Read Caught Stealing (2004) Online
Authors: Charlie - Henry Thompson 01 Huston
Caught Stealing (2004) (10 page)
I'm rolled up in a little ball, blinking up at them from the trunk they've just opened. After about an hour of me bouncing around in here, we stopped. I heard the doors open and close, then the lid popped open and there they were. The little one took off his hat and smiled.
-I'm Ed, this is my brother, Paris. Sorry about the ride.
It's bright out and I can see dozens and dozens of seagulls wheeling in the sky behind Ed's and Paris's heads. There is a terrific stink in the air. Ed puts his hat back on and reaches out his hand to me.
-Let's get you out of there.
I blink. I take his hand and let him help me out. My legs are cramped up and I almost fall over, but Ed catches me and holds me steady while I get my balance. Paris just stands there a few feet away and watches. We're in a landfill. We are way out in the middle of what must be a New Jersey landfill and there is no one in sight except ourselves and the seagulls. Paris reaches inside his vest, pulls out what looks like a vintage .45 Colt Peacemaker revolver and starts walking around the dunes of garbage, shooting rats.
-The Chink do that to you?
CRACK!
-Huh?
-Your face, the Chink do that to you?
CRACK!
-Uh, yeah. The guy with the red hair.
-Yeah, the Chink is a mean motherfucker. No doubt.
CRACK!
Every time Paris shoots a rat, his gun makes a nice firm crack that ripples across the landfill and sends any nearby seagulls leaping into the air. He's emptied and reloaded the revolver twice now and doesn't seem to be getting bored. Ed and I lean against the lip of the open trunk and converse.
-Paris and me, we met him, he was straight out of juvie. Crazy little fucker.
CRACK!
-Who?
-The Chink, the guy busted your nose there.
They know him. And why not? Why shouldn't goons know each other? All members in the goon union, no doubt.
-You know him?
CRACK!
-All of 'em, we know all of 'em.
-All of them?
CRACK!
Paris flips the cylinder on the revolver and dumps the empty shells onto the ground. He feels around in his pockets and, not finding what he wants, walks back over toward the car. Ed reaches behind himself in the trunk, finds something and tosses it to Paris. It's a full box of cartridges. Paris loads up and goes back to work.
CRACK!
-Sure, we know 'em. The Chink, Bolo, he's the Hawaiian-lookin' guy, those fucked-up Russian fags, and Roman. Now he's one zombie motherfucker. Yeah, we know all those cats, but we're really looking for our man Russ. You know Russ.
CRACK!
Ed is about five eight or so and has little bowling balls stuck in his arms where his biceps should be. He never turns his face toward me, just stares out in the direction of his brother, his eyes hidden behind his pitch-black sunglasses.
CRACK!
-I know Russ.
-Sure you do. No question 'bout that. But do you know where he is, where we might find him?
-He left a key.
CRACK!
The car is a Caddie. I'm not sure what year it is, but it's from the tailfin era. It's a black Caddie with monster fins and it rides like a dream. Paris has wheeled up out of the landfill and onto the road back to Manhattan. Ed sits in the backseat with me. He has the window on his side rolled down and the chill fall air blasts into the car as Paris winds it up past eighty on the speedometer.
-Nice ride.
Ed keeps his head turned toward the window.
-You want to drive it a little?
-No thanks. I don't really drive.
-You from California, you don't know how to drive?
-I know how, I just don't.
Paris has tuned in a classic rock station on the radio and Jimi is playing "Voodoo Chile."
-Can't argue with a man don't want to drive, but she drives nice if ya change your mind.
-Thanks.
Ed rolls up the window. He leans back into the far corner of the big bench seat, looks at me, and takes off his sunglasses. He's got sleepy brown bedroom eyes. Beautiful eyes. Crazy eyes. He exhales and gives a little grin.
-So the key was in the cat's box?
-Right.
-And you found it?
-Yeah.
-And then you got drunk and lost it?
-Right.
-That's pretty fucked up.
-Yep.
-And you didn't give it to Roman?
-I did not give the key to Roman.
-He wants it, though, don't he?
-Yep.
-You sure you don't have it?
-Yep.
-Give us that fucking key, you fucking motherfucker!
Paris has suddenly twisted around in his seat to scream this at me. His left hand clutches the wheel while he reaches into the backseat and tries to grab me with his right. I'm pushed as far back into the seat as I can get and his hand flails at the air inches from my face as the car begins to swerve out of its lane.
-Give us that fucking key or we're gonna kill your motherfucking ass, motherfucker! It's fucking ours! That fucking Russ, piece of fucking, backstabbing fucking piece of shit.
The cars around us are blowing their horns and trying to get out of the way.
-Hey! Hey! Hey!
Ed has grabbed Paris's huge right arm and is keeping him from taking hold of my face.
-Keep your eyes on the damn road!
Paris snaps out of it. Ed lets go of his arm and Paris turns back in his seat and gets the car under control. The flow of traffic settles down around us. Ed leans back into his corner and smiles at me.
-We need that key.
They all know each other.
-See, Russ had a very simple job.
We're seated at a booth in a diner just outside Jersey City. Ed and Paris are across from me, eating steak and eggs smothered in Tabasco sauce. I'm having ice water and staring at the sweating bottles of Heineken they both have in front of them. Ed is talking between mouthfuls of food and beer.
-All he was supposed to do was meet us somewhere with something. Instead he fucked around an' got a bunch a people looking for him.
-Uh-huh.
-Yeah. An' in the deal he also got you, his buddy, in some steep shit.
-Uh-huh.
Paris empties his beer, holds the bottle up in the air and waggles it at the waitress, signaling for two more. My mouth waters and I drink more water.
-What did Roman tell you?
-He said there was an object you all wanted and the key wasn't it, but it would do.
-True enough. If the key is what Russ left, it's what we want.
The waitress shows up with the new beers, sets them down, and leaves. Ed finishes his last bite of egg, pushes his plate aside, gets up and heads for the bathroom.
-I'll be right back.
Paris takes a huge swallow of his new beer, pokes at the remains of his steak, looks around to check for eavesdroppers and leans toward me a bit.
-I had a dream last night. I shot my dad. The fucked-up thing, I mean, shooting him was fucked up enough, but the fucked-up thing? When I shot him, he was dressed like a Nazi, like a SS motherfucker. And I shot him in the back.
He drinks more beer.
-Anyway, sorry I lost it in the car. I'm not like that. Really.
-No problem.
He sticks his hand out across the table. I take it and we shake.
-Sure you don't want a beer, something to eat?
-Yeah, but thanks.
-Sure.
Ed plops back down in the booth.
-Sorry about that. When ya gotta, ya gotta.
The diner is mostly empty, just us and a mixed bag of travelers. Under the table I'm silently clicking my heels together while in my head I repeat to myself over and over, There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
We cruise around Manhattan, Paris at the wheel. Ed tells me a story.
-When we were kids, me an' my brother, when we were kids we used to hang out at this Boys Club in Queens. We hated goin' there. Kids always wanted to fight, everybody, fightin' all the time. Me an' Paris, we hated fightin'. Every day, we'd tell our mom we didn't want to go, an' every day she'd tell us to get the hell over to the Boys Club an' let her get some damn work done. They had this wood shop; supposed to make things. All they got to make things with is wood an' old tires. No shit. Not even real wood, scrap shit fulla knots an' sap an' nails an' shit. You ever try to make something outa old tires an' scrap wood? A birdhouse? Bullshit, no fuckin' way. Kids, what they did, they'd cut long strips of rubber from the tires an' have whip fights up on the roof of the club. Go up there an' whale the shit out of each other. One day this kid, Dex, he gets Paris up on the roof, but Paris, he don't want trouble. Don't fuckin' matter to Dex. Him an' his friends, they go after Paris, they pull down his pants an' whip shit out of his rear end. Leave him up there cryin', snotty, blood all over his butt. I get him home an' our mom flips, wants ta call the club, call the cops. Tells us she's sorry, we never have to go back. Next day, we go right back. We go to the wood shop an' cut us some long-ass strips of steel-belted radial. Have to cut that shit with a hacksaw. Then we break off these little slivers of razor blade an' stick 'em in the tips of our whips. I find that Dex kid an' tell him I'll see him on the roof. He shows up with his boys an' before he can even open his mouth to start talking shit, I rake that whip across his eyes. Fucker went right down screamin'. His boys try to step up an' I just start whippin' all over 'em. Paris, he's all calm an' shit. He walks over to where Dex is on the ground holding his eyes in his head, yanks the boy's trousers down, an' cuts his ass up good. Dex's crew freak out, can't handle the action, so they bug out. But Paris just keeps the whip on Dex till he's pretty much dead. Once he stopped, we were both a little worked up, I guess, knew we were in trouble, but we didn't really know what to do about it. So we just dragged Dex over to the edge of the roof an' rolled him off. Kid was so bloody, he actually splashed when he hit the ground. That's how we ended up in Montana at one of those juvenile camps. Take troubled inner-city youths an' put them in the great outdoors an' make 'em work? That shit. But, man, was it beautiful. Plains, mountains, Big Sky Country. Coulda spent my whole life there. So look, Hank. It's Hank, right?
-Yeah.
-So, what this is about, your role. When we didn't find Russ at home, we decided to take a peek at Roman, see what he's up to. An' what he was up to was you. So we took a peek at you. Followed you to that place on the West Side. Thought we'd take you for a ride. Got it?
-Sure.
-So now, the thing is, Hank, we need that key. I figure Roman, he told you that he'd do something bad if he doesn't get the key, right? Kill you, hurt your people, whatever, right?
-Right.
-But you get him the key, he'll just leave you alone, right?
-Right.
-Well, fuck that, 'cause I guarantee you that zombie fucker's gonna kill you key or no key. That sound about right?
-Yeah.
-So, me an' Paris, this is the deal with us: We don't get the key, we're gonna kill your ass, no doubt. Kill your ass an' your family an' your ancestors, kill your fucking house plants an' all that shit. Right?
-Right.
-But you give us the key, not only are we gonna leave you breathing, but we're gonna give you a nice piece of change. Sweet, huh?
-Sure.
-Know why we're gonna give you a nice piece of change?
-No.
-'Cause after you give us the key, you're gonna help us set up Roman and the rest of his fucking freak show. Then we kill 'em an' they won't be no trouble for us or you or no one ever again. Sound good?
-Good.
-All right. Now you take my card, you get the key, wherever it is, and you call me. Do it quick, Hank, an' everything goes back to normal. OK?
-OK.
-We let you off anywhere special?
-No. Anywhere's fine.
-Good enough.
Ed taps Paris on the shoulder and he pulls the Caddie over to the curb. I try to open my door, but it's jammed. Ed touches my knee.
-Sorry, that door's all messed. Gotta get out on this side.
He gets out on the curb and I slide across the seat and climb out. He reaches back into the car, pulls out my bag, and hands it to me.
He gets into the front seat, closes his door, and gives me a little wave and they drive off. I look at the card in my hand: Ed, followed by a cell phone number. I'm on the corner of 49th and Ninth. I walk about twenty yards down the street and into the first bar I see.
The kidney is an organ. It removes wastes from the blood. If your kidneys, or in my case kidney, is damaged and can no longer perform this function, you die. And yet, many people live long healthy lives with only one kidney because they love and nurture and respect that kidney. One of the best ways to disrespect your last remaining kidney is to raise your blood pressure by engaging in any of a number of activities, including excessive drinking.