The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  Blue turned his head up and mumbled something that took me a moment to understand.

  I was pumped, knew it, but most of me didn’t care. “I don’t know whether I’m going to kill you or not,” I chuckled and hoped he could see my nice white teeth. “I feel like it.”

  I reached down and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He flinched but kept his eyes open while I dragged him across the greasy, filthy floor and propped him up against one of the bolted wall units. He started to raise his hand to wipe the trickling blood but I slapped it back down.

  “Just like the movies, asshole. You move when I tell you. With one difference. In this movie the gun has real bullets.” I pulled back the hammer and placed the barrel against his forehead. We both listened as the urine trickled down his leg.

  I pulled my arm back a couple of inches and gently put the hammer back down. I didn’t want a sweat slip. At least not yet. Blue opened his dripping red gash and gasped for air. I was glad he hadn’t eaten dinner.

  “We’re going to have a little talk. Who were your friends last night?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know,” he mumbled.

  I made sure his hand was flat on the floor, dug my heel into the back of it, and waited for him to stop moaning before I asked, “You want to try a different answer?”

  He rolled his head from side to side, tears coming out of his eyes. “I swear.”

  “A couple of men stop you on the street and invite you on a joy ride to kill me? You expect me to buy that?”

  “They knew where I was staying,” he gasped. “They came and got me. I swear.”

  “I don’t fucking believe you.” I did the toe and heel on his other hand, but my heart wasn’t in it. “Let’s try something else, Blue. Why did Kelly start the Avengers?”

  Blue, relieved by the question, answered quickly. “He said the country needed a racial cleansing. Those were his exact words.”

  “I’m not asking for the party line. I want to know why one day he runs a regular gang of thieves then turns it into a Hitler organization the next.”

  “It wasn’t just one day,” he answered with a little too much sarcasm.

  I grabbed his hair and slammed the back of his head into the steel shelves.

  “I don’t know exactly what got Sean started,” Blue groaned through his tears. “I heard he had something going with a broad. Ask her, maybe. He always kept part of his trip hidden from the rest of us. I don’t know what made him do it. All I know is that it made sense to me.”

  “Did you ever meet this girlfriend?”

  “Never.” He worried his answer wouldn’t fly and added, “Sean didn’t talk to no one about her. I mean no one. I asked him about her once, and he told me it was none of my business. He told me to shut the fuck up about it.”

  “And you just did what he told you to do, is that it?”

  He nodded his head as best he could.

  “And it didn’t bother you that Kelly took from the top?”

  “Everyone saw money. Enough to live okay and enough to run the Avengers.”

  “But you were stealing more than that, weren’t you?”

  “Sean made sure the rest got to the nationals. Anyhow, without him, there was no money. Nobody could plan jobs like him.”

  “He sent money to the same folks who ran with you last night?”

  “I swear—I don’t know who they are!”

  It would be easy for Blue to say they were from some national neo-Nazi group, but he didn’t. Either he was still covering, or he really didn’t know.

  I balled my fist again and backhanded him across his face. “You’re covering for your Nazi friends, you lying bastard.”

  Blue rolled his head. “No, no. They would have told me if they were with us.”

  “What else, Blue? You have other reasons to believe they weren’t fellow travelers. What are they?”

  He lifted his head and I began to notice the damage I’d inflicted. “At least one of the guys was Irish,” he said.

  I felt like hitting him again for causing the involuntary lurch in my stomach. “Just one?”

  “Only one guy talked.”

  I thought for a minute, then asked, “Before the Avengers, when you and Kelly took down armored cars, did you give money to the IRA? Is that where your money has been going?”

  Blue leaned forward painfully. “Before the Avengers we’d do a job and Sean would take money off the top for pay-offs. Drivers, someone in the car barn, maybe a cop. I don’t know. Sean always ran the money. He coulda been paying anyone.”

  He hesitated and dredged a little more energy. “Listen,” he mumbled, “I been thinking the same thing. After those guys left I couldn’t figure why some Irish guy wanted you. But if Sean was giving our money to them, it meant he was lying to me. He wouldn’t do that!”

  Blue had to believe in something. I looked at his slumped body and twisted face. Sure, Sean wouldn’t lie. And I wouldn’t do this.

  Blue was beginning to fade in and out of consciousness, so I didn’t think he heard the faint scraping outside the door. But I did. I moved quickly to his side and curled my forearm aroundhis throat. I didn’t want the intruder to know I’d heard the noise so I asked another question, “You dug the bullet out of the car door, didn’t you?”

  “No,” he moaned with what little strength he had left.

  “Don’t lie to me, you cocksucker,” I almost shouted, as I slammed my foot hard on the floor. I hoped it sounded like a body blow as I kept my eyes and gun on the open door. “Don’t lie to me!”

  “He isn’t lying, Jacobs,” a voice barked from somewhere in the corridor. “He isn’t lying! This is Washington Clifford. You don’t sound wrapped too tight and I don’t want you to kill him orshoot me. Now, I’m coming through the door and I’ll flash a light on my face so you know that it’s me.”

  “Should I slide my gun across the room like a good little doobie?”

  “I know better than to ask. Now listen up, I’m coming in.”

  “Save the fucking batteries. I recognize your voice.”

  “Good, Jacobs. That’s good.”

  But he flashed the light anyway as he walked carefully into the room.

  “Over here,” I said.

  Clifford pointed the light in our direction and I had to turn my head when it caught my eyes. No low-power job for my man Washington.

  “Jesus, Jacobs, put the fucking gun away.”

  I guess the light also caught my left fist.

  Clifford followed his request with a slow walk toward the two of us. Blue had passed out but I was still holding him in front of me. I let go and pushed him on his side so he wouldn’t choke. I was turning soft.

  Clifford knelt and pushed my gun hand off to the side. “If you’re not going to put it away, at least keep it out of my face.” He flashed the light into Blue’s eyes and prodded his body. Clifford relaxed when he discovered that Blue’s death wasn’t imminent.

  “You did a real bad-ass number on this boy, Jacobs. Maybe you ought to thank me for showing up when I did. You might have killed the little prick.”

  “You going to bust me for beating on him or for what I might have done? And the fucking name is Jacob.”

  “I’m not going to bust you at all, you poor asshole.” He flashed his light onto my face but this time I squinted it down. “You are either very high, Jacobs, or you enjoy the work. Now go home, take some tranqs, and get it together. Your party is over.”

  “Bullshit! Nothing is over! I’m a clay pigeon for shooters, Wash. There’s one down, more to go.”

  Clifford hesitated then tried to pacify me. “You got nothing to be worried about.”

  I fairly shouted, “Fuck you, nothing to be worried about? At least three guys want me dead. I understand that don’t worry you.”

  “You don’t understand nothing,” Clifford snarled. “I’m telling you that you don’t have to be worried about your shooters. Nobody is going to try to kill you again, except maybe me.�
��

  His message finally twisted its way through my high-voltage head. Then I remembered his words from the hall. “You’ve been tailing me, haven’t you? You found out about the scene on Bynner and went to the garage?”

  “You think I have nothing better to do than run around after you?”

  “You said you had the bullet. Do you?”

  Clifford hesitated again, stood, and offered his hand to help me up. I spurned the offer and pushed myself to my feet.

  “Yes,” he finally admitted.

  “What about him?” I nodded toward the now sleeping Blue.

  “I’ll worry about him. Listen to me, Jacobs. It’s time for you to go on home. And tie your ass to a chair before you really do something stupid.”

  I had nowhere else to go but home. And when I looked at my reflection in the car’s rearview mirror, it was clear no other place would take me. I was lucky Manuel’s box-on-wheels had Florida-tinted windows. If a cop caught a glimpse I’d be run in immediately, no questions asked. I glanced into the mirror again, flashed on Blue’s moaning, prone body, and, for the first time, bit on Clifford’s scathing remarks. I might have killed Blue. And for what? Revenge?

  My coked adrenaline rush was fading, leaving in its place a yawning emotional fatigue. I white-knuckled the skinny steering wheel and pointed the car toward my apartment. Clifford’s assurance that I was no longer a potential road kill was a relief. But the relief was shadowed by an undertow of dissatisfaction. Clifford was shutting down my case before I knew what my case had been. It didn’t exactly depress me, just left me feeling empty. What would fill the empty when the cocaine completely wore off?

  I parked the car in my back alley, crunched across the gravel, and let myself inside. I didn’t know whether I was pleased or pressured to hear Lou call from the kitchen, “Boychik, is that you?”

  “Uh-huh.” I walked down the hall and joined him.

  “Oh my God, what the hell happened?” Lou hoisted his considerable bulk with surprising speed. “Was there an explosion? Are you injured?”

  I winced as his urgency collided with my growing lethargy. “I’m fine. I did the exploding.”

  “You look like you were crawling around in the dirt. Jesus, Boychik, your eyes look insane. I’m going to get you a drink.”

  “Thanks. Would you bring the stash too? I gotta make a couple of calls.”

  Lou shook his head, but did what I asked while I went into the office and spoke with Julie, then Richard. Richard was relieved to hear we were no longer under siege. Julius soundeddisappointed. Both had a handful of questions, but I wasn’t in answer-man mood.

  I returned to the kitchen table and took a long pull of bourbon. Then another. Lou wouldn’t meet my eyes. I tried grinning to break the tension. It must have looked strange because once I finished twisting my lips Lou asked nervously, “Matt, did you kill someone?” He whispered thequestion, afraid of the answer.

  “No, Lou. I didn’t kill anyone.”

  He finally came out with it. “You have blood all over yourself. Is it yours? Are you sure you weren’t stabbed or grazed? Sometimes the body goes into shock and a person doesn’t even know they’ve been hurt.”

  This time my grin seemed more genuine. At least to me. “Sounds like you’re talking from personal experience.”

  His anxiety found an angry outlet. “Damn right personal, Matty. You think the early days of union work meant walking around with cardboard signs? Or my Daley years in Chicago were a quiet piece of cake?”

  “I’m just kidding you, Lou.”

  He wasn’t placated. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? By you, Boychik, everything is a joke. Your face is black like a coal miner, blood all over your clothes, and you don’t even know if you’re hurt. But you can sit there kidding me.”

  “Believe me, Lou, I didn’t get hurt.”

  “Well, if you’re not hurt go to the goddamn bathroom and clean yourself up. You look like a piece of dreck.”

  I grabbed an empty plastic bag, retreated to the bathroom, and avoided the mirror until after the shower. My clothes were garbage so I stuffed them into the bag. I wanted to throw my skin in after, but as hard as I’d scrubbed under the scalding water, it just wouldn’t shed.

  The bulging plastic did little to assuage my father-in-law’s fears. “You act like you’re getting rid of evidence,” he said.

  “I am, but not because of the law. I don’t want to be reminded about tonight every time I step into these.”

  Lou’s worry broke through his protective anger. “Boychik, what the hell happened? I’ve never seen your face look like that, especially your eyes.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t throw my eyes out.”

  A resigned expression crossed his face. “Okay, I get the message. You’re not going to talk. But what the hell is going on around here? Charles and Richard have been acting strange all day. Even Julius was different—walking around like a bigshot, like he was guarding the buildings. We’re partners here, Matty. If something isn’t right, I want to know about it.”

  Partners was a generous term. His money, our familial bond and friendship. “Everything is okay, Lou. I was afraid some toughs might show up looking for me. I wanted to leave the buildings so I asked Julie, Charles, and Richard to keep their eyes open.” There was no need to frighten him with my ice rink escapade.

  Lou was quiet. “If you asked all three to keep watch you must have expected serious trouble.”

  “It was possible.”

  “But no longer?”

  “That’s right.” If Clifford was to be believed.

  “You think I’m a fat useless old man, don’t you?” Lou asked.

  “Just fat, why?”

  “You ask the faigeleh to help you with trouble but you don’t ask me?”

  A part of me was annoyed; I had enough lousy feelings without adding extra guilt. But another part relaxed in the face of his familiar attitude and concern. “I thought about it but it was very late at night and I didn’t want to disturb you. Charles and Richard are always awake.”

  “Doing God knows what,” he grumbled, softening.

  “See Lou-e-gee, I was just protecting our society from immoral, perverted deviance.”

  “Just protecting me is what you mean,” he said with a trace of pleasure.

  “Are you kidding? No need to protect someone with your experience.”

  “Don’t be a smart guy. That was true.”

  “I know, Lou.”

  “Are you finished?” Lou asked.

  I glanced at my drink. “Don’t get up. I still have some.”

  “Not the drink, Matty. I’m talking about whatever it is you’re involved in. What you’ve been doing.”

  “Yeah, it’s over.” I said it, but wasn’t ready to believe.

  “Did it have something to do with the Yeshiva case?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. “Tangentially,” I finally said. “Nothing direct.”

  “Were you successful?”

  “I don’t know what success means with this one. Everyone, including Simon, thinks it would be better if I just drop out.” I rolled a joint and lit it. Though the worst images of my night’s sadism were slowly receding, the emptiness of concluding the case with only my memories of abandoned rinks and warehouses grated on me.

  Lou looked puzzled but struggled not to pry. He poured himself a small shot and downed it quickly.

  “What’s that going to do to your sugar?” I asked.

  “It can’t do any worse than what you do to my heart,” he replied.

  I gave him a tired smile. “Come on, tough guy, I don’t get into too many of these scrapes.”

  He thought about it. “No, but when you do…” He chopped his words in mid-sentence, then looked at me. “I heard you had one of the Hasids over to the house.”

  “Yeah, Reb Yonah’s kid wanted to talk. We played some ball.”

  “This was before Simon asked you to drop out?”

  “Yeah, b
ut I’ll have him over again anyway.”

  The worry left his face, replaced by a sad look of kindness. “You like this boy, don’t you?” he asked softly, distantly.

  I felt his sadness resonate inside me. “Yeah.” I paused. “You’re thinking about Chana, aren’t you?”

  “I’m thinking about many people, if you want to know the truth. I’m getting old, Boychik. I’m starting to outlive everyone I know.” He met my eyes. “This Yeshiva-bocher reminds you of Rebecca?”

  I nodded. “At first it blindsided me. That’s really what last week’s depression was about. Now, well, he sort of gives me an opportunity to feel like a father.” I flashed on my night’s activities. Just what the world of boys needed, me as a role model.

  I realized I’d spaced out and rushed through the rest of my thought. “It hurts when I think of Becky, but I like helping him out. Since Reb Dov’s death, the kid’s been like an orphan. Everybody is so busy working for God and community, he’s fallen through the cracks.”

  “The father is too wound up with his legal tsouris?”

  “The good Rabbi is apparently too occupied organizing to worry about his case.”

  “Organizing?”

  “Yeah. There is this Jewish defense thing called…”

  “The Never Agains,” he interjected.

  “That’s right. You’ve heard of them?”

  “What Jew hasn’t? They’re thugs.”

  “This Jew hadn’t. You’re a little harsh, aren’t you? Some of the Hasids see them as a shield against anti-Semitism.”

  Lou said angrily, “At its best, Never Again gives people an opportunity to hold their peckers on nights other than Friday.”

  “What’s with Friday?”

  “Mitzvah night. Religious Jews are supposed to schtup their wives on Friday. Mitzvah night they call it. So when they become Never Agains they can feel like men on other nights too.”

  “I’ll remember this conversation if I ever date a Hasid. You don’t like these people, do you?”

  “If the Hasids want to piss their lives away, who am I to say no? The Never Agains are another story. They are bullies who hide behind their beards and payis. To my way of thinking they incite more anti-Semitism than they stop. And they do it in the worst possible way. These people are thugs. You’re telling me Reb Yonah is one of them?”