The Weight Page 11

  When the waitress came over, I told her what I wanted. She answered on autopilot: “Got anybody special in mind, big boy?”

  “If I had my choice, it’d be you.”

  “For real?”

  “You’re the best-looking thing in this place, by far.”

  “Once, maybe. But I’m not a dancer, not anymore. We’re not supposed to … Oh, fuck it. What can he do, fire me? But could you go another fifty, hon? If I don’t give the girl who’s up there now something, she’ll tell the boss.”

  “A buck and a half?”

  “I know,” she said, kind of sad. “For that kind of money, you could get—”

  “A bargain,” I told her.

  She leaned all over me, whispered, “You won’t be sorry, I swear.”

  Then she told me to give her a few minutes, and how to find the room in the back.

  They had a guy posted on the other side of the curtains—maybe to make the girls feel safer. Long hair, cowboy mustache, dungaree vest. I guess he was supposed to be some kind of biker. Looked like a guy who threw weights every day when he was Inside, then stopped the minute he got out. From the size of his gut, I figured he must have been out for years.

  He eye-fucked me just to play the role, but his heart wasn’t in it—if he still had any left. I figured the girl had tipped him, too. Not to get me past Fatso, just so she could show off a little.

  And she was right. I wasn’t sorry at all.

  “So? You find everything you needed? At that loft, I’m talking about.”

  “Yeah,” I told Solly. “Thanks. You had it set up real slick.”

  He looked at me funny. Just for a second, but I caught it.

  “You don’t mind Ken’s daughter getting a look at you, right? I mean, we went over this. You might need to stay here sometime. Who knows how things are gonna go?”

  “Nobody,” I said. “Nobody knows.”

  “You believe that?”

  “Huh?”

  “By me, ‘nobody,’ that’s people. Not …” He pointed at the ceiling.

  “You mean, like God or something?”

  “There’s no God ‘or something.’ Either there is or there isn’t. A God, I’m saying.”

  “Okay.”

  “You got one?”

  “One what?”

  He took a deep breath. Let it out slow. “All I’m asking, it’s a simple question, Sugar. I’m not trying to get into your business. Some people, they get raised a certain way, it stays with them forever. Some trace of it, anyway. I knew a guy, Rico. He did contract hits. I even saw one go down.”

  I gave him my listening face. You can’t trip yourself up if all you do is listen.

  “Only reason I was there,” Solly told me, “it had to be out in public. No other way anyone was gonna get to the man who was on the spot. He lived in a fortress. Never went out without bodyguards. But, see, he had to go out. If he couldn’t show his face, the up-for-grabs stuff was all going over to the other guy.

  “Certain rackets, you’d think they’re all … transactions, okay? Like a whorehouse. You pay the money, you buy some broad’s time. Then you’re done. That’s all the customer ever sees. But what you need isn’t just customers, it’s the license to operate.”

  “You mean the cops?” I asked him.

  “Depends on how high-class the operation is. But that’s not what I’m trying to explain. If you want to open a house, you got to pay. Not some cop on the pad, that’s pennies. The big money goes to whoever owns the territory.”

  “Like that tax thing you were saying? Like with Ken?”

  “Yeah, like that, only this is regular money. Every week, every month, every year. The collectors aren’t leg-breakers. They’re just like the paperboys out in the suburbs. Toss the paper on your porch every day, come and collect once a week. But the paperboy doesn’t set the price for the paper, see? That all gets negotiated. And it’s never a percentage. It’s not like these places keep receipt books.

  “Now, this time I was telling you about, the time I saw a contract kill up close, it was over that kind of thing. Guy’s running a whorehouse, he knows he’s gonna have to pay someone. But he’s not gonna pay more than one.”

  I moved my head and shoulders a little, so Solly could see I was paying attention, but maybe not getting everything he was saying.

  “Look at it this way, Sugar. Paperboy knocks on the door. Woman opens it. He says he’s there to collect for last week. The woman says, ‘My husband already paid you for last week.’ What’s the kid gonna do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Here’s what matters: that woman’s not going to be paying that paperboy. See?”

  “Yeah. Two big players were in a war over who gets some territory. Maybe even new territory …?”

  “Right! Okay, now I’m on this bench in Central Park. Just an old man, reading his paper, taking the sun. At an angle across from me, there’s Rico. Him and this broad; you couldn’t really see her face, what with her hair being so long and those big round sunglasses.

  “Not that anyone’d be looking at her face. Whatever those implant things cost, this broad, she’d paid double. Probably why she couldn’t afford a bra.

  “The mark, he’s strolling down the path, big slabs of beef on each side of him. Going for an outdoor meet with a guy who’s supposed to be like a go-between.

  “The woman yells something at Rico in Spanish. Rico gets to his feet, like ‘I don’t fucking need this,’ you know what I mean? He turns like he’s gonna walk off, but then I see him cross himself, the way you see some fighters do just before the bell.

  “Before you could blink, Rico spins around and puts one in the boss’s head, drops one of the bodyguards, and he’s still spinning, like, when the other bodyguard opens up on him. Bang-bang-bang.

  “Close-range, but the last bodyguard, he’s—I don’t know—scared, maybe. Anyway, he misses. Rico, he don’t. Even runs over and blasts the boss a couple more times in the face, probably in case the guy was wrapped.

  “Everybody’s screaming, ducking for cover. A kid on a bicycle swoops in, takes the handoff from Rico, and keeps rolling.

  “I look up, the girl is gone. Disappeared. It was a beautiful piece of work.”

  “Expensive, right?”

  “Had to be. But what I’m trying to tell you about Rico: how’s a guy, does what he does for a living, think he’s not going straight to Hell when his time comes?”

  “You mean, being a Catholic and all?”

  “He’s no more Catholic than I am,” Solly said. “But he was raised Catholic—see what I’m telling you? That crossing himself, it’s just a habit. But one he can’t break.”

  “Maybe he thinks it’ll bring him luck.”

  “Sure. Maybe he throws a wad in the collection plate once in a while, too. It don’t matter what Rico believes. What matters, you see Rico cross himself, you better start shooting.”

  “I don’t have those.”

  “Those …?”

  “What you’re talking about, it’s not a religious thing, right? It’s a tell.”

  “You got it,” Solly said. Smiling at me like he was a teacher giving me an A. “Habits, they’ll kill you. Like smoking. I don’t mean that lung-cancer bullshit, I mean, say, if you’re holed up in a little town. People looking for you. They know you got to be close, but that’s all they got. Okay, so they figure Sugar, he’s too smart to be going out shopping himself. Must have someone doing it for him. Probably a broad. If they know you smoke a certain brand, that could be enough, right there.”

  “I … guess so. Maybe. But it seems like a—”

  “That’s just an example. Say you light up while you’re waiting to do a job. With what they got today, just the butt can put you right at the scene.

  “That’s what you got going for you, kid. All anyone knows is that you’re reliable. You’ll do the work. And if you get caught, you’ll take whatever weight they drop on you.

  “Tha
t scar”—Solly touched his own eyebrow—“you could make it disappear with stuff you could buy in a drugstore. Yeah, you’re a big guy, got a body on you. But there’s a million guys fit that description, no offense. And sure, you got those two different eyes, but that’s an ID thing. You don’t have a trademark. No way the cops look over a crime scene and say, ‘Yeah, this had to be Sugar’s work.’ ”

  “This is about Jessop, huh?”

  Solly was just starting to open his mouth when Ken’s daughter walked in.

  “Oh, Mr. Vizner! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Well, my nephew just came in from out of town.”

  I stood up. The girl looked at me, but she didn’t jump back or anything. Her face was … I don’t know what you call it, but you could see she was one of those kids. When she smiled, it was like the whole room got brighter. Then I remembered. Down syndrome, I think they call it. I knew about it from a TV show this girl I used to stay with watched all the time. The boy on that show, he wasn’t a baby—like a teenager, I think. He had that, too. And he was an actor.

  “My name is Jerome,” I said, and held out my hand.

  “I’m Grace,” she said. Even her voice was like that kid’s on TV. “Did you know my dad, too?”

  “Yes, I did. Not as well as … my uncle here, but we worked together a few times. He was a …” I was stumped for the right word, but she just waited, like she knew I’d get it, sooner or later.

  Then it came to me. “Your father was a truly honorable man,” I told her. “Everybody had respect for him.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I miss him a lot. But I know he’ll be waiting for me. In Heaven, I mean.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Mr. Vizner, do you want me to—?”

  “What’s with all this ‘Mr. Vizner’ stuff? What happened to ‘Uncle Solly’?”

  “You said not in front of other people,” the girl said. She wasn’t mad, just saying it.

  “I did say that,” Solly told her. “I’m a stupid old man.”

  “Don’t you say that!” Her big eyes filled up.

  “Ah, Grace. What I meant to say is, it’s my fault, that’s all. I thought, with my nephew here, you’d know it was okay.”

  “But he’s not your nephew, is he?”

  “Why would you say that, child?”

  “I guess because he doesn’t look a bit like you, does he?”

  “Don’t you remember, that time we had dinner? You, me, and your dad? Remember what he said? ‘Who’d ever think an ugly mug like me could have such a beautiful daughter?’ ”

  “Oh, Dad always said stuff like that. But he was just teasing. He was very handsome.” She turned to me: “Don’t you think he was?”

  “A very handsome man,” I said.

  “See, there!”

  “I give up,” Solly said. “I know when I’m beat.”

  The girl smiled again. That smile, I never saw one like it before. It was like a … blessing.

  She kind of floated out of where we were sitting. I could hear her in the kitchen, putting things in the refrigerator.

  I waited until I heard the girl go into one of the other rooms and close the door behind her. I guess she was going to study, like Solly said.

  “I’m not a hit man,” I told him.

  “This I asked for?”

  “I been thinking. About the way you broke it down and all. Something’s not right.”

  “What do you know, something’s not right?”

  “Solly, I have to be a fucking genius to see through glass? The five years are up. For me, I know. And for you, too, never mind that fairy tale about being down in Florida. Maybe you went, maybe you didn’t … but you didn’t stay. And, knowing you, I don’t think anyone could prove you even left the state at all.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  That surprised me, him giving it up so easy. I expected more, but I could tell—if I wanted more, I was going to have to ask for it.

  “Okay, what?” I said to him.

  “Okay, you’re right. So here’s what you’re thinking: even if this Jessop got popped tomorrow, and even if he wanted to roll, he’s got nobody to roll on. Except Big Matt, I suppose … but that’s his problem, not mine. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “Good. Then just listen for a minute. Listen good, Sugar. I’m not … I’m not responsible for this Jessop. Just for you and Big Matt. The guys I brought in. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Now, Albie, he’s responsible for Jessop. Only, Albie, he’s not around.”

  “So tell Big Matt—”

  “Tell him fucking what? There’s a guy named Jessop who could maybe blow up his whole life? Tell him this guy could reach out from his past and destroy his future? I should tell him, maybe that baby he’s waiting on, that kid’s fifteen years old before he ever sees his father, except maybe on Visiting Day?

  “I should tell him his wife’s gotta put the kid in some day-care place, go out, and get a job herself? ’Cause you know the law’s going to be sitting on her forever, waiting to see some sign of the money. Want me to go on?”

  “No. No, I get it.”

  “If you ‘got’ it, you wouldn’t be telling me you’re not a hit man. A hit man, that’s a guy who kills for money. Plenty of them around. But it wouldn’t cost me a cent, I wanted this guy done. One call to Big Matt and …”

  “I know.”

  “But it’s not that simple. This Jessop, he’s probably rock-solid. Wouldn’t even think about giving anyone up. No way he even knows where Big Matt is, anyway.”

  “So why don’t you just let it go?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m smart enough to follow orders, but not smart enough to understand them?”

  He looked at me. Straight and hard, like he was boiling-over mad, but keeping a lid on it.

  “Let’s look at it the way Albie would have. Can we do that? Yeah? All right. Try this: Albie doesn’t know you. Not even your name. So, if his guy, this Jessop, if he comes back, says it went fine, Albie wouldn’t expect him to hang around. But he’d know where to find him, he had to.

  “Next thing would be, Albie gives me a call. Only, this time, there’s no answer. Then he gets the word. I’m dead. Not killed—that would be different—just, you know, dead. Natural causes. You with me?”

  “Yeah,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure I was.

  “Okay, so what does Albie do then?”

  “I don’t—Ah, wait a second. You’re saying Albie, he’d have to go and find me. And Big Matt, too?”

  “At last!” Solly said, just short of ranking me.

  “Not find us to … do anything. Just to be sure we hadn’t done anything.”

  “Now you’ve got it, Sugar.”

  “So you, like, owe your friend?”

  “My brother, more like. That’s how close we were. And I owe him the same as he would owe me, it went the other way.”

  The girl came in so quiet I didn’t realize she was there until she said, “Uncle Solly, would you and Jerome, would you like some apple juice? You know it’s good for you, and—”

  “That would be lovely, sweetheart,” Solly told her.

  Ken’s daughter. I never thought of him having a kid. A house. Stuff like that.

  Solly, he never stops thinking.

  Only Solly, maybe he was more than just a thinker. If he hadn’t been lying about that war, he’d killed a lot more guys than any hit man I ever heard of. And not for money.

  It was what he didn’t say that I heard the clearest. Some things, they just have to be done. Taking out this Jessop, that wouldn’t make me a hit man. It would make me what I always wanted to be: a good thief. And a good thief always cleans up after himself.

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  “I knew you were the real thing,” the old man said, showing me teeth.

  I was working on getting back to things everybody does, like getting up whe
n the alarm went off. What I mean is, the alarm I set, not those damn prison gongs.

  But I hadn’t even bothered to set the alarm last night; I knew I couldn’t do any of the things I wanted to do until the afternoon, so I just slept in.

  I’d filled the refrigerator with protein shakes and power bars, stuff like that. I’d picked up a lot of vitamins, too. I don’t really know much about them. A young guy in the health store, he picked most of the stuff out for me.

  He didn’t know he was doing that, I don’t think; just assumed he knew what I’d want. Which was a good thing, since I didn’t want to be asking a lot of questions. You do that, people remember you. I even let him sell me a set of dumbbells for traveling … the kind you fill with water.

  I didn’t really have any special taste for that powdered stuff, but it was what guys who power-lifted were always talking about. And I figured that woman downstairs, she’d be nosing around, sooner or later. I wanted it to look like I really was what it said I was on those business cards.

  “It’s always better you don’t try looking like something you couldn’t be,” Solly said. “Nobody’s gonna buy you’re an accountant, but you don’t have to look like a thug, either.

  “So forget the fancy suits. Get a nice leather jacket—a nice one, I’m saying. Go to Bally on Madison, spend some money. Clean pair of jeans, good sneakers. Not like the kids wear, like … you know, athletic shoes? Simple black ones. There’s a store a few blocks from Bally. Mephisto. All they sell is shoes, and they’ll have what you need.

  “And a white shirt. Not a stiff one, like mine,” he said, holding out his hand so I could feel his cuff—it was like a smooth-faced brick. “Silk is best. No custom-made stuff, just off the rack. A good rack, though. You wear a shirt like that, no tie, under that leather jacket, you’re good to go.”

  “Okay,” I said. I’d lived a lot of years without stuff like that, but Solly, he was setting up jobs before I was born.

  “Next, you get yourself another leather jacket. Heavier one. Pair of work boots, steel toes. Scuff ’em up so they don’t look new. Lose the good shirt, wear a pullover. Now you’re a guy who works with his hands for a living. Between those two looks, that’s all you’ll ever need.”