by Jack Womack
"Does when it's at the bottom of the fuckin' ocean."
"The line's bottomed," said Mister Dryden. "You know their weeklies. As stands we sit and give. Mariel takes. We get nada."
"Don't need it."
"Nada funds that could keep you Bronxing. "
"Don't need to sink money in new aquariums. There's plenty yet to cash in."
"Not overlong," said Mister Dryden. "We can't Bronx it much longer. "
"The fuck we can't."
"But Atlantic City is-"
"Shit. If Lope's boys want it, if Mariel has it, it doesn't mean horseshit to me."
"Mow or be mown, Dad. Money them now and we'll spend later. "
"Will we?"
"I say gut it and I say rollaway."
"You don't dig, son. We'll be Bronxing long after we're both gone. There's buildings up there you couldn't build now even with my money. A brand new city-"
Mister Dryden rested his head in his hands; by his pallor I could guess that he would need refreshers, soon.
"Trees along every street, son," continued the Old Man. "Give Bronx forty years. There'll be more money comin' in than a thou sand accountants could steal. It's a big dream, sure, but a solid one-"
"An insane one," said Mister Dryden.
The Old Man stroked Stella's legs, sat on his pillow, and stared at his son. "And I suppose you'd say the dream's crazy as the dreamer?"
Mister Dryden said nothing.
"I'd hate to hear accusations 'bout my sanity comin' from a hophead like you."
"Errored!" Mister Dryden's knuckles whitened as he gripped the pillows on which he lay.
"Lately all you been doin's sittin' around replacin' the land's fat with your own. If you weren't shittin' your pants all the time about somebody gettin' something we don't want for prices we won't pay you might get something done sometime. But no, you just sit on your ass, doin' reckers, fuckin' around--
"Trying to keep the company at peak roll-"
"I don't know about that, son. Just don't know at all."
"Know what?"
"Don't know how much longer I can keep a hophead runnin' everything," said the Old Man. "I just might have to start gettin' more involved with workin' that day-to-day shit again. I'm startin' to think all of this might be havin' a bad effect on you."
"You're speaking both sides now-"
"Yeah, I might just have to realign things. Set it up so you won't have so much pressure on you. Make it so you won't have to do anything more complicated than takin' a shit. You think you can handle that?"
"Fucking old-"
"Probably not. Well, I think I can handle everything else. Been years but an old dog doesn't forget his tricks-"
"Tricks he never knew."
"How's that, son?"
"Mother'd do the tricks," said Mister Dryden, "And you'd beg the scraps-"
They each looked ready to go at one another; I readied myself to move. Neither had weapons more sharp than forks or butter knives in reach, but those could be enough if aimed properly.
"Can I go shopping?"Avalon asked suddenly, interrupting, wiping egg yolk from the corners of her mouth. "I'd love to hang around and watch you two go at it all day but-"
"Course you can, darlin'," said the Old Man. "We always work out our disagreements better in private anyhow. Don't we, son?"
Mister Dryden's eyes flickered toward me, and then to Avalon again. "You'll need guarding. O'Malley. Shield."
I nodded, and stood. Breakfast broke up; the white panel lowered to the kitchen below. Avalon went upstairs to change. As I stood in the front hall waiting for her return, Mister Dryden came up.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"See my meaning?" he asked, shaking his head. "Batbrained. Absolute. "
I agreed, thinking it safest to so do.
"We'll continue in the study," he said. "I'll exit pronto, sure, beforehand."
"Good. "
"All set?" he asked.
"AO."
"Know the spot?" I nodded. "Six weeks hence," he said, clapping his hand on my shoulder. "Fun it up."
Avalon descended the stairs, all vision and delight. She was wigless, and wore a chartreuse sweater, over-the-knee brown boots with flat heels, and buttock-tight Pretty Poison jeans. She clutched her large shoulder bag against her right side.
"I got my money," she said, patting her hip; that she could have fit anything into her pockets was surprising. "Ready?"
"Set."
We strolled out as if setting forth on a spring cruise-we were, after all. Butch waited outside, standing next to one of the older cars, a dark blue Plymouth that I believed Mister Dryden learned to ride in. We climbed into the back, pulling the doors shut. As we drove down the drive Avalon pressed the button that raised the shield separating our compartment from the front.
"Why isn't Jimmy driving us?" she asked.
"I told you Mister Dryden doesn't trust him," I said. "I think he wants to keep him in sight."
"What's Butch know?"
"Nothing, I gather. He'll drop us off in time to be called back up here. "
Avalon smiled, resting her hand on my knee. I stroked her long fingers.
"What about luggage?"
"There're suitcases for us on the plane." We were to take a Dryco jet from the Aeroflot terminal at Newark, nonstop to Leningrad.
"Where are we staying once we get there?"
"One of Gorky-Detroit's reps keeps a dacha twenty miles out of town. I'm told it's very nice."
"We won't be in the city?" she asked. "I get enough of the fuckin' country over here. We should go to London."
"Too many riots," I said. "You'll be able to shop, don't worry. "
Butch eyed us through the rearview; I surreptitiously moved her hand away from my knee. She, as subtly, replaced it. For a moment, I wondered our compartment was tapped; it seemed unlikely. None of the older cars had bugs as standard equipment and I didn't think that either Dryden would have bothered to have Jimmy install one.
"You'll keep warm," I said.
"You'll keep me warm," she said, inching her hand higher up my leg. We turned down the road leading to the Saw Mill. Not until our feet trod Russian ground would I feel absolutely certain, or absolutely safe; still, I was with Avalon, now and hereafter, and all that I'd had to do was kill someone against whom I had nothing personally, someone who might have done something to someone sometime. I put my arm around her waist and moved closer, forcing my mind to stray to where it should.
"Have any trouble this morning?" she asked, her voice lower. Butch had turned on the radio, and it was hard to hear her over what, at first listen, seemed to be static, but after prolonged exposure revealed itself as one of those songs writ by chip and program.
"No."
"Why didn't you get into bed with me?" she asked.
"When?"
"This morning," she said. "I guess it wouldn't have been so safe, but still-"
"You were awake?"
"Of course. Cold as Pops keeps that tomb you think I usually sleep without covers? I wanted to attract your attention-"
"You did. When'd you wake up?"
"When you went downstairs. Why'd you just look at me?"
"I was-" Her eyes fixed me again; snake for the bird, as Enid would say. "Seemed safer to wait."
"I suppose. I'd have had to stay quiet. I hate that," she said, frowning. "You set the timer correctly?"
"Of course."
She smiled; slyness washed her features. She stroked my chin with her fingers.
"Didn't shave," she said. "Nice."
Had the panel separating our compartments been opaque I should have taken her down to the floor just then.
"When was Pops going to be in there alone?"
"One P. M. " I said. "According to Mister Dryden. "
"That's when you set the timer for?"
"Yeah," I said. "He was going to be in there, too, earlier. "
"They'd both be in there right now, right?"
"Uh-huh," I said. "Still arguing, I'm sure."
She took my wrist and looked at my watch, pressing the readout. She raised her arms over her head, stretching.
"They've finished," she said.
"I'd doubt it," I said. "Probably good for another half hour or so-"
"Not anymore."
An Army billboard, barely seen as we whisked by, ordered all to recycle all in the event there wouldn't be any more. Someone, probably Army boys dead with boredom, had fired a tank blast through the center of the notice. I looked at Avalon.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It went off five minutes ago," she said. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against my shoulder.
"I set the timer for one P.M."
"I reset it for noon," she said.
"When?"
"After you went back to your room. This morning."
"I locked the study door."
"I've known the code for a year," she said. "Pops liked to afternoon it with me, sometimes. We'd meet there."
No matter how frightened I felt, I knew it wasn't so much as I should be feeling.
"Why?" I asked.
"You look funny," she said. "Are you feelin' all right?"
"I was. Avalon, why?"
"It'll work out better this way," she said. "If it works. I think it will."
"Why?" I shouted. Butch eyed us again, but didn't slow. "Avalon, tell me you didn't. Please."
"I did," she said. "Look, they're both crazy, and Sonny was going to come out shining clean-"
"Don't you realize how much trouble'll come down?"
"You couldn't see it like I could because you worked for him too long. You'd always think he was your buddy no matter how big a fuck he was. You're blind to it. He was fuckin' psycho, Shameless. You wouldn't admit it even if you could."
"He wasn't," I said. "Not that much-"
"He was. He'd have turned on us one day. Mark me."
"I don't believe this," I said. "I don't. I really don't."
"You'd better," she said. "Look. He did me shit the whole time. Just like he did you."
"It was going to change-"
"You admit it," she said. "You really think he'd do what he said he was goin' to do? You really believed that?"
"He wouldn't have lied to me about this-"
"He wanted your dirty work and that's it. I don't think you'da been zeroed because of it later on but you can bet it wouldn't have done you any good."
"What good's this going to do? They'll all be after us now. His people and the Old Man's. "
"Sonny doesn't have any people on his side. You and me and Jimmy. That weaseleye Jake. That's it."
"But he could have thrown the Old Man's people off-"
"Nobody would have figured out he was behind it?"
"They couldn't have done anything. If he's dead he can't confirm or deny. So now they'll have to pick somebody. Who's handiest?"
"Men never think proxies are smart enough for this sort of thing-"
"It's not going to work like you think it will," I said. "They're going to want to know why we're leaving the country, don't you think?"
"They'll find out Sonny made the arrangements himself, right?"
"He didn't make arrangements to have himself blasted."
"We'll deny all," she said, laughing. "You don't even realize the best part of this."
"I don't know how I missed it," I said. "What?"
"With Pops dead," she said, tossing her legs across mine, pinning me to my seat, "who stands to inherit?"
"Mister Dryden. But thanks to you, he's-"
"Dead. Who stands next?"
I said nothing.
"I know he showed you his new will," she said. "You forgot to tell me that, by the way. But I've seen it, too. Twenty-five percent you get, right?" I nodded. "So do I. "
"That means-"
"We control the estate," she laughed. "We own the company."
Sometimes something happens that gives you all of death's responsibilities with none of its benefits. I covered my face with my hands.
"It doesn't strike you that we had a perfect motive, then?"
"Sure it does," she said. "But the only person that knew about it besides you was Sonny, right?"
"And my sister, and the lawyers," I said. "You, obviously. Obvious enough for them to figure."
She sloughed it off. "Their word, our word--
"Their power-" I said.
"Our money-"
"We're in trouble, Avalon," I said. "It's not going to work."
"Why not?"
"You think we'll ever see a dime, now? If we're not caught, that is? We may as well sit back and watch the lawyers parcel it out over our heads. They'll keep it in court forty years-"
"What if we get away, though?"
How? I said. "We've got to figure out something fast."
"Shameless."
"We'll be nailed," I said. "They'll take us here or there. They'll--
"Shamey, listen."
"What?"
"We're they, now," she said. "See?"
There was nothing to be done as we hurtled toward New York. Through my mind I chased possibilities.
"Maybe they weren't killed," I said.
"You don't think you set it up right?"
I knew I had. "Do you think you might have accidentally disconnected it?"
"No," she said. "It was placed sure when I left it."
"Maybe you set it for midnight instead of noon?"
"Course not. That little light comes on for A.M. I'd have seen it. "
"What if they left the room?"
"Maybe they did. But if Sonny didn't get it and then it went off an hour early-"
"He'd think-"
She nodded her head, slowly. "If he's not dead we're in real trouble. "
"He probably is, though," I muttered, reassuring myself with thoughts of his demise, hoping now for what I had despised the thought of, moments before. Perspective, you might call it; another one of those things you found yourself getting used to after so long.
"I think you're worrying too much for nothing."
"I doubt it," I said. "I just wish you'd said something first-"
"So you could try to talk me out of it?" she said. "If you're going to do something, do it right. That's what I've always thought."
"What if you do it wrong?"
"Then do something else," she said. "Quick."
We said little, then; sat quietly, holding each other. There seemed no way that we could leave the country, under the circumstances; even if we weren't stopped beforehand and somehow made it across the water, we would have to spend our remaining days in Russia, unable to return-in so much danger there as we would be here.
As we drove down the Henry Hudson, passing under the bridge, a darker realization came to mind.
8
"Avalon," I whispered.
"What?"
"One of two things has happened."
"What are you talking about?"
"Either the blast went off," I said, "or it didn't. "
She stared at me, uncomprehending. "Makes sense," she said.
"If it did," I said, "then they must be lowlying. They haven't shortwaved Butch."
"Maybe the thing's not working?"
it is," I said. "Butch was going to be called back up there after he dropped us off."
"So what do you think's going on?"
"It must have gone off," I said. "You wouldn't have disconnected it, the way I set it up. "
"I know," she said. "So?"
"So they must not have been in there. Or maybe just the Old Man was in there."
"Or Sonny."
"If Mister Dryden went, they'd have called Butch. In which case-"
"Things are either going as they should," she said, "or no one termed and we're not suspected."
"Sure," I said. "Mister Dryden
would either tell the contact to send us back once we got there, or we'd go on to the airport as planned-"
"Unless that's what they want us to think," she said.
I sighed. "We might be walking into it, if they suspect. Butch wouldn't have to know. "
"We're almost there," she said, "What're we going to do?"
"Let's earplay this," I said. "Viz what goes."
We were to meet our contact at Broadway and Thirty-fourth, near Macy's. Mister Dryden had not said who the contact would be, or what he or she would look like; only that we would be recognized. Under the circumstances that was no longer a comforting thought. As the car entered the Herald Square Secondary Zone I leaned over to Avalon and whispered, "It's not worth testing. Let's not stick. We'll head down. They won't come looking in my neighborhood."
"Let's get Butch to take us there."
"That's not what he's expecting," I said. "He'd have to let them know where he dropped us. It'll raise suspicion in his mind."
"How dangerous is your neighborhood?"
"Safer than this."
As Butch pulled the car alongside the double-parked trucks, a cyclist, zazzing past, bumped into our rear fender and nearly pitched head-over-bars into the street. Avalon and I jumped, fearing we'd been attacked. The cyclist rolled his bike past us-not easily, as its frame had been bent in the collision-and, when he reached the front of our car, lifted the bike above his head and smashed it down against our windshield. Seeing that he did our car little damage, while further destroying his own toy, he began screaming at us and stuck his head through the front passenger window. He continued screaming as Butch raised the window, entrapping his head between the unbreakable glass and the door frame.
"Need any help?" I asked. Butch demurred. "We'll get out here, then."
I opened the door; Avalon and I exited, sliding on whatever slipperiness lay in the gutter. Butch pulled out a long lead pipe from beneath the front seat and began beating the cyclist over the head. The windows on the passenger side darkened as he brought it down again and again.
"Let's get the fuck out of here quick, Shameless," said Avalon, wrapping her arm around me. "I hate crowds."
Thirty-fourth Street was the busiest in the city, especially on a Saturday afternoon. In most of Manhattan it was difficult to drive; along 34th it was nearly impossible to walk, so teeming were the crowds. From north side facade to south side facade, the only clear spot in the street was the I A lane, lined along its length with two-foot-high spikes, each concrete-set three inches apart; even that lane was busier here, for Army vehicles heading to the Javits Center passed down it without cease. Army studies demonstrated that regular lane traffic here, at any hour on any day, moved along at less than one foot per minute.