The Moon Around Sarah

by Paul Lederer

He unlocked the door and before letting Randy cross the threshold, he growled, ‘What?’

  The Irish kid grinned.

  ‘Business, man. Let us in.’

  After a moment, Todd stepped back and Cohan entered the rank-smelling apartment. Eric Tucker stumbled, but made it through the door, sitting immediately on a faded green couch, frosted with cat hair.

  Todd’s mouth tightened. He didn’t like people doing anything in his place without asking first. That guy Liebowitz – and it seemed that Randy Cohan had brought him over, too – had come in, sat down and pulled out a rig, knowing damn well that the cops were probably around somewhere. Todd had broken the junkie’s needle off in the wall and then busted the guy’s head for him before throwing him out.

  ‘This best be important, man,’ Todd warned Randy Cohan.

  Randy glanced toward the hallway.

  ‘You got a chick in here?’

  Kostokas didn’t answer. Jesus, Randy was a shithead. Like having a broad there would be the only reason he didn’t want to see the redheaded idiot.

  ‘What’s up,’ Randy said smiling brightly as if he had some terrific secret he was bursting to share, ‘is that my friend here needs a piece, Todd. I thought of that old H&R you were showing me. Still got it?’

  Shithead. You don’t come around talking about weapons either, not with some guy Todd had never even seen before tagging along.

  ‘Come here, man,’ Todd said, guiding Randy toward his bedroom, fingers and thumb clamped firmly onto his arm above the elbow.

  Cohan went along willingly, though his arm complained. His eyes continued to glitter. Eric remained seated on the sofa, his head hanging.

  When he had closed the bedroom door behind them, Todd crossed his heavy arms and demanded, ‘OK. What’s up, Randy?’

  Cohan seated himself on Todd’s unmade bed.

  ‘I just wanted to cut you in on something, Todd. We always do each other right, don’t we?’

  ‘That means you need me for something,’ Kostokas said cynically. ‘Who’s the barf-bag you brought with you? Jesus, I can smell him from here!’

  ‘He’s just a barf-bag, like you say. His name’s Eric. He said he wanted to buy a gun….’ Randy paused dramatically. He leaned forward, his bright eyes searching Todd’s. ‘The man’s got eighteen grand on him, Todd, and he’s blasted out of his mind.’

  Kostokas took a minute to think about that. Outside his window, a furniture truck rumbled past.

  ‘How do you know he’s got it?’

  ‘He told me, man! See, he sold some real estate today. Him and his family.’

  ‘He said he’s carrying eighteen-thousand?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Randy said eagerly. ‘See, he wanted to buy a gun – I dunno why – so I brought him over here. I figured….’

  ‘I know what you figured,’ Todd said roughly. ‘But we can’t do it here.’

  ‘I didn’t say here,’ Randy said slyly. ‘Look, sell him the gun. We’ll give him a few more drinks … got anything?’

  ‘Most of a gallon of dago red, that’s all.’

  ‘That’ll work, man! We sell him the gun and let him go walking down the street. It won’t take much to take care of him, will it? It’s dark out and foggy as hell. The dude’s already drunk out of his mind.’ Randy’s eyes remained excited; he had his half of the money already spent mentally.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ Kostokas asked carefully, lowering his voice.

  ‘That’s what the dude told me, man. Eighteen-thousand and some change. What about it, Todd?’

  ‘Why didn’t you just do it yourself?’

  ‘Oh, man, I had to get him off the main drag, right? Besides, why not split a good thing with a friend?’

  Meaning, Todd Kostokas knew, that Randy didn’t have the guts to do it alone.

  ‘He’s not faking that drunk?’ Todd asked with suspicion. ‘If this is some kind of set up.…’

  Kostokas had gotten cop-shy to the point of paranoia lately. He had already been picked up three times that month for questioning. They had nothing on him, but the cops knew he was a player, and they would keep trying. Meanwhile, Todd was seeing narks everywhere.

  ‘Hey, he’s drunk on his ass. I was out drinking with him. The man can hardly walk. Have a talk with him,’ Randy encouraged, ‘show him the H&R. Let me pour him some wine.’

  Todd ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘OK,’ he said finally. It was too much money to pass up. The risk was worth it.

  ‘Is the pistol clean?’ Randy asked. ‘Just in case something happens, I mean….’

  ‘It’s clean.’ Todd went to his closet and removed the gun from its hiding place behind a loose board. It was a big, clumsy-looking revolver, the bluing rubbed thin. There was a large chip in the checked walnut grips.

  ‘Think this’ll satisfy him?’

  ‘Sure. He don’t know shit about guns. I told him you wanted fifty bucks for it.’

  ‘OK, sure,’ Todd said. There was no sense in trying to jack up the price on the revolver. It would be coming back anyway. ‘Just let me talk to him – like I was holding out, you know. I want to look at him a little closer, to make sure. You just keep his wine glass filled.’

  Eric Tucker lifted his head at the sound of the opening door. His head seemed to weigh as much as an anvil; the door seemed to lead into the ceiling where little scarlet and yellow birds flocked and peeped.

  The two men approached him through a tangled haze, as if the fog had managed to seep into the house. Where in the hell was he? He should be able to remember that, shouldn’t he? Plus, who in the hell were these two guys! Squinting one eye, leaning forward, he was able to recognize one of them; the redhead from the bar. But who was the short guy who resembled a fuzzy bear? He gave up trying to figure it out. It was too much trouble just then.

  Eric held his head gently in his hands and rested his elbows on his thighs, noticing that one knee of his pants was torn out and the flesh beneath was ripped open. Gradually a hole bored its way through the fog of his mind, enough for him to remember back to the beginning of the long trek.

  A gun. They had come looking for a gun. As Eric thought about it, it seemed more important than anything in the world that he find a gun. As he was briefly passed out he had lurched into a psychotic nightmare. He had been a little kid and Raymond, wearing a wolf’s-head mask, was beating him with a bedpost. Each time the post struck him, a bone broke, and then Eric would cry out in pain, and Raymond, screaming, ‘I told you, men don’t cry!’ would hit him again.

  The redheaded guy was crouched down in front of Eric now. Looking up into his bloodless face, Randy asked, ‘Are you all right, Ace?’

  Eric mumbled something unintelligible and he heard the redhead say, ‘He’s OK. Hey, man!’ Randy shook his shoulder. ‘Remember what’s happening? This guy here is Todd. He’s got the gun to show you. You still want the gun, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes!’ Eric shouted the word. His voice broke. He lifted his eyes, alert to the men suddenly. They were still a little fuzzy around the edges, standing at the end of a twisting tunnel.

  ‘OK, man,’ Randy rose, patting Eric’s shoulder again. ‘You talk to Todd now, OK? I’m going to get you some medicine. Clear those spider webs out of your head.’

  Randy clomped off to the kitchen and was replaced by the crouching bear. He had a pistol in his hands. He held it loosely. His smile was ugly and false, but that didn’t matter; only the gun mattered.

  ‘So,’ Todd Kostokas said, turning the pistol one way and then the other, showing it to Eric. ‘What do you think, man? It’s a clean piece. It’s old, but it’ll do whatever you got in mind. A hundred bucks, right?’

  Eric tried to remember. That didn’t seem right. He wasn’t even sure he had that much money on him. Randy had returned. He said, ‘Hey, Todd, this guy’s a friend of mine. I told him fifty, what about it?’

  ‘I don’t know, man.’ Todd shook his head.

  Randy held out a very large glass, very f
ull of wine.

  ‘Drink this, Eric. You got to replace those calories you lost in the alley.’

  Wine? On this stomach? But with the throbbing in his skull growing more merciless, Eric knew he would have to drink something or brace himself for a massive, debilitating hangover. He wanted to be feeling high, alert when he killed Raymond, not all muzzy and hurting. He leaned back on the sofa, accepted the tumbler full of wine and drank half of it.

  Randy looked at Todd enquiringly, his smirk repressed.

  The Greek nodded, ‘Well, OK. For a friend of yours, fifty bucks. Let’s see the money.’

  ‘Give Todd fifty, man,’ Randy prompted, and after another drink of wine, Eric placed the glass aside and dug into his trousers’ pocket, pulling out a wadded tangle of bills.

  ‘You count it,’ Eric said, waving a hand. He finished the wine in his glass. The first drink had tilted his stomach, threatening to turn it over again; now the wine tasted fine. His guts were warming pleasantly; his vision was clearing. His heartbeat was slowing to a normal rate.

  ‘Want a little more of that grape juice?’ Randy Cohan asked, and Eric nodded, handing him the glass.

  Randy returned a few folded bills. Eric shoved them away in his pocket without counting. A few singles fell onto the carpet unnoticed.

  Todd Kostokas was saying something about the gun. He had opened the cylinder gate.

  ‘I couldn’t find no more cartridges. Hey, but it’s a .38, man. In the morning you can buy a box almost anywhere. You can’t get none tonight.’ He snapped the gate shut again, spinning the cylinder. He grinned, ‘It’s got four cartridges loaded. If that’s enough for whatever you got in mind.’

  ‘One is enough for what I have in mind,’ Eric answered. He took a fresh glass of wine from Randy and drained half of it without taking the glass from his lips. He was beginning to feel just fine, high again.

  Todd and Randy exchanged a look. One bullet was enough? What was the guy going to do, blow his brains out? Best to get the dude on his way before he did something completely wacky, anyway.

  ‘Finish up your drink, OK?’ Randy urged. ‘Me and Todd got some things we got to be doing.’

  ‘Sure,’ Eric said. It sounded like he had a mouthful of walnuts, but his thoughts were clear. He was going to shoot Raymond in the face. Happy patricide! Where was the guilt he was supposed to feel? He had had guilt all of his life over nothing in particular. And Fear! God, had he had fear of Raymond Tucker! He felt neither of these crippling emotions right now; he had his gun. In the morning he would be rich and Raymond would be gone. Do it now! He had no fear. He hoped Raymond would be grinning that savage grin of his when he pulled the trigger. He wanted to watch it explode off his face.

  Eric finished the wine, slapped the empty glass down on the peeling end-table and tried to get up. The couch seemed very deep. He was anchored in the split cushions. Laughing, Randy Cohan pulled him to his feet.

  Eric felt something cool and heavy placed in his hand and he looked down with surprise at the huge old revolver he held. It was a real, substantial thing, not an extension of a wish.

  ‘Put that in your pocket, man,’ Randy told him.

  With a deal of fumbling, Eric managed to get it into his coat pocket. It made the coat hang crooked and formed a large bulge against the fabric.

  ‘OK, man,’ Randy said, ceremoniously shaking his hand. ‘Be careful, huh?’

  ‘Sure. I will be,’ Eric said, and almost before he knew it, he found himself standing outside, alone in the cold vast fog; alone in the world; determined in his intentions.

  He staggered off the porch into the obscuring night, only occasionally touching the gun in his pocket.

  When Eric had made his reeling way to the empty alleyway beyond, Randy turned to Todd Kostokas. His eyes still held that hungry gleam.

  ‘Let’s go, man. Let’s go,’ the redhead said breathlessly.

  ‘Take it easy,’ Todd said, pulling on a dark hooded sweatshirt. ‘He ain’t going far or fast. Give him another minute in case he gets nervous and starts looking back. Remember,’ he reminded Randy, ‘the dude has got a gun.’

  When Todd decided that the time was right, he nodded to Randy Cohan and, turning off the house lights to provide a dark background, they moved silently out into the night fog. Not far ahead of them, they heard a clattering sound and a following muted curse.

  Randy grinned. This was going to be easy. There were only a few cars travelling the roads, like puzzled beetles confused by the fog. The prudent drivers were at home, staring at the tube or playing computer games. The occasional house light they passed was only a blur against the spider’s web of fog.

  Again they heard noises; ghostly hints of activity, the scuffling of shoe leather against pavement, someone clearing his throat. A dog barked suddenly, viciously from behind a plank fence and they continued on their way. There was an eeriness to the night that Randy didn’t like, but the thought of $18,000 there for the taking in the mark’s pocket kept his attitude buoyant. The two stalking men moved on steadily, wisps of fog clinging to their dark clothing.

  Todd suddenly shot out a hand and grabbed Randy’s arm, halting him. He didn’t say a word, but stood listening intently to the small night sounds. Then the Greek jabbed a finger toward an alley mouth. They started that way, half-crouching without realizing it.

  Randy Cohan’s heart began beating very rapidly. He couldn’t catch his breath easily; he knew he was starting to hyperventilate. It happened sometimes when a job got too close, when the adrenaline took over. Randy glanced at Todd Kostokas. He could barely see the Greek’s face, but his movements were decisive. Todd was a stalking thing; a street animal. Just for a second Randy wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake letting Kostokas in on his scheme. He was a dangerous adversary; a troubling ally.

  Todd halted abruptly. Randy bumped into his shoulder.

  ‘There,’ Todd hissed and looking ahead, Randy could make out a weaving man. Their target: Eric Tucker.

  ‘Get him while he’s still in the alley,’ Kostokas said in a croaking whisper. He didn’t wait for Randy to respond. It was as if the redhead wasn’t even there; Kostokas may as easily have been talking to himself.

  The Greek started forward at a trot. His athletic shoes made sucking noises against the wet pavement. He was a squat, dark, feral thing in the fog. Randy dashed to keep up with him. He was still three steps behind Kostokas when he saw Todd lower his shoulder.

  Eric was turning toward the sounds of movement, but he was very slow in his reaction. Todd Kostokas slammed into Eric and he was knocked back against the wall of the adjacent building. Eric’s head crashed into the wall and he slid down to a sitting position. Kostokas hit him three times in the face, very hard.

  ‘Where’s the money?’ Kostokas demanded savagely.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Randy said. ‘We’ll have to search him.’

  Todd Kostokas was already doing that, turning Eric’s pockets inside out. Eric Tucker sat slumped against the wall, his legs spread, arms limp, unconscious. Blood ran from his nose and right ear where Todd had slugged him.

  ‘I can’t find it,’ Todd hissed. He had pulled the remainder of Eric’s loose cash from his trouser pocket and let it fall to the alley floor. There was ten, maybe twenty bucks there. It wasn’t worth fooling with.

  Todd kept glancing up the alley, toward the main street. The longer this took, the heavier his cop-paranoia was getting. He patted the lining of Eric’s jacket, finding nothing.

  ‘Look in his shoes,’ Todd ordered. Randy frantically ripped the shoes from Eric’s feet. He tore out the inner soles and then threw the shoes aside in frustration.

  ‘There’s nothing here,’ he told Kostokas.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Randy, if this is all for nothing.…’

  ‘The guy said he had it!’

  ‘Look in his underwear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Unzip his pants, goddammit! That much money, maybe he felt he should tuck it next to his s
kin.’

  Shakily, Randy unzipped Eric’s pants. He felt faintly deviant as he thrust his hand into Eric’s crotch, finding only soft, wrinkled flesh.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said with growing anxiety. Todd was going to go sky high if they didn’t find the money. ‘I don’t get this, the guy….’

  ‘Damn you, Randy!’ Todd said much louder than he intended.

  ‘Man, he said he had it!’ Randy protested.

  ‘Maybe he was like, keeping it in his motel room or something? Maybe you just weren’t listening,’ the Greek said coldly. ‘This sucks. Man, this really sucks.’ His hair was in his eyes, he was trembling with anger. Kostokas’ eyes rested on the old revolver lying on the asphalt, and he scooped it up. He cocked it and pointed it at Randy’s head.

  ‘Todd! No, man!’

  Todd pulled the trigger as Randy let out a shrill little squeak, his eyes wide and terrified.

  The hammer fell with a sharp metallic click. Nothing more. The pistol had failed to fire.

  ‘Todd!’ There was a different sort of urgency in Randy’s voice now.

  Todd Kostokas had seen it too – there was a light at the head of the alley. A car, maybe. Cops! Both men turned and started to run. Todd realized he still had the pistol in his hand. He turned and threw it at Eric’s head. His throw missed, but the gun hit the wall beside Eric, ricocheted back and struck his ear before it slid down onto his lap beside his open fly.

  The two would-be robbers took to their heels and ran on through the foggy night.

  Eric had been aware of what was happening for some time, but he was unable to do anything about it, and rode it out in feigned unconsciousness. There had been lights at the head of the alley, but now they were gone again. Todd and Randy were gone, and he was alone, battered and beaten in a dark, fog-shrouded alley that smelled of alcohol, piss, garbage and shit. He got to his knees with infinite care. His unzipped pants sagged to the ground. He wiped at his bloody face with the back of his hand. He felt like rolling over and dying, the pain was that bad, but it wouldn’t do to hang around. They might come back. Besides, he would not be deterred from accomplishing what must be done on this night.