21 Tales

by Dave Zeltserman

  Vassey smiled, showing off two solid gold front teeth. He said, “So tell me again what happened.”

  Bill tried to smile back. It didn’t exactly work. “Just like I already told you. Joey was real hopped up, kind of crazy like. He wanted to sell me your property. When I tried talking sense into him he just got more nuts and told me he was going to sell it somewhere else. I thought if I bought it and gave it back to you, maybe you’d go easy on him, you know, give him a second chance. He’s my kid brother.”

  One of the wise guys behind Vassey chuckled. Vassey’s grin widened. “You paid ten grand?”

  Bill nodded. His throat felt so damn dry. He needed a drink bad.

  Vassey pursed his lips, his eyes soft and thoughtful. He motioned towards Jeanie. “Hey sweetheart, come over here.”

  She obeyed, moving mechanically, and sat down next to Vassey. He grabbed her jaw with one hand and turned her face towards his and peered into her eyes.

  “Just seeing if anyone’s home,” he said, his thick lips stretching into a nasty grin. “You’re Joey’s sweetie, right?”

  She nodded, her face expressionless.

  “Why ain’t you with him?”

  “Because I’m not stupid,” she said, angrily. “I told him I’m not double-crossing you. That he could choose between me and the money.”

  “Yeah, is that right? I think you’re lying. I think you just couldn’t bear to walk away from all this crack.” He broke out laughing. He let got of her jaw and let his fingers linger as they fell across her chest. “You’re not bad looking,” he acknowledged. “I got a position for you if you want it. Sweaty work, but no heavy lifting. Give me a call.”

  She stood up and walked over to a corner of the room, hugging herself tightly across the chest.

  Bill exhaled uneasily. “What about giving Joey a break?”

  “We’ll see.”

  The two wise guys chuckled softly. Vassey busied himself with the contents of the suitcase. Bill and Jeanie both stared into space. It seemed a long time before the phone rang.

  Vassey answered it and spoke softly. He hung up and addressed Bill. “We found your baby brother. He had ten grand on him.”

  He took out a wallet and counted out fifteen thousand dollar bills, stood up, and shoved the money into the front of Bill’s shirt. “Something extra for being smart,” he said.

  Vassey paused and then peeled off two more thousand dollar bills. “This is for the funeral,” he said. “As a personal favor there will be a body for you to bury, but you’re going to have to have a closed casket.”

  Vassey and his two wise guys headed to the front door. Before leaving, Vassey turned and told Bill he had an opening for a distributor, for Bill to call him on Monday.

  After they left, Bill collapsed onto the sofa, holding his head with both hands. Jeanie broke out laughing and then fell on top of him, laying with her thighs around his neck. She pulled two crack pipes and some crystals from her pants. She put crystals in both pipes and forced one of them between Bill’s lips.

  Bill watched as she lit hers and as her eyes reacted to the drug, softening and becoming dilated. She had been right about everything, even how much Vassey would give him. He knew next time she’d set him up. He tried to think who she’ll do it with.

  His hands shook as he lit his pipe. It was only a matter of time before she double-crossed him, but for the next sixty seconds he couldn’t care less.

  Nothing But Jerks

  The third Manny Vassey story. I wrote this as a way to work out some of my anger at my work mates when none of them called while I was recovering from surgery.

  Lou Johnston felt worse than lousy. He had been shot in the gut three weeks earlier while robbing a bank, and although Doc Wilson had fixed him up for ten grand, the pain killers he was taking weren't helping a hell of a lot. To make matters worse, his feelings were hurt.

  As he lay in bed staring at the television, a scowl formed on his face. He’d had nothing but liquids for three weeks and it left what had been a large beefy face looking shriveled, like a tire gone flat. The scowl added to the deflated look.

  “Norma!” he bellowed.

  A weary-looking blond in her late thirties walked into the room. There was a haggardness about her eyes and mouth. “Yeah, Lou?” she asked.

  Lou stared at her sourly. “Get me a beer,” he ordered.

  “You got one sitting on the nightstand.”

  “It's warm.”

  “It's not warm. I got it for you only ten minutes ago.”

  Lou picked up the bottle and threw it at her head so she had to duck. The bottle spewed beer as it flew past her and bounced off the wall.

  “Get me a beer," he demanded. "And clean up the goddamn mess!”

  Norma stood frozen. After about a minute the muscles in her jaw relaxed enough so she could spit out what she had to say. “Just ’cause you're mad at other people don’t mean you can take it out on me!”

  Lou mimicked her, repeating exactly what she said.

  “Go screw yourself,” she snapped.

  “Go screw yourself,” he mimicked.

  Norma stared at him, and as she did, her hard blue eyes softened. She walked over and sat on the bed and placed a small delicate hand against his cheek. “I know you're upset, baby,” she said, a genuine tenderness warming her voice. “But your friends care about you. It's just that they know you're okay and they're probably afraid of being tied in as accessories.”

  “That's a lot of crap,” Lou grumbled. “There are plenty of times I stuck my neck out for them.” Then under his breath, “Goddamn lousy stinking bunch of jerks.”

  The phone rang. Lou and Norma looked at each other, anticipation tensing both faces. Norma got up and left the room. When she returned she was grinning. “Harry Lansome called,” she said. “He's coming by later for a visit.”

  Lou pursed his lips. “At least one of them's not a total jerk,” he noted with a childish smugness.

  # #

  Harry Lansome was a slight man with a long face and heavy basset hound eyes. He shook hands with Lou, then handed him a box of Cuban cigars and pulled a chair up to the bed. Lou took one of the cigars out and sniffed it, a large broad grin breaking over his face.

  “Norma will give me holy hell if I smoke this now,” he said with a wink.

  Harry smiled softly. “Wait ’til you're on your feet. They'll keep.”

  “Of course they will. So why'd you wait three weeks to visit? I could've been lying here dead for all you knew.”

  “Aw come on." Harry shifted uneasily in his seat. "You know how things are. And word's out you're okay.”

  “Yeah, all I did was take a thirty-two in the gut. Why wouldn't I be okay?”

  “I'm sorry Lou—”

  Lou interrupted him. “Just giving you a hard time,” he said, his eyes playful. “Pal, I'll tell you, this thing hurts like a mother. Ever been shot in the gut?”

  Harry shook his head somberly.

  “It was so fucking stupid,” Lou said. “All because I'm too nice a guy.”

  “Yeah, I heard—”

  “That sonofabitch bank guard is begging me not to hit him. He must've been at least sixty and he's crying his eyes out how he's got a family and all that shit. And then all on his own he falls to the floor. Just like that. I should've whacked his fucking head. But I'm being too nice a guy.”

  Lou's features darkened as he thought about it. “The goddamned sonofabitch. He had a gun strapped to his ankle. Lying on the floor he pulls it out and shoots me in the gut. That after being such a goddamn nice guy and all.”

  “Pretty lousy, Lou.”

  “Sonofabitch. I hope they're still scraping his fucking brains off the wall.” Lou smirked angrily. “Pal, I got to tell you this thing really hurts like hell.”

  “Hey, a few weeks from now and—”

  “Yeah, I know, I know.” Lou sighed, and his eyes hardened as he showed a nasty smile. “You should've seen the look on the sonofabitch right bef
ore I blew off the top of his head. What the fuck did he expect?”

  “Who knows with these things.”

  Lou nodded in agreement. He closed his eyes and placed a hand palm up against his forehead. “I better get some rest. Doctor's orders. You know, this is about as serious an injury you can get.”

  “Sure, of course.” Harry started to get up, hesitated, and then sat back down, his slight frame hunched over. “I got big troubles, Lou.”

  Lou slowly opened his eyes.

  “I wouldn't bring it up now with how you're feeling and everything.” Harry scratched nervously at his nose, his mouth sliding to one side as if a fishhook were pulling at his lips. “But Jesus, Lou, I don't know what else to do. I need you to talk with Manny Vassey.”

  “That's the only reason you came here, huh?”

  “Jesus, no. Of course I wanted to see how you're doing, but I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone—”

  Lou raised a hand to shut him up. “Yeah, sure. I understand. You want a beer?” He yelled out for Norma. When she brought them her smile faded at the sight of Lou.

  “Harry needs a big favor from me. That's why he came here,” Lou said. He took the beer from Norma and drained half of it with a long swallow. Harry sipped halfheartedly at his.

  “How are you in trouble with Manny?” Lou asked sincerely.

  Harry gave an embarrassed smile. “Could Norma leave the room?”

  “No reason for her to. She's gonna hear it anyway. So what are you doing, ripping Manny off?”

  “Not me,” Harry protested. He edged forward, his face very pale, almost greenish. “You know I've been running numbers for Manny. I just found out my shithead brother-in-law's been skimming off it for the last six months.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty grand.”

  “Does Manny know yet?”

  Harry shook his head vigorously. “No, thank God, not yet. I want to pay him back everything plus interest plus anything else he think's fair, but I need you to tell him I knew nothing about it.”

  “If he thought you did, you'd be dead. After a very long while.”

  “Come on, Lou,” Harry said. “Don't joke about this.”

  “Who's joking? You know what Manny did before he got into the rackets?”

  Harry nodded, a deeper and more sickish green coloring his face. “I heard something about it.”

  “He was a butcher,” Lou said. “It's something he's always liked. I think it has to do with chopping things up.”

  “Come on, Lou,” Norma cut in, “Harry doesn't want to hear about this.”

  “Sure he does,” Lou corrected her. He turned back to Harry and smiled fully. “He still has a butcher's table. But he uses it only for special occasions. I got to watch a couple of times.”

  “You're making me sick,” Harry said. His skin had become very pale, clammy, making it almost look like his face had been molded out of wax. “Don't joke like this.”

  Lou broke out laughing. “What’s wrong, can’t take a joke? Harry, I'm just playing with you. Don't worry about anything, okay? I'll speak to Manny and straighten him out.”

  Harry closed his eyes as if he were saying a silent prayer, then he got to his feet and grabbed Lou's hand so he could thank him profusely. He said something about having to meet some business associates. Lou watched vacantly as the slight man turned and left the room.

  “Lou, honey, he really did come to see how you were doing,” Norma said. She took a step towards the bed and stopped. Lou continued to stare vacantly straight ahead, his face expressionless, phlegmatic. He turned to her slowly and asked her to get him the phone.

  “Please Lou, don't—”

  All at once his face was chalk white with rage. “Get me the goddamn phone!” he yelled, blood boiling in his eyes.

  # #

  Manny Vassey stood in the bedroom shaking his head sadly at Lou. He was a short, heavyset man with black oily hair and a complexion that resembled chipped glass. A jagged white scar ran from his left eye to his mouth. Standing next to him were two of his employees, thick-necked humorless wiseguys.

  “You got careless, Manny said.

  “Maybe so.” Lou shrugged. “But only for a minute. Not for six months.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why don't you ask Harry Lansome?”

  Manny Vassey pushed a thick hand through his black oily hair. The two wiseguys standing behind him were smirking. Manny looked down and regarded Lou with a thin smile. “This isn't funny. What are you trying to tell me?”

  Lou propped himself up. “You're goddamned right it isn't funny. It isn't funny when you got some little shitbag like Harry Lansome ripping you off for fifty grand. Why the fuck didn't you ever check to make sure that little piece of puke was collecting what he was telling you he was collecting?”

  Manny's thin smile pulled tighter. He turned to one of the wiseguys and whispered to him softly. The wiseguy left the room smirking. Manny turned back to Lou and told him he was going to have some company for a bit longer. He then pulled a chair up to the TV set and sat down. The remaining wiseguy picked up a newspaper and smirked at the comics.

  It was over an hour before the first wiseguy returned. He nodded at Manny. “Fifty-two grand,” he said.

  Manny's face darkened. “It don't make sense,” he said. “Harry's smart enough to know what that fifty grand will buy him.”

  Lou propped himself further up in the bed. “He was laughing about it, Manny. It was like it was one big joke to him.” Lou's voice shook angrily. “If it wasn't for being incapacitated by my wound, I would've grabbed him by his greasy neck and smashed his skull in. I was never so mad in my life, Manny, sitting here and listening to that shitbag brag about fucking you.”

  Manny moved his head slowly up and down. “Thanks, Lou. I owe you one.”

  “Hey, what else am I going to do?” Lou lowered his voice. “About owing me one. Maybe there’s something you can do to help me out.” He turned to Norma and told her to get the mask that he used in the bank job. Then turning back to Manny, “How about leaving Harry with a thirty-two in the gut?”

  “There won't be enough of him left for that.”

  “Yeah, well, it wouldn't work anyways.” Lou rubbed a hand across his large rubbery face. “He's got a brother-in-law, Tommy Malone, who's a big bulky guy, about my size. It would probably work with him. And it would sure as hell let me sleep easier.”

  Manny smiled and the light reflected off his two solid gold front teeth. “I'll get the mask from Norma on my way out.” They shook hands. After Manny left, Norma came into the room. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked.

  Lou lay staring at the TV, sulking, his face embroiled in a petulant frown. “Three weeks and not even one of them calls to see how I'm doing,” he complained. “Nothing but a bunch of lousy, stinking jerks.”

  The Brutal

  The Plan

  This is a mind bender of a crime noir story. You’ll see.

  As I drove to work I listened to the radio about the latest murder. I tried paying attention to the details, but couldn't. I had too much on my mind.

  At the coffee machine all the talk was about the Broadway Butcher. I stood around and listened. The latest victim was a thirty year old librarian from Tampa, Florida attending a library conference in New York. Donald Vicks brought over the front page of the Boston Examiner which showed a picture of the victim while she was still among the living. She was small, pretty, had medium length brown hair and slightly almond-shaped eyes. Like all the other victims she looked a lot like Louise, my wife.

  I left the discussion and sat down behind my desk. I forced the Broadway Butcher out of my mind. There were too many other things to worry about. Like the stack of sales inquiries I had to follow up on. And Louise…

  I couldn't get any work done. I was dead tired and I was worrying about Louise. About our fight. It had been a bad one, maybe our worst yet. And to top it off she had threatened to show up at the office to cont
inue it.

  And Louise, bless her black heart, is a woman of her word.

  I had asked Jack in security to keep her out. At about ten past eleven Jack called to tell me my wife was on her way to see me. His voice sounded hurt as he apologized. “I tried to stop her, but well, you know—”

  “Yeah, I know.” I hung up and pushed myself away from my desk, hoping to catch Louise before it was too late.

  As I turned I saw her enter the Sales office. Donald Vicks flashed me a sympathetic smile and then buried himself into his work. I ran to Louise and grabbed her by her elbow.

  “Come on,” I pleaded under my breath. “Let's take this outside.”

  She pulled away, freeing herself. “What's the matter?” she asked, her voice rising to a high pitch. “Afraid your coworkers might find out about you? Is that it, Mr. Innocent?”

  Bob Harrison, my manager, had opened the door to his office and was staring out, his pale blue eyes not at all happy. I looked at him in a pleading sort of way and then back at my wife. I felt sick to my stomach. “Louise, please,” I said. “This is not the place—”

  “No, it isn't, but no place is, huh?” she challenged, her mouth convulsing as if she were about to spit up phlegm. Then she started bawling, all at once like a switch had been thrown. As tears streamed her face they left black traces of mascara. She looked so damn ridiculous. The thought of carrying her to the window and throwing her out head first overwhelmed me. All I wanted was to watch her fall the five floors to the cement below. But all I could do was stand there and let her humiliate me.

  Through her sobbing she asked where I was the previous night.

  “I already told you—”

  “Where were you?”

  “Look, Louise, what do you want me to say?”

  “Tell me the truth!”

  “Honey, please.” I took a step towards her and she moved with a surprising quickness, slapping me hard across the face. At first all I could hear was that slap echoing in my ears. After a while I could hear her calling me a dirty bastard over and over again.