Red Baker

by Robert Ward

  “No shooting,” I said. “No way. I can get up behind him.”

  “Yeah, that’s the way I figure it myself. There’s trash cans there, big green dumpsters. You come out from behind, whack him, grab the dough, and split. The whole thing should take twenty seconds.”

  “What if Joey or one of the other boys are there backing him up?”

  “They won’t be. Vinnie’s such a cheap fuck he doesn’t like to pay more than one guy for working late Sunday night.”

  We both had a laugh at that one.

  “But what if they are?” I asked.

  “Look, nothing is a hundred percent certain,” Choo Choo said. “But I’ve been casing this place for five months, and they’ve done it this way every single time. One guy, that’s it. Look, Frankie’s a macho fuck and probably tells Vinnie he can handle it all by himself. Plus Vinnie thinks he’s such a king shit that nobody would dare fuck with him. He’s never been hit either there or at the Paradise or any of his card games. Never. He’s gotten soft and careless.

  “He always was soft,” I said.

  “Yeah, and we’re going to hit him right in his nuts. Now, after you and Dog get the money, you drop the car off over on the Edison Highway at Lane’s Used Car Lot. Just leave it there. I’ll be there to pick it up. We go back to the apartment, split up the dough, and that’s it.”

  “You’re there alone, right?”

  “Yeah, forget Blazek and the others. I already got rid of them.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “Hey, it is good. It’s going to work like a Swiss watch. You want some dessert?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.”

  “Aww, come on. Let’s have an amaretto and some peach pie.

  Goddamn, I love this place, Red. They keep up the standards, you know?”

  • • •

  The night after I talked to Vinnie I went home and sat alone in the living room for a long time. I wanted to think it through, be straight about it all, come to some kind of logical decision. I even got out a piece of paper and a pen and wrote “Pros” on one side and “Cons” on the other, the way Wanda does when she’s trying to make up her mind on something important.

  But I didn’t write one word pro or con.

  I just sat there, feeling the loss. Ace and Wanda and Crystal, and Dog too almost as gone as Billy Bramdowski.

  I kept thinking of going up for a jump shot over some defender’s head, the ball arching out of my fingers and me knowing, knowing it was going to go in.

  I thought of picking up trash down at Harborplace—trash thrown away by people with money, who could afford to splurge on the fast food they served down there or who bought those “New Baltimore” souvenirs, like the red pillows that said “Maryland is for Crabs!” on them.

  And I remembered the parking garage, swirling down deeper and deeper, the breath being sucked out of me.

  I knew there was more to it all than this. It wasn’t enough to just let these pictures flash through me. I had to think about what I was doing, but after a few more whiskeys it was just all one long blur.

  The bottom line was I had to have money, or we could never start again.

  Choo Choo was a sleaze, but he wasn’t any dummy. He had it figured, he’d done his homework.

  I started talking out loud to myself, the way I used to do before tip-offs in basketball games. “You got it. It’s going to work. It’s like Choo Choo said. A walk.”

  Pretty soon I had myself pumped up. Maybe there’d even be more than fifteen in there. And Vinnie. Taking off Vinnie.

  That was nice. Very nice.

  I sipped my drink. I felt a calm come over me. I wasn’t shaking at all when I picked up the phone and dialed Dog.

  Through the snow-covered trees we could see the lights of Mona Lisa Pizza glowing under the black sky.

  I sucked in my breath and looked over at Dog, who sat behind the steering wheel, his .38 lying in his lap and both hands holding his blue ski mask. He had on his black leather jacket, levis, and black rubber boots.

  I looked down at my watch.

  “Five minutes,” I said. “I got to get behind those trash cans. You all right?”

  “The Dog is in an excellent mood,” he said. “Your flashlight battery working?”

  “Yeah, and as soon as you see it, get your ass around there, all right? I don’t want to freeze to death with all that cash in my hand.”

  “Hey, don’t worry, compadre. You know I’ll be there.”

  I reached over and gripped his arm, and he smiled and nodded to me.

  “Red, I owe you for this.”

  “Cut the shit. I wouldn’t be here with anybody else.”

  “You got nothing to worry about. This here car runs like a top.”

  “It’s going to be a walk,” I said, slipping the mask over my head.

  Dog did the same, and we looked at each other and almost lost it.

  “Got to get those eyeholes straight,” I said. “Been practicing all week.”

  “You look like one of them skiers on ‘Wide World of Sports,’” Dog laughed.

  “Three minutes, man. Just be there.”

  “Move it, Red. See you soon.”

  I held the gun in my right hand and got out of the car and made it through the ten feet of trees that cut us off from the parking lot. I took my time getting through there, remembering that three minutes is a long time. We’d done a practice run only one night ago, and it took less than a minute to set up behind the garbage cans.

  Dog and I had discussed all that for four days, and both of us had decided that the longer we had to wait, the more chance for bad nerves to set in.

  Do it, and do it fast. Don’t wait, and don’t think too much. Like popping in a twenty footer. Nothing to it.

  I had my black wool sweater and dark pants on and black high-top basketball shoes, my old Celtics models. I knew the path and stayed away from the slushy spots and the low-hanging branches, which could cut up my face. In forty seconds I was out there, crouching low behind the dumpster, which gave off the rotten odor of sausage, rank pepperonis, and day-old anchovies. That was another reason for cutting it close. I didn’t want to blow lunch as Frankie came out the door.

  Two minutes left, and I looked at the Mona Lisa, with its big electric imitation sign of that strange smiling lady. Vinnie Toriano, art lover.

  I looked back through the woods and couldn’t see Dog’s car, and yet I felt cool as could be expected because I knew he was there. The same night I told him about the job, he’d looked physically better, like old times. I know it was partially my imagination, but just having this, knowing he was trusted with it, had brought the color and the life back into him like nothing since the day we’d been laid off.

  He’d be all right. He’d be there. That was good to know.

  But I still had to pull it off, and I looked at Frankie’s car, not four feet away from me. That was the tough part. Coming up behind him, on the fucking ice, and not slipping and falling on my ass.

  And not crunching it up either, which was why I’d worn the sneakers.

  I crouched, looking at the watch. Forty seconds to go, and Christ let him be on time. The wind whipped across the parking lot, and I adjusted the ski mask again and looked at my gun, the .38 special that Choo Choo had copped for me.

  “Let it go smooth, Lord,” I said. “Let it go smooth.”

  Then I saw the light go out in front. And heard the big oak door open, and I knew he was coming out; I sucked in the cold air and took a step forward, just a small one, so I could see around the trash can.

  There was the sound of his footsteps coming across the gravel, and I ran my tongue around my freezing lips, forgetting that I had on the ski mask and getting a mouthful of lint for my effort.

  He was walking toward the car now, I could see him plainly, and I prayed to God he didn’t look straight ahead because I was in his line of sight.

  But it was all right. He didn’t look worried or cautious at all.
He came around to the driver’s side and reached in his overcoat pocket for his keys, and as he stuck them in the door I made my move.

  The footing was better than I had any reason to hope for, and in a second I was on him. He heard me though, started to turn around, and said, “Hey, what the fuck?” But what with his keys and the money sack in his hand, he was in no position to fight back.

  I smashed him on the back of his head with the gun, and he sagged to his knees. I hit him again, and he grunted and went over on his side.

  I reached down and grabbed the canvas money bag from his left hand and his keys from his right and threw the keys into the woods. There wasn’t much chance he was going to get up for any movie chase heroics, but I wanted to be sure.

  Then I reached into my pocket for the flash, aimed it at the trees, and gave two quick blinks.

  I heard Dog start the engine, and then from behind me there was a voice I knew as well as my own.

  “All right,” Henry said in his high-pitched squeal. “Drop the gun and don’t move.”

  I turned and looked at him standing there, dressed in his court jester outfit, royal purple cotton bloomers that billowed like two sails in the wind.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Old Vinnie is going to give me quite a raise for this.”

  He moved toward me, holding his shotgun right at my stomach.

  “Let’s just see who’s under that mask, pal.”

  He didn’t get a chance to say much else. Dog came screaming around the woods and pulled into the parking lot.

  Henry’s fat face went white with panic, and he turned the shotgun on the car.

  I could have shot him dead right then. I should have. I know it. I should have put a bullet right in his head.

  But it was fucking Henry, whom I’d known almost as long as Dog.

  Dog saw the situation clearly, and he didn’t hesitate for more than a second. He got out of the car and kept his gun out of sight.

  “Both of you don’t move,” Henry said. “Vinnie warned me about you boys. The Carruchi brothers, huh? We seen you casing this place. But you boys can’t outsmart Vinnie. Now we’re going right back inside the Mona Lisa, and I’m calling the boss. Move!”

  I looked over at Dog, who shrugged as if this was okay with him.

  “Henry,” I said. “It’s not the Carruchi brothers. It’s me, Red.”

  “Red?” Henry’s voice went up about two octaves.

  “Yeah. Look, Henry, you can’t turn us over to Vinnie. He’ll crucify us. You let us walk out of here, we split with you.”

  Dog took a step closer. I could see the gun in his right hand, held just down behind his leg. He was still a good fifteen yards away.

  “Red Baker?” Henry said.

  “Yeah, you asshole. Red Baker. Look, we got to get out of here. You turn around, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “I can’t do that, Red,” Henry said. “I’m working for Vinnie. I told you the other night. I’m his new security guard.”

  I thought of what Choo Choo said. Vinnie was probably paying him half of what Joey would have gotten. The cheap fuck.

  Dog took another step closer, and Henry aimed his gun at him.

  “Who’s that under there? Who is it, Red?”

  “Don’t matter,” I said. “You just got to turn around and walk back in there. I’ll give you a little tap on the head, and you can say we ambushed you, just like we did Frankie. Vinnie can’t hold that against you.”

  Henry kept swinging the gun back from Dog to me. His legs were trembling, and his pants looked like they might float him away.

  “I can’t do that, Red. I’d lose my job. What the fuck else am I going to do?”

  “You won’t lose your job, Henry,” I said.

  I looked down at the ground. Frankie wasn’t moving, but he’d come around soon.

  “We’re leaving, Henry,” I said. I took a step toward Henry, still holding my gun at my side. “There are some heavy people behind this, Henry. You say anything and you’re in deep shit, you hear me?”

  “I got to take you in, Red. Wait, I know who’s under there. That’s Dog? That you, Doggie?”

  “Yeah,” Dog said. “Let us give you a little tap on your head, Henry. It won’t hurt much. You won’t need the job when we split with you.”

  “I can’t do it,” Henry said. “Vinnie trusted me.”

  “Vinnie wouldn’t trust his fucking mother,” I said, taking another step toward him. “Come on, now. Before Frankie wakes up.”

  “No way, Red. You got to come inside. I got to call Vinnie.”

  “Henry,” I said. “Listen—”

  But it was too late. Dog had lifted his gun from his hip and aimed it at Henry. Just as Henry swung the shotgun back toward him.

  “No,” I screamed. “Wait—”

  The sound was strange. Dog’s revolver, like a pop, with the silencer on it, and Henry’s shotgun blasting away, a huge red spark blowing from its barrels. I saw them both fall, Henry staggering and then falling down on his face while Dog was blown back onto the hood of the Chevy.

  “Jesus God.”

  I ran to Dog, who lay in front of the Chevrolet. Quickly I opened his coat, and there inside was leather and strips of plaid wool and this huge fucking hole where his stomach should have been. He was moaning and clung to me tight.

  “Help me, Red.”

  “Don’t worry, Dog,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

  I grabbed him and started dragging him to the car, but the blood and his stomach were trailing out behind him, and I reached down and tried to stuff it all back in.

  “Dog, Dog,” I said.

  “Fucked up, man. Oh, Red … It shoulda been Vinnie.”

  “It’s going to be all right, Doggie,” I said, opening the door.

  “No, Red,” he said, grabbing me. His eyes were huge, and blood poured from his mouth. “Never lie to the Dog, babe. Get the fuck out of here, man.”

  “No way. Help me. You got to help me get you in the car.”

  But then he started to jerk and spasm, and he grabbed onto my neck and hugged me tight, and I said his name over and over again, I don’t know why, until he was still.

  “Dog,” I said. “No, no …”

  I held him close to me, cuddling his great, battered head in my arms, and I wanted to take his gun and put it in my own mouth, I swear it.

  Instead, I ran over and took my gun butt and bashed Frankie on the head again and picked up the money bag as lights came on down the street. I ran from Frankie to Henry, who lay on his back, his purple jester’s pants blowing around his waist.

  Dog’s aim had been true.

  The bullet had gone straight into his head, just above the right eye.

  Then I picked up the money bag and ran to the Chevy. I wanted to take Dog with me, but there was no time now, and I only looked down on him lying there with his arms spread open on the asphalt.

  “Good-bye, Dog,” I said. Then I jumped behind the wheel, peeled out of the parking lot, turned the car down Fort Avenue, and headed out toward the Edison Highway to meet Choo Choo at the lot.

  We got the biggest tree we could find down at St. Luke’s that Christmas, a Scotch pine, full all the way round, with a good stem at the top for the old glowing star which Wanda and I had bought about ten years ago and which every year we debated about throwing out or hanging on to for one more year. Wanda always talked me into keeping it, and this time I didn’t put up much of a fight. I was just so damned glad to have them back, I didn’t want anything to screw it up.

  What happened was that at the Mass for Dog I’d almost lost it. I got through the Latin part just fine, but when the Father started in with his speech about how Dog was a “loving and good provider, a beloved neighbor and friend,” I felt like someone had put wires in my arms and legs. I wanted to leap out of the pew and scream, “It was me! I was his best friend and I got him killed.” But just then Wanda grabbed my hand, and I held on to her tight, sagging in my seat.

 
; She, Ace, and I went to the funeral together, too, along with her mother Ruth. We stood together and saw Carol and her girls, and all the guys from down the plant, standing there stiff like prisoners of war. And off on the side, leaning on his car was Choo Choo, just watching, not saying a word.

  On the way home, riding down the snow-covered streets, I began to think it was like Easter a long time ago, Wanda and me and Dog and Carol heading to Hausner’s. Dog would give Carol a box of marzipan candies, which she loved, but which always made me sick even to smell. I remembered biting into them, and I thought that guilt was something like that, some oversweet candy that you could never spit out, and I wanted to stop the car and wash my mouth out with snow.

  When we arrived at Ruth’s, I expected them all to get out and go inside, but instead Wanda walked Ruth to the door, and after whispering something to her, she came back down the steps and got inside the car.

  “Let’s go home, Red,” was what she said, and so I drove the three of us back to Aliceanna Street.

  • • •

  The night before Christmas all three of us decorated the tree, and there was a lot of too polite discussion about which balls would look best hanging from which branches and how far away to space the lights. Wanda even found time to bake some peanut butter cookies, something she hadn’t done in maybe three years, and I made a good stiff eggnog, using more whiskey than I ever had in the past, and then immediately worried: would Wanda think I was drunk and that this was just a way of camouflaging the beginning of a gigantic holiday bender? But she didn’t say a word and drank as much as me, and we even let Ace have more than he should have. By the time midnight came, the tree looked better than the big one they had down Harborplace. Everything had come together just right, and we were damned proud of it and just stood there together, touching each other, sipping the eggnog, and commenting on what a fine job we’d pulled off.

  In other words, things were as tense as hell. I finally tossed down two quick whiskeys in the kitchen to slow down my heartbeat, which was out of control.

  In past years, when we were finished decorating the tree, we’d meet with Doggie and Carol and the kids, and go up the church to sing carols. But that was out of the question now. Just thinking about Dog’s smiling face and his offkey bass sent chills down my back. I was afraid Wanda and Ace would suspect something, but they were real understanding about it.