The Big O (A Screwball Noir)

by Declan Burke

  ‘I hear you,’ Ray said. ‘But right now we’re looking at an actual victim. If Frank doesn’t get the money and we don’t get it from Frank, Madge turns into your actual victim. The best she can hope for is to walk away without any toes. In a manner of speaking.’ He glanced across at Karen. ‘That’s what he said, right? He’d start on her toes.’

  Doyle considered that. ‘What d’you think,’ she said, ‘is he armed?’

  Karen shook her head. ‘If he was he’d be shouting about it. How he’s packing iron, all sorts of shit.’ Karen thought it’d be for the best if she left out the bit how she was packing Rossi’s .44. ‘And even if he is, it’s no real biggie. He just likes guns. Waving them around, mostly.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Ray cut in, ‘if it wasn’t for Frank setting up Madge to be snatched, Rossi wouldn’t be a problem right now.’

  ‘Frang’s a cund,’ Genevieve slurred.

  ‘Is she okay?’ Doyle asked Karen.

  Karen looked down to where Genevieve was stretched out on the seat of the booth, her head in Karen’s lap. ‘She’ll make it,’ she said.

  ‘What I’m saying,’ Ray went on, ‘is that you have enough right now to put Frank away. Conspiracy to kidnap, unlawful detention, insurance fraud. Then there’s the whole black market Nervocaine gig. I mean, the dopey prick kept emails on his laptop. So it’s a gift, your score, you take him down. You personally.’

  ‘Except,’ Doyle said, ‘you want me to hold off nailing Frank until you’ve handed the cash over to Rossi.’

  ‘Not even that long. All you have to do is wait until we hit Frank for the cash. Then you nab him.’

  ‘Meanwhile, you’ll have disappeared. With half a million in cash.’

  ‘So nothing happens to Madge,’ Karen pointed out.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ Doyle said. ‘You’re asking me to ring Trust Direct and find out when Frank is picking up the cash so I can tip you off.’

  Ray and Karen nodded simultaneously.

  ‘And all this,’ Doyle continued, ‘is off the record. I mean, I’m telling Trust Direct I’m working undercover but I’m telling no one else. Like, for instance, my boss.’

  ‘We appreciate you’re taking a chance ––’ Karen began.

  ‘A chance?’

  ‘But by then you’ve already nailed Frank. And you have his records from the laptop, those emails he was sending his guy in Trust Direct, Doug Jennings.’

  ‘A definite score,’ Ray agreed. ‘Cast iron. Frank’s going down.’

  ‘Frang’s a friggin’ bastard,’ Genevieve mumbled, dribbling – Karen couldn’t help but notice – on Karen’s thigh in the process.

  ‘And what happens,’ Doyle wanted to know, ‘when Trust Direct start squawking about their half million?’

  ‘That’s where you’ve shown initiative in the field,’ Ray said. ‘That’s where, with a woman’s life on the line, you’ve done what’s necessary to secure her freedom, some bullshit like that. And nailed Frank, the guy running the show.’

  ‘Trust Direct,’ Karen added, ‘aren’t going to squawk too loud when it’s a woman’s life they’re playing with. Christ, the PR they’ll get, they couldn’t buy that kind of coverage.’

  Doyle sipped some more vodka-tonic. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But what are you giving me? I mean, I’m going out on a pretty thin fucking limb here. What do I get?’

  ‘What is it you’re looking for?’ Ray said.

  ‘You,’ Doyle said. ‘What we already talked about. I’m going to need you to stand up and testify in court how Frank’s this criminal mastermind pulling kidnaps all over. You tipped me off, got yourself a guilty conscience. That way I’m following up on Frank after the mugging, when he starts acting weird and pretending he doesn’t own the briefcase. A briefcase, as it happens, that’s covered in Rossi’s paw-prints. This is why I’m calling to his house, finding his laptop with the assistance,’ she jerked a thumb at Genevieve, ‘of Sleeping Beauty here. Because I’m building a file.’

  ‘Pretend I’m a lawyer in court,’ Karen said. ‘How come Ray tipped you off?’

  Doyle shrugged, winked at Ray. ‘We’ll call it pillow talk,’ she said.

  Karen looked across at Ray. Ray shrugged.

  ‘I don’t have a problem,’ he said, ‘with perjuring myself if it’s in a good cause. I mean, if Madge walks away and Frank does time.’

  ‘Fuggin’ bellybuttons,’ Genevieve muttered.

  Doyle drained the last of her vodka-tonic. ‘One for the road?’ she said, standing up.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Ray said. He nodded at Karen. ‘We have to go see a man about a dog.’

  Tuesday

  Ray

  ‘Good news and bad news, Ray. Which d’you want first?’

  Ray groaned and knuckled his eyes, switched the phone to his left ear. ‘The good,’ he said through a yawn.

  ‘Okay,’ Doyle said, ‘but there isn’t an awful lot of good.’

  ‘Shit.’ Ray rolled into a half-sitting position, pushing off the duvet as he reached for his smokes. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Trust Direct – as a result of negotiations that went on all fucking night, Ray – anyway, they’ve agreed to release the ransom.’

  Ray lit up. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Except they’re only releasing two hundred grand.’

  ‘Fuck. How come?’

  ‘Two big ones is what their expert actuary-types decided was the minimum a kidnapper would accept on the low side and the maximum their shareholders would accept going high. These being experts who were dragged out of bed to do their expertising.’

  ‘So what you’re really saying,’ Ray said, struggling forward to perch on the edge of the couch, ‘is they’re playing games with a woman’s life.’

  ‘A woman, if you want to be precise about it, who isn’t a shareholder.’

  ‘Bastards.’ Ray put his shoulders through a slow wriggle, straightening his back to iron out the wrinkles. Next time Karen wanted Anna to share her bedroom, he thought, she was investing in a bigger couch or waving adios to Ray. He could hear Anna now, even through the wall, the bass growl, the toenails clickering on the polished floorboards.

  He tried to remember Karen’s logic from the night before, why it made sense for Ray to sleep on the couch and Anna on Karen’s bed, but all he could recall was a chafing sense of injustice.

  ‘Any more bad news?’ he said.

  ‘I’m riding shotgun on the money.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘They want their money back, Ray. Plus they’ve gone over my head.’

  That much at least Ray’d been expecting. ‘How far over?’

  ‘Far enough. They’ll be waiting for me to let them know where and when the pick-up is happening.’

  ‘And you’ll be hearing about the pick-up from…?’

  ‘You and Karen, soon as you hear from Rossi.’

  Ray grinned. ‘That is bad news.’

  ‘Isn’t it, though?’

  ‘So what’s the ETA on Frank?’

  ‘Ten o’clock, the Trust Direct building downtown. You know it?’

  ‘We’ll find it. What’re they using to hold the cash?’

  ‘A khaki duffel.’

  ‘Just the one?’

  ‘You’d be surprised how little space half a million takes up.’

  ‘Especially,’ Ray said, picturing Rossi’s face, the mean little boiling eyes, ‘when it’s only two hundred grand. You’ll be there?’

  ‘Yeah. But don’t worry, you won’t see me.’

  ‘I think I’ll do some worrying all the same. No offence.’

  ‘None taken. And Ray?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Make it hard for me. I mean, don’t leave me looking a complete fucking blonde for losing you on a one-way street.’

  Frank

  Frank believed he was having the best morning of his life. He’d been up early, showered and shaved, and was dining on a light breakfast of grilled kidneys, toast and orange ju
ice when his shirt and suit arrived back from Room Service, so neatly pressed they looked almost new. He’d tipped heavily leaving the hotel, partly because he was high on a sense of adventure, the idea that he was living the first day of the rest of his life; mainly though, Frank didn’t think he’d ever be tipping again. He wasn’t entirely sure of the protocols, but Frank found it hard to believe Haitians would be expecting too much by way of tips.

  The morning was chilly but Frank didn’t mind that; it’d be his last chilly morning for some time. He reclined in the plush rear of the BMW cab the hotel doorman had hailed without being asked, Frank revelling in being the kind of man who has cabs hailed by doormen. Feeling generous, he told the cabbie to keep the meter running when they arrived at the Trust Direct building. With the cabbie’s hearty ‘Certainly, sir!’ echoing in his ears, Frank strolled briskly into Trust Direct.

  By the time he re-emerged, half an hour later, Frank’s step wasn’t anywhere near as spry. And that was before he heard the fat parp of the BMW’s horn and realised the meter was still running. Still in a state of shock from hearing the words ‘two hundred thousand’, Frank shuffled towards the kerb, squeezing the handle of the khaki duffel and girding his loins for the battle of wits to come.

  ‘Doctor Dolan?’

  He’d turned before he realised he shouldn’t have but by then it would have been too late anyway. She’d only said his name to distract him. Even as he glanced around, Frank felt something clamp down on his wrist, something cold and hard that clinked tight with a metallic clink.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Can I help you?’ he said.

  ‘You’re a day late and three hundred thou short. Get in the van.’

  Karen

  Ray only grunted. ‘What she told me,’ he said, ‘was we wouldn’t see her.’

  ‘Maybe we should’ve blinked a little longer,’ Karen said.

  They watched as Doyle handcuffed Frank and relieved him of the khaki duffel.

  ‘She’s coming our way,’ Ray observed.

  ‘You don’t miss a trick, boy scout.’ Doyle hustling Frank across the street towards the Transit. ‘What d’you think she has planned?’

  ‘You’re the woman. You should know how she’s thinking.’

  ‘You’re the criminal mastermind.’

  ‘Retired.’

  ‘I’m guessing,’ Karen said as Ray leaned back to open the side-panel in the rear of the van, ‘you’re due an early comeback.’

  Doyle pushed Frank into the van ahead of her, got him sitting on a large paint pot, slid the door closed behind her. Still standing, crouched, she nodded at Karen and Ray. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘There’s been a slight change in plan.’

  ‘We got that, yeah,’ Karen said. ‘Frank, Stephanie, meet Anna.’

  Frank gaped in horror as Anna shoved her huge muzzled snout between his knees.

  ‘How come the change in plan?’ Ray said.

  ‘Your guy Rossi?’ Doyle said. ‘He’s already wanted for attempted rape.’

  ‘Rossi?’ Karen, shocked, shook her head. ‘For rape?’

  ‘Attempted. Although I don’t know, that Marsha seemed flaky to me … You know the guy, right?’

  ‘He’s a prick,’ Karen confirmed. ‘I’m the first to say it. But not rape. Not Rossi.’

  ‘Where to now?’ Ray asked Doyle.

  ‘Wherever you’re meeting Rossi.’

  ‘Actually,’ Karen said, ‘there’s been a change in plan there too.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘You mind if I drive off?’ Ray said. ‘That cabbie’s getting out of the Beamer.’

  ‘Sure,’ Doyle said. ‘Find somewhere quiet, we need to talk anyway. And I haven’t had a coffee since six this morning.’

  Ray eased out into the traffic, swerving to avoid the irate cabbie, who pounded on the side of the Transit as they pulled away.

  ‘What about La Ciabatta?’ Karen said. ‘The Italian place on the canal.’

  ‘Great, yeah,’ Doyle said. ‘I’ve been meaning to go there, actually. I hear the coffee’s drop-dead.’

  Even over the roar of the engine, the clanking of paint pots, Karen could hear Anna’s throaty growl, Frank whimpering.

  Rossi

  Sleeps shuffled his feet as he gazed out across the lake.

  ‘She looks a bit rough this morning, Rossi. I mean, raw.’

  Rossi sniffed as he glanced back up at the cottage. ‘Yeah, well, she had a tough fucking night.’

  ‘I know, but ––’

  ‘She had it coming, Sleeps. She had it coming a long fucking time.’

  ‘All I’m saying is what Pacino’d say. This shit’s nothing personal, it’s just business.’

  ‘That was a movie, Sleeps. This is my fucking life we’re talking about here. Although,’ Rossi conceded, ‘I’m not saying it wouldn’t make a movie. With, I dunno, maybe Colin Farrell. What d’you think?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Sleeps said. ‘It was me, I’d be thinking more along the lines of Johnny Depp. Good-looking guy, Rossi – he’d get the chicks queuing up on line.’ He flicked his head in the direction of the cottage. ‘Meanwhile, this is a bad time to get all emotional and shit.’

  The chilly breeze coming off the lake, cold mud seeping into his hi-top sneakers – nothing could distract Rossi from his sense of grievance.

  ‘Emotional and shit? Look at me, Sleeps. I mean, will you take a fucking look at me? I’m a refugee from Hello Dolly in a suit I blagged from Oxfam. This because I’m just out, third fucking time, and I don’t have the scoots to buy decent threads because Karen swiped my stash while I was banged up. And you’re talking emotions and shit?’

  ‘I hear you. But Rossi ––’

  ‘Then this bitch, she has it all, the big fucking house, the works – she wants me to get rough with her? Some fucked-up fantasy she’s got going on?’

  Rossi’d had a long night – Madge, spaced on pills and grass, explaining, like Rossi gave a fuck, why the idea of rough trade was her way of dealing with what had happened in the past, a fantasy in which she was the one who decided what happened, how far it went. Rossi sitting there pretending to listen, rolling the occasional joint to keep himself from sticking a fork in his heart.

  ‘I told her,’ he said, ‘straight up, I said, “Lady, anyone who ever grew up in a home, did time, never had to fantasise about what it’s like to be raped.”’

  Sleeps winced. ‘And this is when she makes the jump. I mean, about you being this orphan.’

  ‘All fucking night it went on. Telling me my real name’s Rossini, how this Frank guy picked it after some opera maker.’

  ‘Tough break.’

  ‘Opera my skinny white ass. I know who my father is, Sleeps. Some pizza baker guy, got Shirley up the pole when she was fourteen then bolted back to Sicily soon as he heard.’

  ‘Shirley?’ Sleeps frowned. ‘Shirley from down the canal?’

  ‘Woah, Sleeps. A little respect. That’s my mother you’re talking about.’

  Sleeps digested that. ‘So how come you’re taking it so personal? If Madge has it so wrong about this orphan.’

  ‘Because she thought she was right.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So she asks me, “What would it take for you to shoot Frank?”’

  ‘She was probably in shock. Being snatched and all.’

  ‘She says, “If Frank dies, I get to take care of his estate for the girls. What’ll it cost?” I mean, she’s thought about this.’

  ‘This is when she still thinks you’re his son?’

  ‘Wanting me,’ Rossi nodding, ‘for money, to shoot my own father.’

  ‘What’d you say?’

  ‘I told her, in Sicily, we don’t shoot our own fathers.’

  ‘Except,’ Sleeps pointed out helpfully, ‘he’s not your father.’

  Rossi flipped the butt of his joint into the lake. It fizzled, then bobbed gently on its own ripples. ‘I want both of them, Sleeps, in the same room, answering questions. First one stutters
gets a bullet in the knee. It’s your basic Russian roulette with a Sicilian twist. What d’you think?’

  ‘I got a better idea.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘This Frank being a doctor,’ Sleeps said slowly, feeling his way into it, ‘that estate she’s talking about could be worth a bit. Like you say, she has the big house.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Madge could be your golden goose, Rossi. Like, first you whack Frank, she pays up – what, fifty grand?’

  ‘I’m whacking no one, Sleeps. Do time for these bastards?’

  ‘Wait. First you get the money up front. Then you put a bullet in Frank for show, maybe the knee, like you said. What’s she going to do, run to the cops because he isn’t all the way dead? Then, Madge being the one who commissioned the hit, she’s ripe for a little bounce. A couple of grand a month, say. One each, me and you.’

  Rossi considered. ‘You think?’

  ‘Better’n capping him for nothing.’

  ‘True. And then you have to consid ––’

  Rossi’s phone rang. He picked up. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Rossi?’

  ‘Go ahead, Karen.’

  Rossi found himself listening to the gentle plashing of waves, a sudden whicker from the reeds.

  ‘Rossi?’ Karen said. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m just a little snowed under right now. You get the money?’

  ‘We have it.’

  ‘Okay, we’re in business. One more thing.’

  ‘What? Rossi, don’t start ––’

  ‘This guy Frank. You know where I can find him?’

  Rossi listened to a static-filled silence. Then Karen said: ‘Right now he’s in the back of the van, about to puke. You think we might be able to do some kind of deal?’

  ‘Bring him along. We’ll work something out.’

  Madge