by Norman Green
“Yeah,” Stoney said.
“You gotta take better care of your people than that,” Prior said. “You guys suck, you know that? Better men than you have tried…. But that Chinese kid, he was fucking good, man, he really got under my skin. Fucking little bastard…” He looked around. “Is she here?”
“Who?”
“You know who, that skinny little bitch that set me up. Brother, when I’m done with you, I am gonna fuck her raw…. You can believe that.”
Stoney sighed. “Yeah, she’s here.” Onstage, someone stood behind the edge of the curtain. The music kicked in again. “She’ll be out after this one, I think.”
“Shut up and watch,” Prior said. “Eyes front.”
The new stripper was called Tiffany. She looked much younger than the redhead, and she couldn’t dance a lick. She looked lost, slightly dazed, fragile. Her blond hair shone bright over her pale skin. She was coltish on her high heels. She wore a frilly, lacy, feathery negligee, and she took her time with it, fumbling with the buttons as she wandered across the edge of the stage, staring out over the heads of the men watching. They were into the second song by the time she got the thing off, dropped it to the side, and writhed awkwardly in a filmy bra and panties.
Stoney shifted slightly in his seat, just enough to get a feel for what Prior was doing. Thought so, he told himself. The guy was rapt, Tiffany looked exactly like Prior’s kind of girl, beautiful, but too young to know anything. Still the guy had that pistol in his right hand, hidden under his jacket, and there was no way Stoney could make a move. Stoney caught a glimpse of Prior’s bald driver leaning against the bar.
She lost the bra first, walked around topless for the space of another two more songs, then she stepped out of the panties. There was a G-string under those, and she gyrated around in it for a while before finally taking it off. She began accepting money at the edge of the stage, taking it from the men watching without looking at them, seemingly as disinterested as if she were selling newspapers. When she got to their end of the stage, she squatted down and looked directly at Prior. “Hi,” she said.
“Hey, sugar,” he said, his voice hoarse. He handed a C-note to Stoney. “Pass it up to her,” he said.
“Hey, wow, thanks,” she said, smiling. “Thanks a lot.” She stood back up then, stooped to grab her clothes, then paused to wave before wandering back behind the curtain.
Prior switched the gun to his left hand, stuck it into his jacket pocket, and jabbed Stoney in the back. “I’m not waiting any longer,” he said. “We’re gonna go backstage, and that little whore better be back there. Get moving.”
Stoney got up, made his way slowly across the floor toward the bar. There was a corridor at the far end of the stage, it led back past a couple of restrooms to a gray door with a sign proclaiming AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Behind them, the music stopped and the bartender’s voice boomed out of the PA system as he announced the next dancer. The waitress came up the corridor behind them, tugging her shorts up. “Hi, guys,” she said. “You gonna hit the VIP room?”
Prior nodded in the general direction of the bar. “Yeah,” he said. “I talked to the guy at the door, Mac. He said it would be okay.”
“Hey, whatever,” she said, and she reached past the two of them and jerked the door open, held it for them to precede her through. “Mac makes the rules, I just carry the drinks.” Prior jabbed Stoney again, and the two of them walked through the doorway. They both stopped when they saw Tiffany standing there. She had the pieces of her costume in one hand, and she was wrestling with one of her high heels with the other. “God,” she said. “I hate these freakin’ shoes.” She looked at Prior. “Did you come back here for me?”
It was just about dark when they got there. Tuco parked the Beemer in an empty spot in the parking garage Tommy had told him about. The spot was marked RESERVED, and that was the sort of thing that would normally bother Tuco, but it was closing time and the building’s occupants were all going home. He did wonder whose spot it was, though, and decided that he would move without protest if the rightful owners showed up. Why do you worry about this crap, he asked himself, but he knew that he was funny about certain things. He liked to know that he belonged, that nobody could come along and tell him he needed to get out.
The motel was, by then, just a dark shape against the flickering backdrop of the flood of headlights streaming by on the George Washington Bridge. The darkness hid most of the motel’s more distinctive features, but it seemed obvious to both of them what kind of place it was. “What a dump,” Marisa said.
“Yeah,” Tuco said. “Two stars in the Fleabag Gazette.”
She didn’t laugh. “Tell me again why we’re here.”
“Tommy said he was tailing Prior back from the city, and the guy stopped in here for a couple of minutes. Tommy said he went into that last room on the top, down by the end.”
“So what are we supposed to do, sit here and watch the motel-room door? What good will that do?”
“Listen, the first thing we are supposed to do is keep you out of trouble.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Save Marisa from herself.” They sat and watched in silence for a few minutes. A few more people from the office building came downstairs, got into their cars, and left. As far as Tuco could tell, none of them appeared to give the Beemer a second glance. “We don’t know what Prior was doing here, or where he went when he left, am I right?” Marisa said.
“No, we don’t. He probably headed for the Jupiter, looking for you, but we don’t know that for sure. Maybe he stopped here to buy coke or something.”
She shook her head. “Drugs are not his thing, he’s a kink. Did he have both of his guys with him?”
“Tommy said it was just Prior and his driver, the bald guy. We don’t know where the other one is.” Tuco looked over at her. She looked like a dog that smelled a stray cat. She was leaning forward in her seat, peering out at the darkened building, a scowl on her face. “What?” he said. “What is it?”
She sat there on point for a minute before she answered him. “You guys don’t know what a shit Prior is,” she finally said. “If he stopped in here, he had a reason for it, he didn’t come to look at the wallpaper. And we don’t know what happened to Jack, either.”
“He went home. Isn’t that what everyone decided?”
Marisa did not look convinced. “He would have told someone,” she said.
“You think so?”
“I think he would have said good-bye. And then there was that strange voice mail he left me.” She lapsed into silence. About five minutes later, a figure appeared at the balcony railing, down at the end, by the room they were watching. It was impossible to tell, in the dark and at that distance, who it was. Seconds later, a match flared.
“Cigarette,” Tuco said.
“Yeah,” Marisa said. “Something’s up, Eddie. Is there a way to kill that dome light?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“The car’s dome light is gonna go on when I open this door. I wanna go see who that is.”
“Hey, no way,” Tuco said. “If anything happens to you your father will kill me.”
“We can’t just sit here, Eddie.”
“Marisa, your father said—”
“Fuck that,” she said. She opened her door and got out.
Tuco jumped out of the car and got around in front of her, spreading his arms out to stop her. “Marisa,” he said. “Come on. You gotta be kidding me.”
“Eddie, why do you think Tommy asked us to come down here? We need to have a look in that room.”
“Listen, Marisa, your father—”
“My father is not here. And if he was, you know what he’d do, he’d go up there and check that room out.”
“Yeah, okay, but he’d make you wait in the car.”
“Eddie, I’m going. I’m just gonna go see if that’s Prior’s guy. His name is Dwayne, he’s the guy who tackled you in the Jupiter p
arking lot. So get out of my way.”
“You think I can’t stop you?”
“I think you won’t. Come on, you know I’m right. Dwayne is one sick piece of shit, and if Prior left him here, something bad is going on up in that room. There’s no one else to do this, they’re all busy. It’s up to you and me, Eddie.”
“Whatever happened to doing what they told you to do?”
“Let’s not go crazy with that.”
He dropped his arms, admitting defeat. “Jesus Christ.”
“Look, stop worrying. If we go along that retaining wall by the street, he won’t even know anyone is there. We’ll go down to the end, and you can boost me up high enough to see over the wall. Okay? And if it’s not Dwayne, I’ll come back and sit in the car, I promise.”
They did it just like she said. He helped her climb up onto his shoulders, stood there holding her, thinking how light she was. Behind them, the occasional car rolled past on the street without comment. After a minute she jumped down. “It’s him.”
“Shhhh.”
“He went back in. Come on.”
“Hold up.” She surprised him by stopping to listen. “This guy is not the kind of person you can sneak up on in the dark. I think he’s too good for that. We go up there in the dark and wait for him to come back out, that’s exactly the kind of thing he’d expect.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Yeah.”
The motel office had the sharp, sour stink of a man who had not bathed in a long time. The guy behind the front desk did not even look at the two of them, he just took the money Tuco gave him and slid a key across the counter. “Gimme a room on the second floor,” Tuco told him. “Down at the end.” The guy pulled the key back, substituted another one without comment. Marisa turned to go, and the guy watched her rear end until Tuco caught him doing it, then he turned away.
It seemed like forever. Marisa had told him it would be twenty minutes, tops, before Dwayne would come back outside for another cigarette, but Tuco could swear he’d waited at least an hour before the guy finally reappeared. Exhaling in relief, Tuco stepped around the corner at the end of the balcony and walked slowly in the direction of the orange glowing end of Dwayne’s cigarette. He stopped once, halfway down, leaned out over the railing to peer at the number on the little plastic tag attached to his room key, then continued on his way. He stopped at the second-to-last door and tried to look confused, looking at the door and then at his key. He turned and looked at Dwayne, visible now in the light coming through the open door to the motel room. He took a tentative step in Dwayne’s direction and glanced through into the room. He could see the front end of a chair, with two denim-clad legs fastened to the chair legs with thick white plastic cable ties, the long ends sticking out. The feet were bare.
“It’s my room, shithead,” Dwayne said, and he stepped into Tuco’s line of sight so that the legs were no longer visible. “Get lost.”
“They musta give me the wrong key,” Tuco mumbled, and he tried to peer around Dwayne.
“Hey,” Dwayne said, “Hey, wait a minute. I know you.” He took two steps toward Tuco, reaching for something at his belt line behind him. He came up with a revolver and aimed it at Tuco’s face. “You were with that little bitch at the Jupiter the other night.” He reached his thumb for the hammer.
Tuco raised his hands. “It wasn’t me,” he said, trying to sound drunk and scared. It wasn’t hard. “I never seen you before in my life, I swear it.”
“Bullshit. I remember you.”
Tuco’s mouth went dry, and suddenly it became very hard to breathe. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. You took one chance too many, he thought, and he wondered how much it was going to hurt when the bullet hit. He could hardly hear Marisa in the background. She had slipped up the stairs behind Dwayne. “Hey, asshole,” she said.
Dwayne half turned to look behind him and the hand holding the pistol followed him around, and for a moment the revolver pointed out into the night, east, in the general direction of Washington Heights, the New York City neighborhood on the other side of the Hudson River. I should make a grab for that thing, Tuco thought, but his body was not yet ready to listen to instructions.
Marisa was holding a three-foot piece of galvanized pipe, the kind plumbers use to run gas lines. Tuco could see the muscles in her upper arms as she swung it, not like a ballplayer, but like a golfer, and the end of the pipe caught Dwayne’s gun-hand forearm midway between wrist and elbow. The pistol went flying out of his hand, out into the air and down over the railing to the parking lot below.
Dwayne bellowed in pain and rage as he turned to lunge at Marisa, completely ignoring Tuco. “You fucking little whore! I am gonna fucking kill you!” Tuco felt mildly insulted. The connection between his mind and his muscles reestablished itself, and he leaped at Dwayne, grabbing the man by his hair and his belt. He heaved him out over the railing, not stopping to think that the man’s pistol was down there somewhere, too, and that it might not have been his best option….
He needn’t have worried. When he went to the balcony railing to look over, he could see Dwayne on the tarmac below, his head twisted up underneath his body at an impossible angle. Dwayne’s legs and feet were thrumming rapidly in the manner of someone having a seizure, but after a minute, they went still.
Marisa was already inside the room. “My God, Jack, what did they do to you?” By the time Tuco got to the door, she had just finished removing the sheet that had been wrapped around Harman’s head.
“I’m all right,” Harman said, but he didn’t sound it, he sounded weak and shaky. “Cut me loose, but watch where you put your hands. Don’t leave any prints.”
“Should I get you some water?”
“No!” He sounded a little stronger. “No, stay out of the bathroom. Just get me loose, we can stop somewhere on the way.”
Marisa told him that Dwayne usually carried a knife, so Tuco looked for it while she went for the Beemer. Once he had the knife, Tuco went back up and sawed through the tough nylon cable ties that held Harman fast, then helped Jack to his feet. Harman was heavy and his entire body shook badly, but Tuco got him up and together they made it down the stairs. Harman hit his head on the roof of the Beemer as he lowered himself into the passenger seat, but he barely noticed. “You gotta put Dwayne in the trunk,” he said. “We can’t leave him here.”
Tuco didn’t know why not, but he didn’t question it, he went and did it as Marisa got into the backseat. A moment later, they were moving. “Shit,” Tuco said, slapping his pants pocket. “I forgot to leave the room key.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Harman told him. “Head north. Next town up, they got a park, down by the river. There’s a boat ramp there, should be empty this time of year.”
Tuco waded out into the freezing water, pushing Dwayne’s lifeless body in front of him. He got out waist-deep, out where he could feel the current tugging at him, he stopped there, and he pushed Dwayne out into deeper water. The man’s body hung just beneath the surface, hardly visible at all as it floated slowly south toward the bright lights of the bridge. Tuco stood there for a minute, watching it go. The body began moving a little faster now, as the currents pulled it farther from the shore. Could have been you, just as easy, Tuco thought. He took the motel key out of his pocket, wiped it off, tossed it as far out into the river as he could. He turned to head back to shore, saw her darkened outline. She stood ankle-deep in the Hudson, waiting for him. She embraced him when he got to her, wrapped her arms around him, and when she kissed him, his resistance melted, he felt that old feeling again, the one he thought had been lost forever. God, he thought, I’m jumping off this cliff, this one right here, please don’t let me hit the ground too hard….
“We have to go,” he croaked, as soon as he had the chance.
“Eddie,” she whispered, her mouth up next to his ear. “Tell me you feel it, too. Tell me it’s not just me.”
“You had me almost from the beginn
ing,” he said, feeling the shape of her back underneath his hands. “I been so afraid…. I didn’t think I should say anything. I didn’t think, you know…” She buried her face in his chest, her body shaking. He wondered if she was crying, and why, but then, just as suddenly, she was squeezing him with a fierce and surprising strength.
“My parents are gonna freak,” she said.
“Not if we do this right,” he said. “Come on, let’s go.”
Prior stood in the hallway, behind and slightly to one side of Stoney. The door swung shut behind him. The hand holding the pistol was inside one of the pockets of his silk jacket. He stared at Tiffany, who smiled and stared back. The look on her face said, “Friendly, but only two numbers in my IQ, neither of them a nine.”
“No, miss,” he said. “We didn’t come back here for you, but that does sound very nice. Do you suppose we could use a private room for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” she said, cheerful as hell. “But I come with the room. Package deal, you know what I’m saying? House rules.”
“Oh, of course,” Prior said, and he poked Stoney in the back with the pistol, prodding him forward. “We’ll be more than happy to pay whatever the charge might be. Plus something for yourself, of course. Where’s the room?”
“Straight down the hall,” she said. “On the left. I think they’re all empty, it’s early, yet. Would you like me to go arrange something for us to drink?”
“Yeah. Champagne, I know they love for you to sell that, right? So get us a couple of bottles. Just give me ten minutes to finish up a little business with my friend, here.”
“Okay. I’ll go find the waitress.” She bounced off down the hall.
“You heard the lady,” Prior said, after Tiffany was gone. “Up ahead, on the left.”
The room had apparently been decorated by the same guy who’d done the rest of the club, but there was a couch, a couple of hard chairs, some posters on the wall, a large square of industrial carpet in the middle of the floor, a large-screen television. Prior stopped Stoney just inside the door, held his pistol at Stoney’s head while he patted him down with the other hand. “On the couch,” he said, after he finished. Stoney complied, and Prior pulled one of the hard chairs over and sat in it, facing him. He returned the pistol to the pocket of his jacket. “Did you think this scam was really gonna work?” he asked.