A Long Crazy Burn

by Jeff Johnson

“Pancakes. Boned her.”

  “Good?”

  “Yep.”

  “Dmitri?”

  “Should be here any minute.”

  “Inner fury?”

  “Contained.”

  “Well.” She sighed. “I guess that about covers it. Sign these.” She handed me a small stack of papers on a clipboard. On each page was a helpful little tag with SIGN HERE. She handed me a pen and I got to it. Hank Dildo appeared about halfway through, carrying a tray with drinks. He was pulling it off.

  “Sir. Ma’am.” He even bowed a little.

  Delia and I took our drinks. Hank smiled and nodded pleasantly, then went to serve Nigel and Flaco.

  “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Delia whispered.

  “Are you paying for the trip to Frisco?”

  “Good point.”

  Gomez poked his head into the kitchen. He looked grim.

  “Darby. Dmitri. Worse than usual.”

  “Aw shit,” I said, rising. “Bring him here. All right, people! It’s showtime! Waiters! Take your stations out front. Hank, you hang back for a sec. Everyone do what Gomez says.”

  Nigel took a plastic bag of pills out of his pocket and began privately lecturing Hank Dildo on rufies. The other three Empire boys walked out with decorum, already in character. As soon as the door closed behind them it opened again and Gomez hurled Dmitri through.

  “Jesus,” Delia said in a low voice.

  Dmitri had been in a fight of some kind. He had a black eye and his lips were swollen. He staggered drunkenly on the momentum of Gomez’s toss and almost fell. There was a wide piss stain on the front of his pants and the shoulder of his greasy parka was torn. His rheumy eyes focused on me and he wailed. One of his front teeth was gone.

  “The whore,” he managed. “She robbed me! I am broken! Broken!” He sobbed and ran his trembling hands through his pile of hair. I could smell him from where I stood; the refined essence of rotting bum. I closed the distance between us and slapped him, then grabbed his filthy lapels to keep him from falling.

  “Flaco! Nigel!” I snapped. “I need pants and a shirt of some kind in less than five minutes! Move it! I noticed some kind of sweaters and hippie junk from the Tibet place two doors down. Go!”

  I steadied Dmitri and dug a hundred out, slapped it into Flaco’s hand as he raced past. The two of them disappeared through the back door into the parking lot. Delia appeared at my side.

  “Stand back,” I said.

  I dragged Dmitri over to the sink and tore his jacket off. The smell that rolled off him almost made me gag, so I backed away. The polyester shirt he was wearing stuck to him in places like a scab.

  “Strip,” I instructed. He weakly pried at one of his shoes, as if he had all afternoon.

  “Dmitri, if you aren’t naked in thirty seconds …” I let that hang. He sped up and less than a minute later he was naked; a skinny, mottled, hairy thing that reminded me of a freshly plucked and scaled vulture from famine country. He covered his withered genitals and whimpered.

  “Get in the sink,” I instructed.

  “No!” he whined, horrified. I raised my open hand and he turned and started clambering. It was awful to watch, but I wasn’t going to touch him if I could help it. He managed to get his upper body on the flat of stainless steel where the dishes were loaded, and then levered his legs up. One scoot back and he dropped into the industrial basin and banged his head on the dish machine door.

  “Oh my God,” he moaned, delirious.

  I took the spray wand and tested the temperature. Warm enough. I pointed it at his head and squeezed the trigger. Dmitri screamed.

  I grabbed him by the neck and widened the pattern, beginning with a general, all-over hose down. He thrashed with surprising strength until I turned the wand on his face again, and then his spirit broke and he went limp. Delia appeared at my side with a bottle of moisturizing hand soap from the employee restroom. She’d taken the lid off. I dumped it on Dmitri and watched the suds form. Delia backed away to a safe distance.

  “Scrub, Dmitri! Scrub like a motherfucker!”

  He began scrubbing himself weakly, mostly his chest and his armpits.

  “Hair and face.”

  He smelled his hands for some reason, and then got to work on his hair. I dumped the rest of the hand soap on his head. Then Dmitri began to hum. He was that wasted.

  “Face. Ears.”

  He followed my instructions and we went on to dick and ass, then feet. He was smiling as he lathered between his toes. I turned to Delia and cracked a grin. She was smiling, too, arms crossed.

  “OK, Dmitri, open wide.”

  Dmitri closed his eyes and tilted his head back, his mouth wide. I shot water into it and he rinsed and spat, then opened up again. We repeated the process a few times, and then I gave him an all-over rinse one more time for good measure.

  “Towel,” I said, holding my hand out. Delia was one step ahead on me. She whacked a roll of paper towels into my hand and I let go of the trigger on the spray wand.

  “There,” I said. Dmitri wiped his nose and blinked at me. I started unraveling the roll of paper towels and feeding him the end.

  “I never imagined this day would come,” Delia said behind me.

  “Me neither,” I agreed.

  “I did,” Dmitri said.

  Flaco burst through the back door, took one look at Dmitri sitting naked in the sink, and dropped the bag he was carrying. Delia picked it up and looked inside. She took out a pair of leather clogs with turquoise flowers stitched on the top and looked up at me uncertainly.

  “They only had hippie,” Flaco said defensively as Delia took out an oversized hemp peasant shirt with bellbottom sleeves and beaded tassels. She stuffed everything back into the bag without bothering to examine the pants and handed it to me. I scowled at Flaco.

  “Where’s Nigel?”

  “Van.” I could tell from the set of his shoulders that I wouldn’t get anything else out of him. I kicked Dmitri’s old clothes under the sink and handed him the bag.

  “Get dressed. Fast.”

  Dmitri clambered out of the sink and started putting the clothes on. He’d tied the drawstring on what looked like karate pants and was stepping into the clogs when the kitchen door opened. It was Dildo.

  “Car here. Huge-ass Mexican and a guy in a suit.”

  “Get ’em seated,” I said, squaring my shoulders. He vanished back into the restaurant. I turned back to Dmitri, who was struggling into the shirt. I couldn’t tell what he looked like when he smoothed it out and pushed his hair back. Maybe a New Age Guatemalan musician.

  “You remember what to do?” I asked him.

  “Sign the papers,” he said. “Get the cash and sign the papers.”

  “Out with you then. No drinking.”

  He looked a little hurt as he went through the door into the dining area. Delia and I looked at each other.

  “It will be a miracle if any of us walk out of here alive,” she commented.

  “I know.”

  Looking through the windows in the kitchen doors was out. They might see us. Looking through the slot under the heat lamp for outgoing plates was out for the same reason. I knelt and peeked through the tiny slot between the kitchen double doors. Delia scooted in just underneath me. It wasn’t the best point of view, but it was good enough.

  Cheddar Box came in first, alone. Gomez intercepted him with a menu and they chatted, too far away for us to make out what they were saying. Cheddar Box pointed at where Dmitri was sitting, a few tables away from us. Hopefully we’d be able to hear everything. Gomez led Cheddar Box over to Dmitri, who waved in greeting.

  “Big guy,” Dmitri began. “Where’s your boss?”

  “Stand up,” Cheddar Box growled.

  “No.” Dmitri sounded a little angry. Below me, Delia stiffened. My scalp tightened.

  “Fine.” Cheddar Box took something out of his suit coat, a black oblong box. He tapped a button on it, watched
something on it for a moment, and then held it out and slowly ran it over Dmitri. He consulted the box again and then did the same thing to the table.

  “Wire,” Delia breathed.

  Evidently satisfied, Cheddar Box walked back to the door, said something to Gomez, who was innocently wiping down menus, and motioned through the glass for Oleg. Then he turned his back to the door and stood to one side. First major problem. Cheddar Box looked like he was going to stand guard at the door, which meant he wasn’t going to sit down, which meant no rufies for the Mexican Conan. It was possible that Dildo would have the presence of mind to come up with something, but given what I knew about him, a serious dread came over me. My only comfort was that Delia was seeing the same thing as I was, and she wasn’t on the edge of panic.

  “Wait,” Delia whispered, feeling my tension. “I told Dildo this might happen.”

  Oleg came in carrying a duffel bag in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Cheddar Box held the door for him and then resumed his guard post. Oleg was wearing a dark, generic suit and a tan overcoat. His hair was slicked back and his red, jowly face was set in what I’m sure he thought of as his most impressive grimace. He scowled across the room at Dmitri, who withered visibly. A waiter crossed our field of vision for an instant. I realized I was holding my breath.

  Oleg marched with great authority to Dmitri’s table and sat. There were no formalities of any kind. He put the briefcase on the table, opened it and took out a thick stack of paper, dropped it in front of Dmitri, and slapped a pen from his coat on top of them. Then he sat back, all without a single word.

  Dmitri was crushed. Maybe he’d thought he would be treated with a little more dignity during the robbery, I don’t know. He reached out with a shaking hand and picked up the pen, then turned the papers around to face him. Their waiter appeared with a pleasant smile, hands clasped in front of him. It was Eye Booger.

  “Can I start you gentlemen with beverages?” He was calm, poised, attentive.

  “Vodka,” Dmitri warbled. Oleg nodded sharply.

  Dmitri started signing, page after page. The waiter walked casually to the bar and Hank Dildo went into action. A second waiter appeared out of the darkness to our right and angled toward Cheddar Box, menu in hand.

  Cheddar Box waved him away after a brief conversation. Then, as if a miracle had occurred, he changed his mind and said something. The waiter nodded and calmly walked over to Hank, said something, and then hung out by the bar. Hank worked efficiently below eye level for a moment more and then set two tumblers of vodka on the bar. The waiter stayed where he was, and then Hank set what looked like a pint glass of 7UP next to the tumblers.

  The waiter took the 7UP and walked over to Cheddar Box, who accepted it with a distracted nod. He drank the entire thing in two sips and handed the empty glass back. The waiter said something pleasant and went back to the bar, set the glass down, and put the two vodkas on a tray. Just as he was about to turn, Dildo brushed the one on the right.

  “I think,” Delia breathed, “we …” she trailed off. I was too excited to say anything.

  The waiter expertly carried the tray over, his poise far different from lovely Suzanne’s balancing act, and set the right drink in front of Oleg, the left in front of Dmitri.

  Both men drained their glasses instantly.

  From there we just waited. My back was cramping a little, so I crept away from the door and went back to the desk where Delia had set up her computer. I lit a cigarette and was surprised that my hands weren’t shaking. Flaco crept over to me and I passed him my smokes. He took one out and lit it.

  “It’s working,” I said quietly. “They both drank.”

  “How long for the rufies?”

  “I don’t know. Fast, I guess. Go out to the van and ask Nigel.”

  Flaco nodded and crept away. Delia tensed up and backed away from the door, then turned and tiptoed over to me.

  “Cheddar Box just drank another 7UP. He’s going to have to pee soon. Dmitri and the Russian dude are on round two.” Her voice was quiet, but I could hear the excitement.

  “What about the waiters?”

  “They seem fine,” she whispered. “It’s amazing.”

  “Thank God we hired performers.”

  I finished off my vodka from earlier and Delia did the same. I wished we’d had the presence of mind to get another round in reserve before the show started, but it was only a matter of time before we had access to the bar again, one way or another.

  Flaco crept back in and knelt beside us.

  “Nigel says it should happen right away. Five minutes or less. I think he is not napping. He is doing the cocaine.” Flaco touched the side of his nose and sniffed.

  A waiter came in carrying a decoy bus tub of clean glasses from the bar. He set it down by the dish machine and came over to us.

  “The Russian guy is already acting strange. The hufuckingnormous dude has rubbed his face a couple times and looks like he wants to sit down.”

  “Get back out there,” I said. “Signal Hank to be prepared to dose them with another round.”

  “I think he already did.” He shrugged.

  “Oh God,” Delia said to herself. I wheeled on Flaco and motioned with my hand.

  “Nigel!” I hissed. “Now!”

  Flaco disappeared out the back door and the waiter spun and went back out front. Delia rubbed her hands together.

  “I think there might be a big flaw,” I said quietly. “I told Nigel to get enough for five or six people in case they had reinforcements. I have no idea what he gave Dildo.”

  “You idiots,” Delia hissed. “All of you. Every single one of you.”

  “Those shitheads out there are doing great,” I said defensively. Just then Dmitri screamed, high and long and loud.

  Delia and I jumped up as the kitchen door exploded inward. Cheddar Box staggered through and roared. Hank Dildo was on his back and two of the waiters had him around the legs, one wrapped around each. Eye Booger flew through the kitchen doors in a high-speed dive and slammed square into the center of Cheddar’s wide lower back, just below Dildo. The entire operation went down and Cheddar Box flailed once, then sagged, panting. Then he was out.

  Empire of Shit were on their feet fast as wolves, circling, almost snarling, but Cheddar Box didn’t move. Gomez appeared in the doorway.

  “Russian guy is down,” he reported.

  Empire of Shit let out a shout and started dancing and capering around the kitchen. Delia hugged my side. I was so proud of everyone, especially the anarchists.

  “Phase two,” I called out. “Gomez! A round of drinks for everyone. Boys! Help me drag that Russian piece of shit in here. Flaco! Find something gnarly to tie the big dude up with. Good work, people, but this isn’t over yet.”

  The back door clanged open and Nigel strode in. He glanced at Cheddar Box and then at me, smiling.

  “It worked,” he said. He glanced over at Hank. “How much did it take?”

  Hank shrugged. “All of it, pretty much.”

  Nigel laughed and then stopped. His eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. Like, maybe six each.”

  Nigel shook his head, the smile gone. “Guy I got ’em from said the average person goes down with half a rufie. I told you that, Dildo.”

  Hank Dildo shrugged again.

  “I got stuff to do,” Delia said. She hustled out and came back with the papers, fed them into her scanner. The Empire boys dragged Oleg in and headed back to the bar. Nigel followed them.

  I checked Cheddar Box’s breathing. Even. Then I checked Oleg’s. He was about half the size of the Mexican Conan, and it showed. His breathing was slow and uneven. Shallow. He was also pale and a little sweaty. I decided to go through his pockets.

  Oleg had seventeen hundred in cash in his wallet, which I pocketed. Four credit cards. Empire of Shit could use those. A driver’s license and assorted business cards. He also had a pack of Camel straights, mine now; an expensive-looki
ng silver lighter, which I tossed to Flaco; some keys, which I put in Cheddar Box’s outside suit pocket; and last, a pocket knife. I held it up in the light. It looked old and precious, maybe an heirloom of some kind. I tossed it in the trash can by the dish machine. Then I went out through the kitchen doors and sat down in Oleg’s chair across from Dmitri. I closed Oleg’s briefcase.

  “What the hell is going on?” Dmitri asked. I realized he had been frozen in a cringe for the last few minutes.

  “Relax,” I said. “I had to take care of this my way. Here’s how this works. I’m buying the Lucky. Me. Nigel! The duffel bag!”

  Nigel looked up from the bar, where he’d been guarding the bag and nursing a drink. He picked the bag up and carried it over to me, set it on the table on top of the briefcase. I unzipped it as he walked back to the bar.

  “Here’s your cash,” I said, picking out a banded brick of five thousand and holding it up. “But of course there’s a catch. Three of them.”

  Hank appeared with two tumblers. Our drinks had finally arrived. Vodka was the theme. I took mine and set Dmitri’s in front of him.

  “First, this five thousand is for the new building manager. I’m hiring one for both of us.”

  “I never said—” he spluttered.

  “Shut up,” I warned. “No more of your shit. The city or some other scumbag will eat you alive in less than a year and turn on me for dessert. We need to stand together or we both go down, and you’re too weak. You can’t do anything right, Dmitri. So I’m going to save you. And I want you to understand, old man. I want you to understand that I don’t even like you. I’m saving you for entirely personal reasons.”

  Dmitri started crying. I watched and sipped my drink. It occurred to me that Dmitri was going to leave with a duffel bag full of cash. I didn’t even know where he would go or how he planned on getting there.

  “Dmitri, after you sign the papers, you have to go somewhere other than Old Town for a few days. Do you have a place to lie low?”

  “No,” he choked. I rolled my eyes.

  “Does the Bismarck Motel sound good to you? Hookers? It’s cheap.”

  “I’ll get robbed,” he whimpered. He looked at me cautiously, his lower lip quivering. “Can you keep this money for now?”