The Coldest Mile

by Tom Piccirilli

  Next room had Jackie in it, really grooving along. He was in the saddle on top of a very young Japanese girl who moaned in pidgin English, trying to sound enthusiastic. She immediately spotted Chase but didn't even stutter as she spoke. “Tha's eet, fasta, fasta, you so strong, you so big, you lay it into leetle me …” Chase nodded to her, one working person to another.

  He grabbed Jackie's pants from the floor, found the wallet and riffled through it, hunting for the safe combination. The safe might not be where the real big money was, but you grabbed what you could when you could.

  Jackie liked to carry cash. He had over two grand in fifties and hundreds. A couple black credit cards. No photos, no safe combo, no tiny keys, nothing in the little hidden plastic compartments. The girl watched Chase impassively while Jackie kept working it. Chase pulled a wedge of bills out and left them under a lamp so she'd keep quiet about this. She gave him the okay sign behind Jackie's back.

  As usual, the voice in Chase's head was not his own. Jonah was saying, You wouldn't even need a pistol, just break the prick's nose and he'll spill the number. But the way he screams, you'll have to kill him afterward.

  Slipping back to his seat in the lobby, Chase observed the madam greeting tourists, Wall Street execs, a couple drunk construction workers. He liked the way she never broke form or discriminated.

  Fifteen minutes later Jackie walked out with his skin a deep but mottled crimson. His shirt was buttoned up wrong and he wasn't wearing any socks. Behind him came the pudgy businessman, straggling along, in his suit but wearing a completely baffled expression like he didn't know where he was or even who he was anymore.

  In a display of generosity, or maybe feeling a need for everyone to suffer equally so they could then commiserate together, Jackie offered to pay for Chase to go get his rocks stomped. Chase declined but tried to look grateful. It wasn't easy.

  Jackie curled up on the backseat of the limo and was out cold but wheezing painfully by the time Chase got to the first red light.

  Cessy the cook looked like she'd stepped right off a maple- syrup bottle. She wore a yellow do- rag with white polka dots and even talked with a Southern accent despite the fact that she grew up in the South Bronx. That evening Chase pulled the pickup out of the garage and drove her to the local grocery and helped her shop. She noticed him giving her sidelong glances and stood waiting for him to tell her what was on his mind.

  “You gonna talk about it or just keep drinking up all my beauty?” she asked. “You welcome to come close and stare.”

  He cracked a grin. “Why the hell are you in that getup?”

  Looking at him like he was a special child, she told him, “They gotta get what they pay for or I'm out on my fat ass. There's fifty million bitches want my spot, including my three sisters and nineteen cousins and my mama too. I don't give these Langans what they want, I'm gone. When they get you, they get all of you, they get the very idea of you. You'd be wise to remember that, sugar. They talk about you some now and again.”

  “Yeah? What do they say?”

  “That Jackie boy, he's loud, he lets everybody within earshot know his business. Not smart, but sure does love to shout. You're the best and the worst driver they ever had. They like you fixing the cars, and the way you handle yourself behind the wheel, but you don't wear the hat and you don't belly down enough. You ain't long for the job, honey.”

  He was squeezing honeydews making sure they were ripe. He felt sort of pervy, groping the melons. “From what I hear nobody's going to be around for long. The Langans are packing up and moving on, right? You going with them?”

  “There's niggers everywhere. They can find 'em in Chicago, they don't need to bring their own.”

  “So what are your plans?”

  “Oh, don't you worry about me. There's enough rich motherfuckers around who can always use another Polish maid or Mexican gardener or black cook to match the little nigger jockey they got on their lawns.”

  “They still got them?”

  “Fuck sake, yes! And stop holding them cataloupes like they your mama's titties, you gonna bring the vice squad down on us. Anyway, I'll get by better than you will.”

  Sometimes you couldn't do anything but nod.

  “What are you really doing here?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, baby. I've been married four times. All four are in prison. The same prison. I think they started their own gang in there, they're a big brotherhood. I know trouble whether it's tattooed and carrying a semiautomatic or whether it's got cute brown eyes and a ten-year-old boy's smile.”

  He put the melons in the cart and there was a hint of a sugary, fresh scent that reminded him of the wind sweeping down from the hills where the moonshiners hid their stills out beyond the cane fields. He'd sometimes tool around with Lila on the back dirt roads and drive her police car after the runners hauling moon through the county. Listening to her voice as she spoke the code numbers into the radio and he'd turn his nose slightly to the open window and breathe in the sweetness.

  “What are you doing here, sugar?” Cessy asked again.

  “Hoping to save my family.”

  “That's all any of us is trying to do,” she said, then let out a brief but knowing, almost hateful laugh. “If I didn't have five kids to feed, you think I'd be doing this shit, with this rag on my head, dressed in these clothes? But you humble yourself for the cash so you can take care of the ones you love.”

  He thought, If that's all it took.

  He could be humble. He'd learned humility during his straight life. Some, anyway. Working in a garage fixing trucks with three hundred and twenty thousand miles on them. Later in the auto shop teaching eleventh- grade girls how to change their oil, showing them the proper way to change a tire. No action, and not needing it, not wanting it, because he had Lila.

  And now with her gone, with no kids, with no home, with no gamble, with no sign of the next exit down the road, his tires spinning on the shoulder in the mud, he was maybe going a little crazy, the dreams getting worse.

  His highway led only to one place. He knew he would have to face Jonah, probably for the last time.

  He wondered how far he would have to go, how far he would be able to go, in order to save the girl.

  One of the three Polish maids, Ivanka, wasn't Polish at all but Romanian. Nobody at the house could tell the difference, and since the Langans were also at war with a local Romanian outfit, she decided to play Polish.

  Ivanka had a booming sideline business and wasn't very discreet about it. She was the contact for an illegal Eastern European immigrant ring and seemed to be in charge of setting women up with rich spouses. They paid her well to do so. Sometimes, if they didn't have all the cash up front, Ivanka took payment in the form of children under the age of two and worked the black- market adoption racket.

  Chase drove her out to Newark in the stretch and picked up the women. Ivanka offered Chase a big tip as the ladies climbed in. It was a fair wedge of cash in fresh bills. She offered to throw in some sex on top of it. He figured the previous chauffeur had forced her to kick back some of the skim.

  He was given his choice of her or any of the new incoming ladies. There were five of them in the back of the limo. Four of them looked scared but willing to do whatever needed to be done. Their expressions were hard but a little hopeful, trying to turn on the wattage after Christ knows how many hours in flight and then the tie- up at Customs.

  They knew you couldn't take a nap your first hour in the land of opportunity. They were going to do just fine here.

  The fifth had a sleeping toddler in her arms. Her thumb wagged across the child's chin in some kind of a demonstration of love or just an oblivious mannerism. The child grinned, had a couple nubby teeth coming in. The mother was glassy- eyed and listless.

  Chase tried to get her in focus. He wondered if she was drugged or if she was just getting her feet under her. Or if they didn't tell the mothers that they were taking their ch
ildren from them until after they got off the plane.

  “You know,” Ivanka said, doing her best to flatten the heavy accent, “you get some girls back here and you could make a lot of money. Drive around the way you do. When the boss is busy. You get your friends, you find businessmen, a lot of money found there. And you do nothing but drive, buddy. Easy.”

  So she did know what had happened to the other chauffeur. Sounded like she was the one who put the bug in the guy's ear, urged him to be a pimp, and got him waxed.

  Ivanka wanted to know why they weren't moving yet. She still had the cash in her hand and was trying to get Chase to take it through the partition. He grabbed it. The impatient cabbie fucks who were lined up behind him started blaring their horns and screaming at him in unknown languages.

  He and Lila could never have a baby. They went to different specialists for years, but nothing ever worked. Despite the cold facts and the charts pointing out all the problems in their plumbing, the promise of a baby was a spark that never died out.

  He looked at the girl in back and imagined some other couple who'd also been given a tour of their malfunctioning reproductive systems, waiting for the baby—this very baby—so they could run around to their friends and family and finally throw off some of the shame of not being like every other person out there.

  Chase stared at the girl and finally she raised her chin, her eyes dark and lifeless as shale. The kid hic-cuped and finally the woman's face registered something. It was pure and almost beautiful in its own way. The planes of her face folded into pure terror, and he knew why. The sound the kid made reminded her that she'd never hear her own child's breathing, or crying, or laughter, or cries of mama again after today.

  Every child had a threefold hook in Chase, reminding him of others. The first was his unborn sibling, the one his mother had lost. The next was the one he and Lila could never have. The last was Kylie, waiting for him to take up the burden of raising her with a human warmth Jonah was incapable of.

  He threw the limo into drive and gunned it.

  Ivanka wanted to be taken to some place on Staten Island first, where three of the women and the baby would be dropped off. He followed her directions, that accent of hers beginning to grate more and more as the others occasionally pointed out the windows and spoke among themselves in Romanian.

  He pulled up in front of a high- class one- family home out on Stepleton Hill, where a spectacular view of the Verrazano swelled before them. Chase got out and opened the back door for the ladies fresh from Romania. Their excitement brimmed and they began to giggle and chatter together as they climbed out. The girl with the kid didn't move and Ivanka began to push and shout at the girl and clutch at the child.

  Hardly aware of what he was doing Chase reached in back and snapped Ivanka's hold on the toddler, took her easily by the arm, and gently drew her closer.

  “You too, Ivy,” he said. “Out.”

  She misread him and thought he wanted to take her up on the sex. Her face hardened. “What is this? You missed your chance, buddy. I make one offer. You do not take me up on it, you lose, buddy.”

  “I suppose I'll eventually get over my heartbreak,” he said. “Out.”

  “What is this?”

  “The Langan family doesn't like sideline businesses being run out of their house,” he said. “Or their limo. You're leaving your job. Don't come back to the house. If you do, I'll blow your deal.”

  Ivanka said, “They know of this business. It is their business!”

  “What?”

  “It is their business! I am here for them! I only manage. You think I do this on my own? What kind of stupid are you?”

  That took him back. He'd been foolish to think the Langans didn't know. Of course they knew. Of course it was their action. Why the hell wouldn't it be? It was probably one of the reasons why the Russians were muscling in on them so much. They wanted to keep a lid on the slave trade of their own people.

  Shooting in the dark, he said, “Yeah, but you skim a lot. I tell them how much and you're buried behind Kennedy Airport. Now get out.”

  “I skim nothing!”

  “Bullshit! You skim, baby!”

  “You crazy! You crazy man!”

  “That's right, I'm crazy man!”

  “But the money! I paid!”

  “Oh that,” he said. “Yeah, I'm keeping it.”

  “That is two thousand dollars! It is your cut for helping. You do your job. If you do not do your job … the Langans … Mr. Bishop … he will…”

  “Fuck him.”

  She tried to scratch at his face, but he caught her wrists and shoved her away. “You rob them? You really are crazy man.”

  “I rob them. Get out.”

  “You want to screw me? You want me to go down on you, yes?”

  “No.”

  “You want more money.”

  “No.”

  “I give you five hundred more.”

  “I knew you were skimming, baby!”

  “I give you.”

  “Let me see it.”

  She dug around and came up with another five bills. He held his hand out and she forked it over.

  He pocketed the cash. “I just told you I was a thief, lady. Get out.”

  Stunned, Ivanka's eyes widened as she realized what had happened. An animal noise started low in her chest and made her lips flap. She turned to the girl, who hadn't reacted at all yet, but her eyes seemed to be filling up again, returning to life. The kid cooed.

  “You want Mara, yes? I see the way you watch her, buddy. She make you a good wife, for as long as you like. When you tire of her, there will be another.”

  “Get out.”

  “Ah, the child. You want the baby.”

  “Lady, shut up and get the fuck out now.”

  When Ivanka made a brusk gesture to the girl, Chase said, “She's staying.”

  “Ah, you do like her, yes? So we can do business. I will give her to you, no charge.”

  “We can't do business. If I see you again, I'll blow the whistle. I'll tell them ten women and three babies came in.”

  “It is lie!”

  “Yeah, it is lie, but they've got a lot on their minds and I bet they're not checking up on you the way they should. If they did, they'd find you were taking off the top. Get out. Go work for the Romanians.”

  She gave him the death glare. She was pretty good at it, but not nearly as good as some guys on the strings he'd worked.

  Chase looked at her and she finally climbed out. “You are dead. You are dead man. I have brothers, cousins. I have many boyfriends. I do not forget this.”

  “You shouldn't. It will make you a better citizen.”

  “You are not long for life,” she told him and started to grin.

  “Who is?”

  Chase had no idea what to do with Mara or the baby. He asked her if she spoke English but she only stared at him blankly. She must've thought he was the next broker in line, ready to steal her kid and sell her to a fatcat. Or take her home and make her do his laundry and clean his bathroom before raping her.

  He called the Deuce. “Did you know the Langans traded in Eastern European women and babies?”

  “They're a syndicate. What, you think they're building children's hospitals and going into AIDS research? There's only so many scams in the world, and the top ones are still drugs and flesh peddling. The family's got their fingers in those pies, same as every other outfit.”

  “You know anybody who's Romanian?”

  “You working with them now?” Deuce asked. “They're goddamn rough. They've been through genocide, those people, the real thing with death camps, you know. Secret police, assassination- squad shit. There's not much that fuckin’ spooks them anymore.”

  “I'm seeing that. So you know anyone?”

  “Mobbed up?”

  “No. Just somebody who can speak the language. Help an immigrant girl and her baby get settled in the States and out of the life.”

  “Most
of them do porn,” the Deuce said. “It's a hot item, guys banging these chicks who can barely speak English but got that nice pale look to them. They're so goddamn happy to be out of a freezing country and in Southern California, they do double anals, the whole gonzo shebang. Or they do the Web site thing. You go in a chat room and tell them what you want and they do it right there, live on the webcams. You say, ‘Lift your legs wider, I want to see beaver’ and they do it. Mooks ordering them around from a safe distance, their wives in the other room bitching about the broken dishwasher. Guys like that.” It took him a couple seconds to add, “So they tell me.”

  “Uh huh. So anybody who can help?”

  “These Romanian people I know, they live down the block from my mother. Good folks, been here in Jersey a long time, but they still got ties. I used to cut their lawn when I was a kid. In ’79 they got a Pontiac LeMans that I nabbed for a night. Took my girlfriend to the drive- in. She gave me a blowjob while Kirk and Spock and some bald chick tracked down the Voyager module.”

  Chase said, “I'm hoping these people never caught wise to the stains on their leather interior and they'd still be willing to help you.”

  “Yeah, sure, they'll do what they can, they've set up relatives before. But the old man's retired and they live on his pension. They're not going to be able to pay her freight.”

  “I've got twenty- five hundred to give them to get a head start until she finds a job and a place to live.”

  “That'll help a little. You're giving money away now?”

  “Give me the address then call them.”

  Deucie gave him the address and said, “Who is this girl?”

  “I don't know. Just somebody in trouble.”

  “Since when is that your problem? Aren't you supposed to be robbing the family instead?”

  “I've got time to do both,” Chase said.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, see if you can find Jonah.”

  “I thought you'd split with him after what happened.”