by Norman Green
“Voices in the background?” Tuco asked.
“Yeah, but far away. Can’t make out the words.”
“Probably hit a button by mistake,” Tuco said. “Who was it?”
She looked at the little screen. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“It was Jack.”
“Lemme listen to it.” She handed him the phone and he held it to his ear, but he couldn’t make out any words, either.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Think you ought to call him back?”
“Tommy and my father already tried to reach him,” she said. “Besides, my father said no more calls unless it was an emergency.”
“I guess we leave it alone, then.”
“I don’t like it,” she told him. “I got a funny feeling.”
“Call him back, if you want.”
She shook her head. “I think I’m gonna do what they told me to do, for once. He can always call me.”
Prior called her a short time later, at almost exactly four. Marisa jumped, but Tuco didn’t react to it right away because Marisa’s phone had been ringing off and on throughout the afternoon. She had been very quiet, most of the day. He left her alone, respecting her silence.
“It’s him,” she said, looking at Tuco. He was sitting on the counter in the kitchen in the McMansion in Alpine, New Jersey. “Are we ready?”
“Are you ready?” he asked her.
She nodded, pushed the button, held the phone to her hear. “Hello?”
Tuco listened hard, he could hear the caller’s voice but couldn’t make out the words.
“Yeah? You missed me? How much did you miss me? You liar…I’m not there anymore. I went back to the Jupiter Club. Because I’m not a perfect angel. Besides, I got tired of Dylan. He was rude and he smelled funny. Why don’t you give me the money you were gonna pay him, you and I can open a new place. We’ll call it ‘Fallen Angels.’ Probably do a lot more business. Anyway, I like the Jupiter, that’s where I’m at now. I’m dancing tonight. Yeah, tonight. I don’t know what time, there’s a lot of girls here tonight. Maybe in about an hour.”
Marisa wasn’t sticking exactly to the script Stoney had written for her, but Tuco wasn’t worried. He figured Marisa was smarter than any of the others realized, and she probably knew better than any of them how to play Prior, and besides, there was only one more thing that it was critical for her to say.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” she said, and Tuco could see her changing, becoming a different creature right there in front of him. He could see it in the way she stood, the height of her chin, the set of her lips. “Because I’m busy, that’s why.” She glanced at Tuco and colored slightly, turned away from him. “Maybe I don’t need your money,” she said. “And no, I don’t care. Well, it’s the truth. Wouldn’t you rather know the truth? No? All right, I’ll lie to you, then. Is that what you want?” Tuco realized that his fists were clenched, he was gritting his teeth, and his whole body was rigid. He made a conscious effort to relax.
“Let’s do it over the phone. No, right now. Right now. Where are you? In your car? Where, in your car? Oh, in the city…Is anyone with you? No? Well, have your driver swing down the West Side Highway and get off by the Lincoln Tunnel entrance, you can probably pick up a girl down there. She can get you off while you talk to me. No? You don’t want that?” She took a few steps away, turned, came back, but she was into it now, Tuco had the feeling that she didn’t really see him anymore. “Well, I don’t know how I can help you, then. Hey, can’t you close the privacy glass in the car? Nobody can see you then, right? Go ahead, then, close it. Okay, now strip. Stop being a jerk, or I won’t talk to you anymore. Strip, I said.” Her voice had taken on a commanding tone. “Are you doing it? I’ll wait. Yes. I said I would, didn’t I?” She turned away again, paced slowly over to the kitchen window, turned, came back. “Yeah, I’m still here. Okay, tell me, then. Tell me. Is that right? Is that what you want?”
Tuco felt homicidal, he was sorry this was all taking place over the phone, he was angrier than he had been since the night he left his mother’s house. He gripped the edge of the counter he was sitting on, feeling his hands around Prior’s throat.
“Wait,” Marisa was saying. “Wait. Hold up. Yes, you can, you can stop. Because I have to ask you something first. Are you ready?” Tuco watched Marisa’s face. It was costing her to do this in front of him, he realized that, but then it dawned on him that she wanted Prior as bad as he did. And maybe she wanted something else, too. Maybe she wanted to see if he would treat her any differently after seeing her do this…. He could see in her eyes that she had reached the best part, the part when you’ve got the knife out, you know you’re going to stick the guy with it, and he hasn’t seen it yet. She glanced down at the piece of paper lying on the kitchen counter.
“Wayne?” she said sweetly. “That’s who you really are, right? What kind of a name is Plotnik?”
The voice coming through the tiny speaker on her telephone got louder then, but Tuco still couldn’t make out any individual words. Maybe there weren’t any….
“Oh, I thought they were your friends,” she said, her voice dripping with phony concern. “They told me they’d missed you so much, they were going to throw you a surprise party. Besides, they told me you’ve got money stashed in a safe-deposit box, and they said I could keep it. I guess they have to give all the rest of your money back to whoever you stole it from.” She looked over at Tuco, mouthed a silent question: “Okay?”
He nodded.
“Hey, fuck you, Wayne,” she said. “I hope they get you.” She snapped the phone closed, ending the call, and turned away, head down, shoulders slumped. Tuco hopped down off the counter.
“You were perfect,” he said.
She crossed the space between the two of them, wrapped herself around him, and buried her face in his chest. “Thanks,” she said, and she held him for a long time. Tuco didn’t say anything, he just held on to her, breathing her air, feeling her heat and her strength. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she finally said. “I want to wash my mouth out with soap.” She released him. “Will he do it? Will he go to the Jupiter?”
Tuco looked at her, thought of how completely her face, her voice, and her touch filled his head. “That’s his choice. If he’s smart, he’ll run,” he said. “But I’m betting he’ll be there.”
The Town Car headed west across Manhattan. Tommy had his car radio tuned to a news station so that he could listen to the traffic reports. Just catching one or two of them rarely did you any good, but if you caught three or four in a row, sometimes you could hear news of a tie-up in time to figure out an alternate route. It was too late in the day to get a trouble-free ride out of Manhattan, for that you had to hit one of the bridges or tunnels no later than three in the afternoon. Sure enough, some putz got a flat tire on the lower level of the George Washington Bridge, and when he got out of his car to look at it, he got pranged by a passing car. Police, ambulance, and tow trucks were en route to the scene, but the George was done for, all of the outbound approaches were backing up already. The domino effect was going to mess up the Lincoln Tunnel as well, Tommy knew that, but they were close to the Lincoln and they could probably beat the crowds. Tommy wondered if Prior’s driver was smart enough to have caught the news, and when they hit the West Side Highway, it did look, for a moment, like Prior was going to head downtown toward the tunnel entrance. Out-of-towner, Tommy thought, watching as the black car seemed to think about heading south, but then turned north toward the bridge instead. So much for that, Tommy thought. He relaxed, reaching for his phone. No chance Prior would be able to lose him in this…
It turned out not to be that bad, after all. The Town Car, with Tommy’s Mercedes a half-dozen cars behind it, made it all the way up to the sanitation plant before they ran into the tail end of the backup, and even then it wasn’t horrible. Traffic never really stopped, everyone crept along, so it looked like the accident was
only going to add a half hour or so onto the commute. Miraculous, Tommy thought. He followed the progress at the George on the radio. The Port Authority handled the whole thing with unexpected competence: cops, tow trucks, and an ambulance from the Fort Lee side of the bridge got to the site in minutes. A short time later, they had both cars yanked off the bridge, with the first driver on his way to the hospital and the second guy on his way to jail for driving under the influence of a controlled substance. The radio announcers reacted with appropriate shock and affront, amusing Tommy. Yeah, sure, he thought. Like you’ve never done it…
Prior surprised him by taking the second exit on the Jersey side, the one that dumped you onto the local streets in Fort Lee. Tommy followed, uncomfortably close now, with only one car between his Mercedes and the limo. Prior’s driver turned right at the stop sign, and the next driver turned left, leaving no one between Prior and Tommy. This is not good, Tommy thought, and he hung back as far as he dared. The limo headed into the little warren of one-way streets that lay just north of the bridge, and Tommy lost sight of them for a moment. He came out at a stop sign, turned right just because it was easier than going left, and he was driving past a crumbling motel when he caught sight of the front of Prior’s Town Car as it parked in the motel lot. He couldn’t stop, he had to keep going, and he thought it was just as well, anyhow, he didn’t want to risk raising Prior’s hackles by following too close. He went around the block, pulling into the underground parking lot of the office building that was off to one side and slightly behind the motel. The lot was just below grade, and a row of openings along ground level let in some light. Tommy left his car in the first empty spot and walked over and stood in the dark space just to one side of the opening closest to the motel. He could see Prior walking across the lot. The man was briefly lost to view, but he was just climbing the stairs to the second floor, because he reappeared on the balcony. Tommy had to move to a different opening to get a better view, but it seemed to him that Prior went into the last room on the second level. He didn’t stay long, he came back out in little over a minute and headed back to his car. Tommy hustled back to his Mercedes and exited the lot. Due to the one-way streets, there was only one way Prior’s car could go. Tommy found a place to park and ducked down as the limo passed him by. He reached for his phone while he waited for the Town Car to get a reasonable distance ahead of him.
“Tuco,” he said. “Whattayou do?”
“Nothing, Tommy,” came the answer.
Tommy told Tuco the name and location of the motel, as well as the underground parking lot of the office building next door. “Listen,” he said. “All you gotta do is watch, okay? Keep Marisa out of sight. It’sa the last room onna top, inna front. Just see, anybody’sa go in or out. Okay?”
“Yeah, Tommy, no problem. We can probably be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Good. Don’t do nothing, okay? Just watch. I would do it myself, but I gotta stay on Prior.”
“Okay. It was just Prior that went in? Where’s his guards?”
“One driving. I’ma no see the other guy.”
“Okay. What am I watching for?”
“I’ma no sure. But it’sa don’ fit, him stopping here in this place. Stay outta sight, see what’s gonna happen.”
“Okay, Tommy.”
TWENTY-THREE
Stoney paid his money at the door, signed his name on the form the doorman handed him, half listened to the man’s spiel about his signature verifying that he’d joined a private club. The sweet smell of stale beer and sweat that washed out through the doorway compromised his attention. “I’m sorry,” he said to the guy. “What did you say?”
“Doesn’t matter,” the guy told him. “Just a new wrinkle in the cabaret law. All it means is that the girls can take it all off now, because this ain’t a public joint. You got to be a member to get in.”
“How about that,” Stoney said. “Since when?”
“Couple days,” the guy said. “Another week, tops, and they’ll close the loophole.”
“And then your lawyers will have to find another one.”
The guy shrugged. “That’s business. Change or die.”
Inside, it was the same old thing, flat black everywhere, spots on the half-moon stage, muted lighting everywhere else, bar with mirrors and a wall of bottles behind it against one wall. The dim room was about half full, the crowd ranging from hard hats in jeans and work boots to coiffed and manicured suits. A couple of half-naked girls worked the room, you want to buy me a champagne cocktail, honey? Lap dances in the VIP room in the back, baby, and you know you want me…. Stoney made his slow way across the room and found a spot at the far end of the stage. A sound system with blown speakers blared fuzzy disco music, obliterating all other sounds.
Stoney watched the waitress, she was short, stocky, strawberry-blond hair, midtwenties. She wore white terrycloth shorts and a flimsy halter top. She had a black leather fanny pack fastened loosely around her waist, and she carried a tray in one hand. The fanny pack tried to work its way down over her hips as she walked, taking her shorts south with it, and every now and then she would stop and tug them back up into place. Just part of the show, Stoney thought. She came over, stood by his elbow, and waited. “One Diet Coke,” he said. He had to shout to be heard, she had to lean in to hear him. “Just one, okay?” He handed her a fifty. “Keep the change.”
She looked at him and nodded. She understood. Bring me the drink and then leave me alone.
On the far side of the stage the dancer up on the stage was baiting one of the patrons. He was a young guy, sat at a table with three other guys, they all looked like construction workers. He and the dancer carried on a shouted conversation that Stoney could not hear. The dancer was a butch-looking female, brush cut dark red hair, Oriental tattoos on one arm, very muscular. She was down to a string bikini bottom and the ever-present garter, and she gyrated slowly to the music, she never stopped moving as she continued her exchange with the young man. It looked like she was challenging him, she sneered at him, held out one hand, curled her fingers as she undulated slowly, come on, come on…One of the club’s bouncers hovered uncertainly in the background. Finally the young man stood up, red-faced, to shouts and cheers from his friends and the surrounding crowd. The bouncer took a step closer, but the crowd pushed back away from the kid, giving him room. He dropped to the floor, assumed the push-up position, then raised one hand and put it behind his back. When he was sure of his balance, he looked up, watched as the butch stripper did the same.
Stoney had to smile. One-handed push-up contest. The kid nodded at the redhead, dipped to the floor, pushed himself back up. Everyone in the place shouted “One!” No way the kid wins, Stoney thought, he’s probably in decent shape, but he’s a little heavy, and the redhead was ripped. “Two!” The count went on until it got to seven. People were standing around the kid now, Stoney could no longer see him, but apparently he faltered. His friends howled and jeered at him, and the redhead began cranking out repetitions in quick succession. She quit when she got to twenty, a ragged cheer went up, and the men went back to their tables. About half of them paused to pay their respects, and the stripper nodded to each one as she accepted the money they proffered. The kid was last, he acknowledged defeat to a smattering of applause, counted out the bills he had wagered. She squatted in front of him, held the garter out from her thigh, snapped it shut on his money, and blew him a kiss. The push-up contest had been as close to real as the two of them would ever get, he knew it and she knew it. That understanding robbed the whole transaction of whatever sexual tension might have otherwise been present, because everybody knew you were never going to score inside the Jupiter Club. It was funny, really, everyone came to watch naked women dance, but when you got right down to it, the place was all about masturbation and the lies men tell themselves.
The redhead stood up, turned her back, untied the bikini strings at her waist, and slowly pulled the scrap of fabric between her legs and tossed
it aside. She mooned the kid she’d beaten once, then moved on. Show’s almost over, Stoney thought, she’s got nothing left to take off…. She worked her way across the width of the stage, milking her admirers for whatever she could get. Stoney half rose out of his chair when she got to him, slipped a twenty in with the rest, nodded his respect. He didn’t know how many one-handed push-ups he could do, but she hadn’t looked like she was slowing down when she hit twenty.
Someone slipped into the chair behind his, the redhead glanced at the guy but he wasn’t forthcoming, so she stood up, waved to the crowd, and walked off as the music ended, pausing to gather up the discarded bits of her costume.
Stoney sat back down, half turned to look at the new guy. It was Prior, or Plotnik. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on at Wartensky’s, but now he had a silver pistol to match the jacket. “Eyes front,” he said, holding the jacket open just long enough for Stoney to see the gun he held in his right hand. “You just keep your eyes on the bitches.” Stoney shrugged, watched as the redhead waved good-bye one last time and went behind the curtain. Yeah, honey, he thought, you are beautiful in your own way, but I’m sorry it came to this. You look smart enough to have figured out a better gig….
He heard Prior’s voice in his ear. “Who are they? Where are the shooters?”
“Don’t use ’em.”
“Yeah, sure. All right. Whoever they are, I hope they like you, because if anybody moves on me, I’m taking you out first.”
“Relax,” Stoney told him. “My partners love me.”
“They’d better. It was me, right? It was me all along you were after. There’s no hedge fund, no XRC takeover.”
“Sorry,” Stoney said.
“You fucked up, you should have taken me down at that place in the city. You had your chance, and you blew it. I should have seen it coming. I should have known, especially after I had to take care of those two, earlier,” he said. “You had people poking into my business. They yours?”