kiosk the Hare Krishnas sang and danced, wearing saffron robes and tattered gray sweaters and sneakers with no socks.

  “I didn’t mind,” Dillon said. “I’m not in any hurry myself, but I thought, I thought maybe this was something you might be in a hurry about. I been sitting here watching them goddamned fools with their pigtails and paint on their faces, jumping around, and they got this kid with them, looks just like a little German, or a Swede, maybe, and there’s his Mummy and Daddy jumping around like a couple of maniacs, playing Indian. That poor little kid. When he grows up, what the hell is he going to do? I was him, I think I’d shoot somebody. I’d start with Mummy and Daddy, for openers.”

  “Hey look,” Foley said, “they don’t hurt nobody.”

  “I know that,” Dillon said. “I know that all right, but I see them going up to people and they’re really serious, you know? They mean it. They think we all oughta take off our pants and put on them nightgowns and go humping around beating on a god-damned drum. They also think we’re going to do it. Now that’s crazy, isn’t it? Sure it’s crazy, but then I think: I was here when they come up and I see they got this brand-new Olds, which I assume they get with the money they bum off the sensible people, and now I’m wondering, who is it that’s crazy? Is it them getting goose pimples jumping around in front of God and all the people, or is it me? I don’t have a new Olds, all I got is a card for next week on which I was stupid enough to take the Pats again. I never learn.”

  “What’d you want to see me about?” Foley said.

  “Hey,” Dillon said, “remember last time I saw you, you’re giving me a little leg about there’s nothing going on? And I said no, there’s something but I don’t know what it is? Well, I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “Depends on what you mean,” Foley said. “There’s some things going on, but I don’t see any of the boys making a buck out of it.”

  “Well,” Dillon said, “now you never know. But look, you asked me, what’s going on, and I told you, people making telephone calls. I’m always getting calls for people that aren’t there, and pretty soon the guy that isn’t there shows up, or maybe I get another telephone call and it’s from him, and he wants to know, is anybody calling for me? Now there isn’t that many guys that’ve got something going and they don’t want their wife to find out. Remember that?”

  “Yeah,” Foley said. “You said Eddie Fingers was having something to do with Scalisi.”

  “I mentioned Eddie Fingers,” Dillon said, “and I mentioned Scalisi too. I don’t remember saying they had something working. They were just two of the guys I was talking about, that had a lot of time to spend on the telephone. That fucking Coyle, I don’t see how he can walk, he must have so many dimes in his pockets. You throw him in the water, he’d sink like a fucking stone, he’s so heavy.”

  “Okay,” Foley said, “Eddie’s making a lot of calls.”

  “I ain’t seen Scalisi around in a while,” Dillon said.

  “I heard that,” Foley said. “Nobody has. I heard he was down in Florida getting some sun.”

  “I heard he wasn’t,” Dillon said. “I heard he made a lot of money recently.”

  “That so,” Foley said. “All by himself?”

  “Sure,” Dillon said. “You know Jimmy, everybody likes him. I imagine some friend of his give him a good tip on a horse or something, you know?”

  “It’s good to have friends,” Foley said.

  “Certainly is,” Dillon said. “I had a call from Scalisi there yesterday night, and the fellow he wanted wasn’t around, so I say, sure, I’ll have him call you soon as he gets in. You got a number? And he says: ‘I’m not going to be here very long. I tell you, it’s kind of important. Why don’t you tell him soon as you see him, it
’s important and I want to talk with him, and that’ll probably do it.’ ”

  “Uh huh,” Foley said.

  “So this afternoon,” Dillon said, “I’m in there as usual and listening to the feature at the Rock and getting my brains whipped out as usual, and probably I sold four dollars’ worth of beer all day, nobody drinks a straight shot any more, and who comes in but the fellow that Jimmy Scal calls about yesterday. So I finish out of the money as usual, old Babe never did me no good, and then I go up to him and he’s got this kind of a tense expression on his face, like he thinks maybe he’s got his tit caught in the wringer, and I say to him, you know, what’ll you have and all, and he orders a shot and a beer, bless my soul. So I bring it up, and I’m giving him a little gas, you know, one thing and another, and then I remember, because I got so many people calling in, I remember that this guy is one of the guys they been calling in for. So I say to him: ‘Hey, Jimmy Scal get in touch with you?’

  “Well,” Dillon said, “he gets this look on his face and he says: ‘No, I didn’t know he was looking for me.’ And from the way he looks I think it’s probably just as well he didn’t, he looked like somebody knocked the whey out of him.

  “So I say: ‘Yeah, he called last night, looking for you. Said it was important. He didn’t get in touch with you, huh?’ See, I’m giving it to him a little bit.

  “ ‘No,’ he says, ‘no, I told you he didn’t. He leave a number?’

  “So I’m standing there, still playing Mickey the Dunce, all these guys running around like mad all over the countryside, keeping in touch by calling me up, I practically haven’t got time to pour the booze, I’m so busy answering the fucking phone, but nobody trusts me all the same, see, I’m just the switchboard operator. So I’m entitled to some of my own. And I say: ‘Jesus, no. I asked him for one and he says to me, he says he’s leaving and just to tell you it’s important, he wants to talk with you.’