by Frank Zafiro
“Just a coupla guys,” he repeated, then let me go.
We sat down.
“How ya been?” he asked me.
“Getting by,” I said. All of the sudden, I was pissed at him all over again. Pissed that he got me into the jackpot we landed in. Pissed that he let me take the fall, and pissed that he’d come here acting like he’s doing me a favor but no one can even know he’s here. Or that maybe I was wired up and looking to take off his fat, worthless ass for some reason I couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“Ain’t we all,” he said, seemingly oblivious to how I was feeling.
“Well, it can’t be too tough. You don’t look like you’re missing any meals, anyway,” I said, disguising the jab as a friendly tease.
“That’s no lie.” He shook his head ruefully and patted his stomach. “Dangers of a desk job, Mickey. They take you off the street and make you into a house cat, this is what happens.”
“I guess so.”
“You don’t look like you’ve got that problem,” he said, gesturing toward me. “You aren’t as big as you used to be but you look good. What’s your secret?”
“I get exercise,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. For starters, I push myself back away from the table once in a while. You should try it. Works wonders.”
He smiled, but there was a shadow there now. He knew I was busting his balls for more than just a how ya been. “I’ll have to check out that program. Sounds pretty simple.”
“Let me know how it goes.”
He nodded, then looked away. While he watched a pair of joggers trot past, he spoke. “I can see this ain’t some kind of reunion or nothing, so whattaya want, Mickey?”
“My dad died.”
Somehow, saying it out loud made it feel different. I actually felt a pang in my chest, though I knew it couldn’t be for the old man himself. Maybe for what he should’ve been. I don’t know.
Al looked back at me. “Jesus. Sorry.” He paused, then added, “I think.”
I shrugged. “It happened, just like everything else. The thing is, he told me some stuff before he went. And I’m kind of curious to find out if it is bullshit or not.”
“And that’s where I come in.”
“You should’ve been a detective,” I said.
“Fuck you. Just fill me in.”
I gave him the rundown on the job the old man pulled, leaving out the part about the earrings. He listened, nodding slightly at the names of Jimmy and Speedo, but he didn’t seem to recognize the heist itself.
“Little Jimmy fucking Kerrigan,” he mused. “That’s a blast from the past.”
“What’s his deal?”
Al took a deep breath and thought about it. “He was barely a cut above half-assed, if I remember right.”
“You think he’d be able to move merch like that?”
“Anybody can move anything. Whether he could get what it was worth or not?” Al turned the corners of his mouth down and gave a little shrug. “Who can say? If he even ended up with this necklace you’re talking about.”
I didn’t answer. If Jimmy didn’t have the necklace, we’d cross that bridge when we got to it. “You think you know where he is?”
“I maybe got an idea or two. Let me check on it, though.”
“And you never heard of this jewelry rip?”
He shrugged again. “It ain’t ringing a bell. But sometimes those museum heists, they keep quiet about it.”
“Why?”
“Why shouldn’t they? Insurance pays off either way.”
“That seems a little defeatist.”
“Huh?”
“Giving up too easy,” I said. “These are crown jewels we’re talking about.”
“Just because they belonged to some princess doesn’t make them crown jewels.”
“Still.”
“Still nothing,” Al said. “Insurance pays off. What does anyone care?”
“The insurance company cares.”
He nodded and wagged a knowing finger at me. “Right you are. But they don’t want too much noise, either. You can only move that kind of shit in certain circles. They make too big a fuss about it, the fences get nervous. Nobody buys the loot, and then the insurance investigators can’t find it. But if they keep quiet about it, it’ll turn up and those investigators can run it down.”
“When did you become such an expert?”
“I’m not,” Al said. “But like I told ya, they’ve got me on desk duty at the precinct. I’m up in the detectives’ floor. I see how cases run, including insurance jobs.”
“Looks like I called the right guy, then.”
He snorted lightly. “Who else you gonna call, Mickey?”
“Harris maybe.”
“That fucking mope? He’d never return your call. He’s lucky to be off traffic duty since our little dust-up.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter, since you’re so Johnny on the spot.”
He was quiet for a little while, looking at me with inquisitive eyes. I knew the question he was asking himself, but I wasn’t about to give him the answer.
Finally, he said, “I’ll find out about this for you, Mickey. I don’t even want any piece of whatever action you got going. But after I give you this, we’re done. The books are balanced between us. Capisce?”
I thought about it. One piece of information for all the days I spent in jail? For all the damage to my chances at a good life? For saving his ass and his pension? It wasn’t even close.
Still, I needed this. And if it panned out, I’d be long gone, living a new life somewhere else. California, maybe. At that point, what the fuck did I care about Al the wop cop back in Chicago?
He kept staring at me. The son of a bitch knew me well enough to know that if I gave my word, I’d keep it. He’d already seen that firsthand. So he was waiting, and I knew he’d accept nothing less.
“Okay,” I said. “You give me a location on Jimmy Kerrigan and the report on this jewelry heist, and we’re quits.”
“I want your word, Mickey.”
“I just gave you my word.”
He shook his head. “No. Swear it. Like before.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine. I swear it.”
“The whole thing,” Al pressed.
I gave in. “I swear it on my mother. There. You fucking happy?”
He actually smiled. “Yeah, I am.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “Get back to you in a day or so.”
“You better.”
He laughed out loud. “Don’t go all gangster on me, Mickey. It don’t fit you.” He stood up. His smile faded and he gave me a curious look. “You know, you was never one of us, right, Mickey? Never a cop. Not for real.”
I didn’t answer him. After a minute, he turned and walked away like he didn’t know me.
Connie picked up on the second ring. “Mick?”
“What do you want?”
She started crying on the phone, and I couldn’t understand her.
“Where are you?” I finally asked.
“Your apartment.”
Shit. I forgot she knew where I hid the spare key.
“All right. Wait there.”
I hung up, then dialed again.
“Talk,” Jerzy’s thick voice said on the other end of the line.
“My guy is going to get back to me in a day or two.”
“On Jimmy or the job?”
“Both, I hope.”
Jerzy grunted. Brilliant conversationalist, my brother.
“I’ll let you know when I know,” I said.
Jerzy hung up without saying goodbye.
I put my phone in my pocket.
You was never one of us.
Yeah, Al, you’re right. That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? Never completely one of the good guys, but too loyal not to take the honorable fall. Too much of a hero to be one of the bad guys, but no other way to find the good life.
So who the fuck was I?
Good question.
In a few minutes, I’d start toward whatever bullshit Connie had waiting for me at my apartment. But for now, I sat. I closed my eyes again and felt the faintest bit of heat wash down from the sun.
Who the fuck is anyone, really?
FIFTEEN
Jerzy
The Ambrozy Club has some people in it already, even though it’s only five or so. There are some old Polacks, most of which I know by name and a lot of them have been coming here since old man Dudek opened the place. They’ve been here since noon and will be gone by five-thirty. There are also some blue collar fools who actually work for a living and they’re getting the nightly drunk on a little early.
And, of course, there is the hottest bartender that this joint had ever had. Ania is down on the other end of the long bar and some other goof is working down here where I’m at.
I sat here on purpose though, because sometimes I just like to watch people from a distance. Tells you things you might not always notice up close. One thing is for sure, she’s good from any distance.
Now, the trouble is with this time of day, along with these people who actually work for a living, I’m sitting next to two little twinks who pose for a living. See, Patrik’s clientele is changing a little bit. He’s been trying to add customers from a little higher rung on the social ladder. These two assholes are part of the trade-off you have put up with when you try to do the upgrade thing. They’re ruining my golabki and beers with their little prissy ass chatter.
Both are late twenties, nice suits and ties loosened up like they just dug a ditch or something. They are no doubt relaxing after a terrible, backbreaking day of overseas video conference calls with Paris or some such bullshit. Cell phones are, of course, on the bar in front of them and they’re both drinking some bullshit beer from fucking Portugal.
I can also hear them talking about Ania.
“Whoa. Nice piece of ass working the bar down there,” the lead stud says and then elbows me too. He doesn’t even look at me while he’s talking.
“Come in here much?” I look over at him and take my last bite.
“Yeah, that’s hot,” he says and he’s still looking at her. “That’s real hot.”
“Hey.” I say to him and take my last swig of beer.
The guy leans over to his little boyfriend and says something I can’t hear. They both laugh.
“Man, I’d like to spin that around, huh?” I hear the other say.
“Hey.” I turn sideways to him.
He sighs real loud, all put out like and finally turns around to face me.
“What? What the fuck do you want, man? What is your specific need, dude?”
Like he’s just too damn busy to be bothered.
“Next thing you say to me better be I’m sorry.”
He looks at me, blinks, not sure what he just heard.
“That’s mine down there.” I nod toward Ania, who’s shaking up a drink for somebody.
He really looks hard at me now and pushes his bar stool back a little.
“Sit the fuck down, Nancy,” I tell him “Take it easy before you do something really, really stupid.”
His buddy leans backwards and looks at me around his partners shoulder. His eyebrows are all bunched up like he’s DeNiro or something. I catch his eye and the wannabe badass just turtles up and leans back, looking straight ahead.
“Doesn’t change the fact that she has a nice ass, though, right?” My guy holds his hands up off the bar like it’s a robbery. “Hey, you’re a lucky guy. I just wish I was tapping that.” He’s grinning and he’s also scared shitless. The puke is trying hard to salvage some sort of face, but the corners of his mouth are all twitchy.
I just keep staring at him.
“Okay, look man, no problem. No harm, no foul.” Then he starts nodding and takes a drink of his imported beer. Dribbles a little bit of it down his chin, wipes it off quick and then takes another drink. He’s looking straight ahead now too and he’s still nodding to himself.
“Listen, really, we’re good here,” he says quietly.
“We’re good here?” I laugh a quick bark. “No, no, I don’t think so. See, I’m in here all the time. I see you again, there won’t be any cute talk.” I give him a shrug and smile. “So, like, get the fuck out…now.”
He doesn’t say anything to that but he sure is listening real close.
I lean in.
“That, ass face, is my specific need.”
He gets up slowly, digs his wallet out and puts some money on the bar. Then he acts like he’s checking messages on his fucking Blackberry and puts it in his pocket. He straightens his suit a little and looks over to the other guy who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else right now.
“Let’s get going, Chris. We’ve got to be downtown by six and I don’t want to be late for that dinner. Going to hit the john and we’re outta here.” He walks off to the restrooms.
My bartender already has a new beer in front of me. I look down at Ania and she finally sees me. I tip my bottle at her and flash my best smile. I get up and start to head down the bar towards her but I change my mind. Just for the hell of it. It won’t take a minute.
One other customer is in there and he zips up, goes to the sink. My guy finishes, turns and bang he’s looking right at me. Three feet away. His eyes get big and I hit him hard, right the fuck in the nose, then take a little quick step to the side for a good angle.
He already sounds like a little girl but I pop him another good one on the side of the head, right on the ear. Down to one knee he goes. His nose is leaking bad, blood streaming through his fingers. Fat red splatters on the tile floor already. I take a step back so I don’t get any of that shit on me.
“The fuck’s going on?” The older guy combing his hair at the mirror says, looking at me in the reflection.
“Fucking gay bastard,” I say. “We don’t need them in this bar. Just making sure he don’t come back.”
My boy is all whiny and shit. Standing now but bent over at the waist and moaning with both hands to his nose.
The guy at the sink shakes his head and shoves the suit sideways on his way out. “Fucking faggots are worse than shines these days. They’re everywhere. Like it’s fucking L.A. or something.” The old boy goes out, still muttering.
“Stand up straight, pussy,” I tell the twink.
He does but he’s still got his hands on his face.
“Look, I’m leaving, okay?” His voice is muffled and all quivery.
“Not okay.”
His eyes go back and forth and he’s thinking what to say and how to get the fuck out of here.
I still don’t say anything.
“Wha…What do you want, man?”
“You forgot to say you’re sorry. Then asshole, and only then, will we be good here.”
“Hey, how’s my girl doin’?”
“Hey yourself. I was wondering how long you were going to keep sitting down there. Playing hard to get?” She gives me a wink, blows some hair out of her face and hooks a loose strand of that gold back behind an ear. The blond ponytail look has never been worn better.
“You were too busy. I didn’t want to interfere with the help. Patrik wouldn’t appreciate that.” I smile again and sit down right in front of her. As I’m saying that I realize what she had just said. She had been watching me watch her. Dangerous girl. I add that to the restroom scene just now. Acting like I’m some high school quarterback defending the prom queen’s honor. Shit, this was getting way out of hand. Next thing you know, I’ll be sending her fucking Hallmark cards.
Ania throws the bar rag over her shoulder and kind of hops up, leaning over the bar as far as she can up on her elbows.
“Oh, I think it’s a little late to be worried about you interfering with me, don’t you, big boy?” The smile she gives me this time is sly, nice and dirty.
She laughs quietly and takes my hand — the one that hurts like a bastard now, and gives me a littl
e squeeze.
She’s still got that ‘come to me’ smile but slides slowly backwards and does the little hop thing back to the floor. It’s all I can do not to jump right over the bar after her. At this point, I don’t give a rat’s ass how out of control this is getting, or how dangerous to my business I think she might be, or how this is not the way I usually roll with women.
Here’s the deal. It is what it is, and I’m about half hooked already by her. I admit it and I don’t care.
She’s pouring a Michelob draft now and looks back at me over her shoulder. “I’m off early tonight. Around ten or so.”
She sets the beer in front of a poor guy two stools over. He’s doing his damnedest not to look at those jeans as she walks back to the register. The tortured asshole gives me an embarrassed, forced smile and shakes his head.
“I don’t know, babe. Sorry but I’m really busy these days. I’ll probably have to call you in a couple weeks.” I can’t believe I’m doing this cutesy, lovey bullshit, but I am.
“Is no problem. I find something else to do.” She pouts and shrugs. I realize she’s laying on the Polish accent pretty heavy again too. Jesus.
“All right, you win. Ten it is, but my schedule is pretty full.”
I finish my beer and walk over to the end of the bar. She comes over and I put an arm around her waist pulling her up tight to me for a second. Real tight. She puts a hand casually on my hip and smiles up at me again.
“We gonna do something right here, right now?”
“Hey, it’s your call. The tips would probably be really good after that.”
“See you at ten. Are you leaving, leaving?”
“Nope. The boss in back?”
“When is he not?”
“I’ll see you later. I’ll be around.”
As I walk towards the back, I’m thinking about her and the money and us together and a bunch more. It’s all good. Better than good.
I come up casually on a couple of big bruisers just inside the first hallway off the kitchen. Both are wearing sport jackets that are tight across the chest and arms. I can tell both have guns under those jackets too. One of them, the same blond crew cut ape, recognizes me from the other night I think.
“I’m Jerzy. Patrik is expecting me.”