Killing Time in Vegas

by Black, Tony

  'Well?'

  'I'm thinking.'

  The Schnauzer barked like bad news. A beige saloon went past the window in slow-mo.

  'Don't take too long.'

  I turned to eyeball Pedro, expected to see him grinning, perhaps perched on the end of a cigarillo like Eli Wallach in his most famous role. That's what the three of us were — The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. My mind ran amok ... I heard some of Eli's lines: There are two types of spurs, Blondie ... The type that come in through doors and the type that come in through windows.

  'Get to the back of the fucking house,' I roared.

  'What?'

  'You heard me. Get off your ass and check the back's secure and lock the Goddamn door.'

  'Are you for real?'

  'Fucking A.'

  'No door's gonna stop Mr Nightstick coming in.'

  I lost it. Ran towards him and yanked him by the collar. On his feet, I spun him and rabbitpunched the back of the head. His shoes flew out behind him, he stumbled out to the back door.

  As Pedro left, Marie let out a low, barely audible mumble.

  I bent at her side. She looked like she was coming round.

  'Yo ... Marie, honey, you with us?'

  A groan.

  'Guess not.'

  'Mitch ...' she said.

  'Yeah, honey. I'm here.'

  'What happened?'

  'I hit you. I'm real sorry.' I was aware how pathetic I sounded.

  'You hit me. Why did you hit me, Mitch?'

  'I've got a bucket of adrenaline racing through me and you flipped out. It was just instinct.'

  'Mitch, you've never hit me before.'

  'Honey, I'm sorry. I'll never do it again. I promise. Are you okay?'

  'I guess.'

  I propped Marie up on the couch. She touched her head. I could see a red leaf-shaped stain forming on the skin. The contusion would be berryblack inside an hour. I felt time ticking away. We needed to move.

  'Where's Pedro?'

  'I sent him out back?'

  'The money?'

  'Still in the trunk.'

  'Mitch, those cops didn't just come from nowhere.'

  I hoped she wasn't starting to push my buttons again; I knew the cops had been fed a line by someone and I'd lost my edge.

  'They were tipped off,' I said.

  'Who?'

  I looked to the door. 'Dunno.'

  I heard Pedro hammering down the window frames, it set the Schnauzer in the yard off again.

  'Mitch, we've got to get out of here.'

  I looked to the window; the sun streamed in, painting an oblong block of yellow in the centre of the floor.

  'Mitch ...'

  From where I sat I could see the car, front fender bashed, back window shot out. I was no wheelman, but I'd lost them. It wasn't meant to be like this. Simple job. In and out. Just stick to the rules. But they were waiting — two cops — for a bank job. Shit, these days a motorcycle courier forgets to take his helmet off and there's choppers overhead.

  'Mitch, we have to move, now.'

  I turned back to Marie, her face was torn in misery, her upper lip trembling. If I didn't act soon, she'd need hosing down again.

  I wiped her brow, said, 'You good to go?'

  She nodded.

  'Then sit tight, I've one more thing to do.'

  I stood up, walked through the door. In the hallway, I heard Pedro. He was whispering, or trying to, into his cell phone.

  'I didn't know he could drive like that. How is I to know? You should have chased, chased ... the money's still here. Out front.'

  I reached round to the .45 tucked in my waistband and took off the safety. My heart pounded, I felt sweat gather on the back of my neck. This was my ticket back to the Big House. Even bent cops refuse to turn a blind eye to this kind of thing. I tasted the Joint's gruel and grits again, the smell of stale sweat, Bubba's necklock in the showers. I wanted to apologise to Marie once more.

  Fuck. Why did this shit keep happening to me?

  As the .45 clicked in his ear Pedro lowered the phone and turned. He looked at me as if I'd just beamed down from Venus. His lips drained of blood and turned grey. I wagged the .45 towards the phone. He moved his thumb to 'end call' and dropped the handset on the floor.

  I gave him a second for words.

  None came.

  My nerves shrieked, I felt the blood surge in my veins as I raised the gun to his head.

  'Oh sweet Jesus, please, no ...' pleaded Pedro.

  'He's not gonna save you now.'

  I blindsided him. Put my left through his eye, opening it up like a welt, the white shot through with red. He fell. I kicked him in the head. A flap of skin tore clear of his brow. More blood ran out. Lots this time. It looked like a coathanger abortion. He put both hands over his head.

  'You made a mistake, Pedro.'

  I put the .45 to his head.

  He crouched, as if in prayer. I swear, he whimpered. I'd expected more of a put up.

  'What else did you give them?'

  'Nothing ... Nothing... Nothing ...'

  'Horseshit.' I slapped him with the gun.

  'No, I swear ... They don't know nothing.'

  'My name?'

  'No. I would never.'

  Somehow, I didn't believe a word of it.

  'You lose, Pedro.'

  'What?'

  'The Game of Life.'

  He screamed like a loose fan belt. The Schnauzer kicked off outside the door. I hoped it would drown out the sound of the gun's discharge.

  I left him flat on his back. Dark blood covered the floor like a slaughter house.

  In the hall, Marie ran to me.

  'Come, on,' I said.

  'But?'

  'Not now, get in the car.'

  I grabbed her arm and led her through the front door. Sunlight burst like an explosion all over the burnt-yellow lawn. I felt my guts begin to heave, felt for sure I'd hurl but somehow I kept it all in.

  My hands trembled, I couldn't get a grip of the keys, but Marie leaned over and helped me locate the ignition. God, I didn't deserve her, did I?

  I got the car started, and then suddenly, the Schnauzer came running, stopping still on the lawn. He turned his head to the side, made that dog look, one that says a million things and nothing at all.

  I pulled out on to the street.

  'You good?' said Marie.

  'Yeah, fine.'

  I took one last look in the rearview mirror, caught sight of the Schnauzer again.

  I could have swore the damn dog waved at me.

  I gunned the engine.

  ###

  Eat Shit

  'He said that to you? ... I don't, you wouldn't shit me on this, Eddie?'

  Miami Mike carried two Buds back from the bar, he swayed a little — nights with old Eddie from the block could turn pretty tasty.

  'He said it, I tell you now, God as my judge ... it's what he said, Mike.'

  Mike slammed down the Buds; white froth flowed down the sides and onto the table top.

  'Whoa, calm the fuck down, man ...'

  The beer spill pooled on the chequered paper tablecloth, a red candle in a dancing-girl statuette, her hooters glowing from within, trembled in prelude to a fall.

  'This kinda shit, it's way outta line,' said Mike. ''Run this by me again, from the top, don't leave anything out ... and I mean anything.'

  Eddie picked up his Bud, ran a hand over the bottleneck and slugged deep. His lips twitched. Nerves on edge and out there for all to see.

  'Well, you asked ...'

  ****

  'She's at it again, the fucking Party Queen,' said Gloria.

  Eddie struggled to the edge of the bed and wiped the sleep from his still-tired eyes. 'You're kidding me.'

  'You can't hear her?'

  'Honey, I took a bucket of Moggies, how else you think I sleep here.'

  Eddie slapped palms on his face, shook his head; it seemed like the neighbourhood joined in, 'Oh yeah, now I
'm hearing ...'

  Gloria stood at the window and looked out with a face ominous as thunder. She tugged at the heavy drapes and light flooded into the bedroom.

  As he smarted, Eddie noticed the Lucky in her fingers; she'd started smoking again. It was the stress. He knew it was all wrong. They were being held to ransom in their own home.

  'I can't take much more of this,' said Gloria, 'this is some kinda retirement!'

  Eddie rose, went to her side. He tried to take the Lucky from her; Gloria snatched her hand away.

  'What are you going to do about this? We can't live like this anymore, Eddie ... we can't!'

  Gloria yanked open the window and roared: 'Turn that fucking music down you crazy fucking bitch! Turn it the hell down or I'll come over there and wrap that fucking boom-box round your scrawny motherfucking neck!'

  ****

  'So that was the start of it, huh?' said Mike.

  'Yeah, like I say ... since we moved from back East, all we had was like, y'know ... parties from the get go.'

  Mike leaned in, stroking the base of his Bud like it was a lapdog, 'She's round the clock with this?'

  'Hey, buddy ... let me tell you, when we was growing up back in the old brownstone, we had it peaceful compared.'

  Mike looked thoughtful. Eddie scoured his mind for the word to describe him; he thought it might be contemplative.

  'What're you thinking, Mike?'

  He rose, tipped back the rest of his Bud. 'Thinking it's your turn to get the Buds in, pal.'

  Eddie made the run to the bar. On his return he was careful not to spill any beer like Mike had done last time.

  'Well, I'm all ears.'

  Mike played with the edges of his moustache, greying now, but the jaw was still firm. He was carrying none of the meat Eddie was. 'Then what happened?'

  'The bitch's daddy came round, he's some big-ass lawyer, slapped a stack of papers on me and next I know I've got a restraining order and he's saying I harassed his daughter.'

  'That it?'

  'No, man ... he's suing my ass.'

  'You spoke to this girl of his?'

  'Man, yeah, 'course ... but nice, like … fuck, this is Miami, I ain't looking for no aggravation. I had enough of that thirty years renting Pintos to fat ass out-of-towners.'

  'This restraining order ... what did it say?'

  Eddie sighed, lowered his eyes, rapid-fired on the Bud, 'That's the worst.' He put down the beer and stared at his palms like the answer was written there. 'Claims I sexually approached her.'

  Mike banged the table. The dancing girl fell over. The candle went out. 'The low motherfucker!'

  Eddie stayed silent. He looked at his oldest friend, his one remaining relic from childhood. He knew the look on his face, he'd seen it before. It was like back in '68 when he took the Louisville slugger to the basketball court, took down five, six guys who'd welched on a drags bet.

  'Eddie, here's what you do — the next letter he sends you, you wipe your ass on it.'

  'What?'

  Mike grabbed Eddie's arm, there was darkness in his eyes, Eddie had never seen this look before. The thirty years that had passed before they'd hooked up again held some blind spots ... he understood that now. 'Okay, okay ... but, then what?'

  Mike released his arm, 'I'll keep you posted.'

  ****

  A pool-side party was in full swing as Mike pulled up outside Eddie and Gloria's condo. It was a neat set-up, he thought. Sun-dried adobe brick, bit of a hacienda feel happening. Nice. He could see why Eddie had sprung for the condo, made their old stomping ground on the Lower East Side look just like the hell on Earth it surely had been.

  He lowered his mirrored Ray-Bans and scoped his friend's home. Looked quiet; drapes shut. No one home? Or, if they were, keeping totally out of sight. No way to live, thought Mike. Not at all. Not for an old friend of his.

  He retrod the times Eddie had shared his lunchpail with him when they were kids. Mike could still remember how it felt to have an empty belly. But he'd worked out of that world; so had Eddie, he deserved better.

  There was some dance music playing. Loud as all hell. Mike was five-hundred yards from the pool but he could still make out every line of Marky-frickin-Mark's Good Vibrations. It was obviously a track daddy's girl enjoyed. 'Yeah, do it, do it ...' said Mike.

  Pullman appeared: 'You want I should grab the slut?'

  'Slut?' said Mike.

  'Yeah, she's a slut, look the way she's dancing ... that's filth, man!' The girl was groin-grinding two beach bums, surfer-types with blonde bangs and over-tanned complexions. 'She's gonna have those guys dicks out like two ski-poles any minute, wait see.'

  Mike took off his shades, 'She's some piece of work alright.'

  'Look, now ...' She took off her bikini top and tweaked at her erect nipples, the surfers poured beer on her breasts and she encouraged them to lick it off, 'See, I fucking told you!'

  'Sexual suit, huh?' said Mike.

  'Come again?'

  Mike put his shades back on and walked to the SUV.

  'Yo, boss ... you want I should snatch her?'

  'What for?'

  'Take her to the border ... make her suck Mexican dick for a month — fifty cents a throw! ... See how loud she wants to play fucking Marky Mark then.'

  Miami Mike gunned the engine and motioned Pullman to get in.

  ****

  Daddy had a practice on the sweet side of the street. Old colonial mansion, painted white and bathed in sunlight. If there was royalty in Miami, they'd keep a joint like this. But Mike knew there was no royalty in Miami. Not the type with crowns and robes anyway. The royalty he knew carried Mossbergs in the trunk and hired people like Pullman to fire them.

  The lawyer wore a light linen suit, black shirt beneath with a flower-print tie. He topped the outfit off with red-toed cowboy boots.

  'That's our man,' said Mike.

  'You sure?' asked Pullman, 'Motherfucker looks like Boss Hogg!'

  'That's him.'

  Mike didn't need to say anymore. Pullman got out the SUV and crossed the street. As he went, Mike watched his muscle-bound factotum walk towards the sidewalk.

  The SUV's windows were blacked out, they kept Mike's identity hidden from the street as Pullman grabbed the lawyer round the neck and wrestled him to the ground like a steer. It was a carefully-practised manoeuvre, all over in under a minute.

  The lawyer squealed like a stuck pig in the back of the vehicle. It took two raps on the side of the head from Pullman to quieten him down.

  They drove out to the flats. It was hot, topping eighty Fahrenheit. A dust trail blew up behind them.

  When Mike stopped the SUV, he slowly turned to face the lawyer for the first time.

  'Do you have any idea who I am?' said a crumpled suit, covered in blood from a fierce nosebleed.

  'Do I look like I care who you are?' said Mike.

  The lawyer, flustered, raised a finger. 'I will, t-tell you ...' Pullman grabbed the finger, snapped it back. The lawyer shrieked then folded like a knife, cradling his hand.

  'Look, boss he's crying ... Straight up, he's crying like a fucking girl. I never seen that before, you seen that before, boss?'

  Mike turned away, spoke quietly, 'Yeah, I've seen that before.'

  'W-what do you want from me?' screamed the lawyer.

  Pullman laid a hand on his chest, 'Boss, let me ass-fuck him, please, huh?'

  Mike turned front again, watched Pullman in the rear-view, he saw him eye the lawyer up and down, grab his thigh ... 'Go on, Boss ... I ain't gave no one a good ass-fucking for the longest time.'

  Mike laughed. The lawyer seemed to let out a whimper, then wet himself.

  'Man, he's pissed in his pants!'

  Mike stopped laughing, 'Get this piece of shit out of here.'

  Pullman opened the door and kicked the lawyer off the seat. He landed face down in the dirt.

  'I think he lost some teeth that time,' said Pullman.

  The lawyer tr
ied to run, his arms and legs splayed out like a newborn foal struggling on fresh limbs. Mike let him get a hundred feet before sending Pullman to the trunk.

  The first shot from the Mossberg stopped the runaway in his tracks.

  ****

  It was the strangest thing, thought Eddie, it had been quiet for days. Party girl seemed to have shipped out, then the 'For Sale' sign went up.

  A knock at the door amidst the silence startled him.

  'I wondered if I may ...'

  It was the lawyer again; Eddie's heart sank.

  'I ain't got a Goddamn thing to say to you, what is it now? You got a new suit to slap on me?'

  The lawyer raised his hands, 'No, no ... q-quite the reverse.' There was something strange about him, and it wasn't the Band-Aid above his eye, he seemed ... different, quieter somehow.

  'Please, may I come in?'

  Eddie opened the door.

  Inside, the lawyer politely asked to sit. He produced a bottle of twelve-year-old Scotch from his briefcase, 'I wanted to, a-hem, er, I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for my daughter's over-exuberant behaviour ...'

  Eddie rose, ranted: 'You fucking roach! You tried to sue my ass ... you filed a restraining ...'

  He intervened: 'I-I know ... I was very misguided, it would appear I was misinformed ... may I offer my sincere apologies, and if I may also, I would like to compensate you.'

  'What?'

  'I did some calculations, you've been here for three months, is that correct?'

  'Yeah. What the ...? You know I have ...'

  'These condos attract four thousand dollars a month rental and so I thought twelve thousand would be ...'

  'Fifteen,' spat Eddie.

  The lawyer fumbled for words, looked startled, his bead-eyes narrowed some more then seemed to wet up, 'But ... y-yes, of course. Fifteen thousand.'

  Mike's advice was playing to a tee, but Eddie wondered about the next part. He was ready to let it slide, accept the cheque and kick the guy out on his ass.

  But then lawyer daddy spoke up. 'I believe you have a letter of mine, if I may have it returned I w-would be most grateful.'

  Eddie went to the dresser where he kept the letter. He returned to the lawyer, slowly taking the document from its manila envelope, then he presented it: brown streaks of his own shit lined the length of the page.

  Slowly, trembling, the lawyer accepted the offering. He stared at it for a moment and then tore it with his teeth and began to chew on it.