Killing Them Softly (Cogan's Trade Movie Tie-in Edition) (12 page)

Barry took a short stride backward. He stepped forward on his left foot and brought his right knee up fast. It caught Trattman on the mouth. There was a cracking sound. Trattman's head snapped up. His body, still in a crouch, sagged off to the left.

Barry grabbed the lapels of Trattman's coat and pulled him up. He leaned Trattman against the car. Trattman kept his head down. He cried. He spit blood and pink material from his mouth. He raised his head. He had closed his eyes. His nose and mouth were pulpy and covered with blood. Some blood and pink material were on his coat.

“What's this thing you didn't have nothing to do with, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman moved his head once to the left and once to the right. He extended his tongue, then retracted it, tracing the tip of it along his lips. He lowered his head and spat blood and pink material on the pavement of the parking lot.

“He don't answer,” Barry said.

“Must be there's nobody home or something,” Steve said.

“Maybe I better knock again,” Barry said. “Make sure.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“
No
,” Trattman said, uttering it in a high voice as “Mo.”

“Shut up, you fuck,” Barry said. He hit Trattman very hard, twice, in the pit of the stomach. Trattman started to double over with the impact of the first punch. The second brought a rush of air from his mouth. Steve and Barry stepped back two paces, quickly. Trattman fell forward on the pavement and vomited half-digested steak and salad, and blood. He lay on his chest, his head resting on its left side. He breathed noisily.

“Whaddaya think, Steve,” Barry said, “you think he's through?”

“Better give him another minute or so,” Steve said. “He might have some more in him.”

Trattman, his eyes closed, expelled more vomit, blood and pink material from his mouth. It ran down his cheek to the pavement.

“Give him a try now,” Steve said.

Barry stepped forward. He picked Trattman up by the collar of his coat, at the nape of the neck. He leaned Trattman against the side of the LTD. Trattman's head lolled off to the left. His eyes remained closed.

“Who're the kids, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman retched and bled from the mouth and nose. He raised his right hand feebly toward his face. He touched his face lightly with the tips of his fingers. Slowly he shook his head.

“Can't hear you, Markie,” Steve said. “Who're the kids, Markie?”

Trattman explored the pulpy flesh around his mouth. He sighed. Tears came from his closed eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I,” he said, “they … I didn't …”

“He still says he don't know nothing,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “how about that?”

“Think he doesn't?” Barry said.

“Jesus,” Steve said, “maybe he doesn't, after all.”

“You can't tell about guys, though,” Barry said.

“I know it,” Steve said. “I heard about a guy once, somebody asked him if he knew a couple guys and he said he didn't. But you know what? He did.”

“Better ask him again?” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

Trattman screamed softly through his bloody lips.

“Pick a place,” Steve said, “you don't get all covered with stuff.”

Trattman moaned. His head lolled to the right. He got his eyes open as Barry stepped forward again. He saw Barry's right hand, closed in a fist, swing back across Barry's chest until the fist passed over Barry's left shoulder. He closed his eyes quickly and moved, jerkily, to his own left. Barry brought his fist back in a flat arc. The heel of his hand hit Trattman at the right hinge of his jaw. His head snapped fast to the left as the bone broke. His torso stretched upward and to the left, then sagged down. The back of his head hit the edge on the left rear fender of the LTD. When he hit the pavement he was lying on his left side, face up. His eyelids fluttered open, then closed. He gagged softly on something wet in his throat.

Steve walked up to Trattman and bent over him. “Markie,” he said softly, “you sure?”

Trattman moaned. His head shifted on the pavement.

“About the kids,” Steve said. “It's the kids, Markie, we're supposed to talk to you about. You sure you don't know who those kids are? You really sure?”

Trattman moved his head slightly.

“Because I got to be sure,” Steve said. “I really got to be, Markie, that's all there is to it. You make me stay here all night, me and Barry, making sure, I'm not gonna like it. And it's gonna be an awful long night for you, Markie.”

Trattman vomited suddenly, a small amount of pink material and blood. Some of it spattered Steve's shoes and the wide cuffs of his pants.

“You bastard,” Steve said. He stepped back quickly. He stepped forward quickly and kicked Trattman on the left side of the rib cage, near the belt. Ribs cracked. Holding his foot at an angle, Steve wiped his shoe on the skirt of Trattman's coat. Trattman gasped and moaned and sighed. “You cocksucker,” Steve said. He stepped back again.

“Whaddaya think, Steve?” Barry said.

“Get inna car,” Steve said. “Strikes me right, I'll back over the prick.”

As the LTD began to move, the taillights illuminated Trattman in red. Then he lay in the mist and darkness, breathing loudly and moaning from time to time. Then he passed out.

The LTD left the parking lot at the Hammond Pond Parkway exit.

On Route 9, eastbound, Barry said: “I hurt my fuckin' hand again. I always do.”

“Kiss it and make it better,” Steve said. “It'll be all right. That fuckin' Cogan, though. I'm gonna make him pay for these clothes that that cocksucker ruined.”

“Think we oughta get the car washed?” Barry said.

“I'm gonna,” Steve said. “Just be onna safe side. I'm gonna leave you off, and you take the gun, okay? There's a place in Watertown, it's open all night. I'll go there.”

“And then,” Barry said, “then where're you gonna go?”

“None of your fuckin' business,” Steve said. “Why, you wanna come?”

“I'm not gonna be able to sleep,” Barry said. “I always have to calm down some.”

“Tell Ginny you don't want no beer,” Steve said. “Have her give you some warm milk and stuff.”

“Fuck you,” Barry said. “Whaddaya think, though, about the guy? Think he knows?”

“I don't think,” Steve said. “Who the fuck wants to think about him? He's just a shit.”

“Well,” Barry said, “I mean, I worked him over pretty good.”

“Probably,” Steve said, “he probably knows.”

“He stood up pretty good, then,” Barry said. “If he does, I mean.”

“He's gotta stand up pretty good,” Steve said. “He knows what's gonna happen to him, he doesn't. He knows.”

F
RANKIE PARKED
the dark green GTO convertible in front of Amato's Driving School and got out. He wore tan flared corduroy jeans over Dingo boots, a white turtleneck and a doubleknit gray blazer. He locked the car and went inside.

“Well,” Amato said, “you still got a good ways to go, but you look a little better, anyway. And the hair's a lot better. You got too much of that spray on it there, though.”

“I don't spray it,” Frankie said. “I ain't no fuckin' queer. That's gel on it. The guy that cut it gave me the stuff.”

“Find another guy, the next time,” Amato said. “Also got yourself something to drive around in, I see.”

“I was never that hot for trolleys,” Frankie said.

“What'd it go for?” Amato said.

“Eighteen hundred,” Frankie said. “Plus the fuckin' sales tax, of course. It's in pretty good shape.”

“Things're a little better,” Amato said.

“Things're a lot better,” Frankie said. “I was out last night, me this girl, I had a place to take her and a car to take her to the place in. I got that thing? I had a little beef with the guy down to Probation, there. Can't understand it, I got to have my license back so soon. So I hadda tell my brother-in-law, I went back to get my stuff. ‘By the way, anybody asks you, you loaned me the money, all right?' So he looks at it. Dean's all right. I'm not asking no questions,' he says, ‘nothing like that at all. But I think you're doing better'n me, all of a sudden.' Yeah, it's really great. I was down the Probation
and the guy looks at me and he says: ‘Nice clothes.' I said: ‘Look, the last time I come in, you're giving me the hardeyes, I look like a bum. I figured you're gonna violate me for it, for Christ sake. So now I beat up on my family and get some dough and I finally look like something that didn't come in on a truckload of chickens, and now you're pissed about that.' Yeah, it's great.”

“Where're you living?” Amato said.

“Place in Norwood,” Frankie said. “Just a studio thing, the furniture was all in it. It's right on Route 1, though. But what the fuck if it's noisy, you know? The noise's all outside.”

“The fuck'd you go all the way out there for,” Amato said. “I would've thought, guy like you'd stay around Boston some place. I would.”

“Well,” Frankie said, “it's a little cheaper, you know? And, I know too many guys around right in town. My brother-in-law, for example, I hadda place in Boston, the first thing you know he'd want to be coming over all the time and using the place, and then Sandy'd get all pissed off at me and everything. And, I just thought about it and I figured, it's gonna be more of a hassle living there'n it's gonna be of a hassle to live some place else. The guy down Probation, he got all stirred up about that, too. ‘How come you're in Norwood? What're you doing there?' So I told him, guy I know's gonna give me a job there, how's that? Taking care of the building, and I get something off of my rent and everything and I can still get another job and stay out of trouble.”

“They check on that,” Amato said. “That's one thing they do check on.”

“And when they do,” Frankie said, “they're gonna call the guy and that's exactly what he's gonna tell
them. I'm a maintenance engineer for Hes-Lee Apartments.”

“Janitor,” Amato said.

“Janitor,” Frankie said.

“What's that pay?” Amato said.

“Well,” Frankie said, “it pays fifty, sixty a week. Only I don't think I probably oughta try and collect it very often, you know? The guy's, I told him I just got out of the can, and pretty soon I'm in talking to the head honcho, this big enormous Jew. It was his idea.”

“He's fuckin' around with his taxes,” Amato said.

“Yeah,” Frankie said, “or he's got a honey some place or something. I dunno. I don't give a shit.”

“So,” Amato said, “what
are
you gonna do, then?”

“Well,” Frankie said, “that's one of the things I come down, I figured I'd talk to you about, you know? See, I was thinking about some things and I was talking to Russell about some things and he was thinking about some things, but I didn't want to do anything, really, until we see. If things come out all right on that other thing. So, I hear, I hear they did. And I come down.”

“Trattman got the shit beaten out of him,” Amato said.

“That's what I mean,” Frankie said. “So I was wondering, you got anything else in mind?”

“No,” Amato said, “I really don't. You know how I know I don't? I stop down the Square in the morning. I go in, get the paper, see a couple the guys, maybe there's something going on. I always did that, before, and the minute I get out, I'm doing it again. I'm like them old guys you see, the first thing they do in the morning's go down and stand up at the bar and have coffee and anisette. Except I don't have no coffee or anything, and instead I get a newspaper. It's just a
habit. And, I been doing this for a long time, I always seen the Brink's, every Friday morning. Picking up the dough for the Armstrong factory. Since I was, what, since I was fifteen, probably. I used to do that when I was going to school. I played the dogs something fierce when I was in school.”

“Uh uh,” Frankie said.

“Well,” Amato said, “that's what I mean. How I know, I really haven't got anything. Because when I start thinking about that, I'm not thinking any more. Outside the barbut, no, nothing.”

“I still feel the same way about that,” Frankie said. “I personally don't think anybody could get past Billy's Fish before you had guys all over you. And that alley, that alley's narrow. I bet it isn't more'n three feet wide.”

“You went down there again, huh?” Amato said.

“I was down there the night, the night before last,” Frankie said. “I heard about Trattman. So, I wouldn't want to've been Trattman or anything, but I didn't feel
bad
about it, you know? Come out just like you said. I can't just sit around now. I got to get something else lined up. I was thinking, you know? And one of the things, the way guys get back in, they do something, and they plan it right and everything, and they do it and it works. And then they sit around. And then they run outa dough. And then they got to do something else, quick. And they do. And they get caught and they go away again. I don't want to do that. I'm not doing no more time.