SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense (21 page)

CHAPTER 39

Since the Oak Lawn Police confiscated Trick’s last two ounces of cocaine, there wasn’t much to do but collect money from his customers. So he spent the day gathering as much cash as he could. It wouldn’t be enough to appease the Mexicans and not even close to paying Starnes back. Trick sat and looked at wads of bills in his open glove compartment and thought. The money he collected wouldn’t do him any good if he were back in prison. It would be even less helpful if he was dead. He purposely missed his meeting with his parole officer and knew he could be locked up again any day now, any hour. He knew what he should do with the money.

Driving south on Cicero Avenue, Trick saw the Latinos’ Oldsmobile 98 pull out of Hot ‘n Now Hamburgers as if waiting for him to come by. He wondered how they knew he was in a different car now and floored it, darting in and out of traffic when the Olds sped up behind. Horns blared as Trick swerved back and forth between lanes dangerously close to other vehicles. He looked in his rearview mirror to see the four gang members keeping up with him. Accelerating to eighty miles an hour, he looked around for police cars. A minivan changed lanes in front of him and Trick hit the brakes. With the smell of hot tires and grinding brake pads heavy in the air, he swerved, gripping the steering wheel hard, trying not to lose control. He couldn’t stop in time and pulled to the left, bouncing over the median and into oncoming traffic. His glove compartment popped open, spilling cash onto the floor and passenger seat. Reaching over and slamming the glove compartment shut, he cut back into his own lane of traffic, almost clipping the front end of the Olds.

Someone screamed at him from an open car window. He couldn’t make out what they were yelling and didn’t care. He floored it again, zigzagging in and out of traffic. With his neck muscles aching from tension, he slammed on the brakes just after he flew through the yellow light at 147th Street and did a U-turn, bouncing over the median. Gunning the engine, he ran the red light, narrowly missing a Fasano pie truck that was heading west.

With the Olds now sandwiched in traffic at the red light, Trick nodded to the driver as he drove past. He continued north on Cicero and pulled into the Crestwood Police Station, parking in the rear of the lot behind rows of other cars. He stuffed handfuls of cash in his pockets, got out, locked his car and circled around the back of the building to 138th Street. He walked the short distance to Lamon Avenue and went south past the dead-end, cutting through the half-bare trees and shrubs. Twigs and leaves crackled under his shoes, high tension lines hummed as he passed under them in the drizzle. As he approached the dead-end side of Leonard Drive, he saw the coffee-colored Olds circle around from Char Lane. He ducked behind a gathering of damp smelling saplings, crouched in the wildflowers and waited. After they pulled off Leonard and onto the Midlothian Turnpike, he ran as fast as he could to Ginger’s apartment building and pushed the buzzer.

“C’mon, Ginger,” he pleaded into the metal-framed intercom, “answer.”

A garbled voice asked, “Who is it?”

“Ginger, it’s me.” Trick huddled under the canopy with his collar up. “Please let me in.”

She looked out her living room window, then asked, “Where’s your car?”

“I can’t explain. Buzz me in!”

After racing up the stairs, Trick’s hearing dimmed. Then his vision started going black as he braced himself against the door jam in view of the peephole.

Ginger opened the door scowling. “What are you doing here? I just got out of the shower.” She held her terrycloth robe together with one hand and put the other up to shield her face. “I don’t even have my makeup on yet.”

Trick felt light-headed and leaned against the door frame breathing heavily. He took a moment to compose himself and rubbed his eyes. “You look cute without all that makeup, like the young lady I first started going out with.” He thought he saw a hint of blush on Ginger’s now gaunt and sallow face.

“Patrick’s not here. He’s spending the night at his friend’s house.”

“That’s all right. I wanted to come by and give you some money.” Trick stood in the doorway feeling dizzy and put his face in his hands. “Can I sit down?”

“Of course.” Ginger led him to the living room sofa and sat next to him. “What’s the matter with you? I never saw you like this.” Her abrasive manner turned to one of concern. “You’re so pale.”

“Things just keep going from bad to worse. Damn it.” Trick pounded a fist on his leg. “I just wanted to be a good father to Pat. But I screwed everything up. Screwed up my whole life.” Trick pulled wads of cash from various pockets and dumped it all on the coffee table in front of them. “Not sure how much is there. Got to be at least fifteen grand. Why don’t you get away somewhere with Pat?”

“I can’t just take off.” Ginger looked at the money, reached for it then pulled away. “What about Pat’s school? Where am I going to go?”

“I don’t know.” Trick rubbed his temples. “I can’t think.”

“You don’t look good. You’re shaky.”

“I’ll be all right. As long as I know you two are safe.” Trick held his hands out and watched them tremble.

“Can I get you something? A glass of water?”

“Something stronger. What’ve you got?”

“Bourbon … but it’s 3:00 in the afternoon.” Ginger waited for a reply that didn’t come. She studied Trick, who was now sitting with his head back against the sofa cushion, staring up at the ceiling. She left the room and came back a few minutes later with two rock glasses of Wild Turkey on ice. Setting them on the coffee table, she sat closer to Trick. “Now you got me worried.” Picking up her glass, she stared at the rich brown color blending with the melting ice and took a sip.

Trick gulped half the glass down on an empty stomach. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” His words seemed to be coming from someone else, like he was watching a movie. He wasn’t sure if it was stress, lack of sleep, the bourbon leaving a warm spot in his stomach or the sweet smell of Ginger’s clean wet hair. Reality was harsh. Fantasy felt more welcoming. “I love you and Pat so much.” Tears welled up and he turned his head to hide his shame.

“Oh, Pat,” Ginger said softly, reaching over and pulling his face toward hers. “It’s OK, Baby. It’s OK.”

Trick looked down at Ginger’s tanning-bed browned thighs to see her robe separating, revealing she had nothing on underneath. They met in a soft kiss and the passion they once knew for each other exploded. Trick got on his knees in front of Ginger, grabbed her legs and pulled her forward. They made love fast and hard and Trick climaxed quickly.

With his face on Ginger’s bare chest, Trick whispered breathily, “That’s the first time since I got out. I feel like a fifteen-year-old who just got laid for the first time.”

“What? Are you trying to tell me you haven’t been with anyone else? That’s a little hard to believe.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout.” Ginger giggled as Trick scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

***

It was dark out when Trick woke with Ginger in his arms. He was forced to think about what he avoided facing earlier; Ginger was so thin he could feel her rib cage. She had lost an alarming amount of weight and the whites of her eyes were tinged with yellow. Disoriented, he glanced at his watch in the dim glow of a nightlight to see it was going on 7:00. He tried getting out of bed without waking her and put his feet on the floor.

Ginger’s hoarse whisper called out in the dark, “What time is it?”

“Just about 7:00, at night, I think. Who kept calling?”

“Probably Petros. After you dropped me off last night, I drove over to the restaurant. I walked into the backroom and caught him screwing some new bimbo he hired, right on a banquet table.”

“I’m sorry.” Trick wasn’t sure if he was sorry but said it anyway. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“The way my life is going.” Ginger sighed. “What does it matter?”

“The hell with him. That nose of his … I don’t know how you got close enough to kiss him with that huge thing in the way.”

“Oh, Pat. You’re so bad.” Ginger giggled. “It is pretty big though.”

When Ginger turned on the lamp next to her side of the bed and sat up, Trick tried not to show shock at the amount of blonde hair on her dark red pillowcase. He pulled his silk boxers on and went to the kitchen, putting his mouth under the faucet, gulping cool water. Ginger followed him into the kitchen tying her robe then turned on her Mr. Coffee.

Trick wiped his mouth on his forearm and walked in the dim light to the living room as Ginger called out, “Do you want a cup?”

Trick finger-combed his cropped hair back and looked out Ginger’s large living room window for signs of trouble. “Yeah, sure.” He sat on the sofa in a shaft of light from the corner streetlamp that backlit his hair in a halo-like glow.

Ginger joined Trick and set a hot cup of coffee in front of him.

He wanted coffee to taste as good as it smelled, but with every cup he drank, it never did. Pouring the remaining bourbon from earlier into his coffee, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“A little loopy … numb.” Ginger’s eyelids fluttered. “The pain stuff I’m on is pretty strong.”

“I want to explain all the craziness that’s been going on. I lied to you because I didn’t want you to worry. But you deserve the truth.” Trick rubbed his fingertips over the scab on the back of his neck. “About three weeks ago, right after I lost my job selling cars, I found a bag full of money and cocaine. I owed Starnes $60,000 so I gave him the cocaine to settle our score. Thought I was on easy street with $285,000 in my kit. Then the guys that the bag belonged to somehow caught up with me. They threatened me, took the rest of the cash and broke my nose.”

“I
knew
something was going on. Figures. That’s when you gave me the money for my new car.”

Trick nodded and continued, “They gave me a week to replace the drugs or pay them $300,000. I tried but I couldn’t raise that much in that short of time.” Trick held up his left hand, showing his little finger with the tip missing. “I’ve been dodging them ever since.”

“Is that why you cut your hair and shaved your moustache?”

“Yeah.” Trick brought the cup to his face and smelled the rich aroma. “I knew I couldn’t fool you for very long. Not you.”

“
That’s
why you told me to keep an eye on Pat.” Ginger softly touched Trick’s leg. “Why don’t you go to the police?”

“It’s not one of those kind of deals. They’d just lock me up for getting involved with drugs again and I’m even more vulnerable inside than out. There’s nowhere to hide in there, not even in seg.”

“Well, Trick,” Ginger said, with more than a hint of sarcasm, “you finally put yourself in a trick bag.”

“I really screwed up this time.” Trick shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What
are
you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I tell you one thing, it wasn’t worth it. If I could do it all over I would have left that bag on the side of the road and done any kind of work, even if it was digging ditches.” Trick sipped his spiked coffee then set it down. “Something’s been bugging me. I got to ask. Did Joey DeBonarino ever come around when I was locked up?”

“Oh yeah, sure. He started showing up as soon as you went to jail.”

“That rat fuck. Tell me what happened.”

“He came around, saying he was concerned for me and Pat. Said he wanted to help. Offered me money.”

“Lousy rotten mother … sure he wanted to help, wanted to help himself to
you
. Did you take any of his dough?”

“No. You think I’m stupid?” Ginger brought a hand to her chest. “It wasn’t easy turning him down though. I was worried how me and Pat were going to get by.”

“So, you’re telling me nothing went on between you two?” Trick pointed a finger. “We were still married at the time.”

“Nothing happened. He pestered me for a while and saw he wasn’t getting anywhere. He got the hint and quit coming over. That’s the whole story.”

Trick grimaced and punched his palm, causing his healing finger to sting.

“What are you going to do?” Ginger pulled his face toward hers. “I told you nothing happened.”

Pulling away, Trick said slowly, “I’m going to have a little talk with Joey the Boner.”

“Oh, Patrick. Please don’t. You’re on parole. You don’t need a battery charge too.”

***

Trick called Joey and set up a meeting in the large parking lot of the Southwest Ice Arena. He knew he’d have to control his temper because there was something he needed from Joey before he could get even with him. He also had to set the record straight. Not wanting false rumors spread about him, he needed Joey to know he didn’t set him up.

Spotting Joey’s Corvette on the outskirts of the lot with the parking lights on, Trick pulled next to him. They got out of their cars and walked up a few feet from one another. “Looks like we both got lucky and made bail,” Trick said, trying to read Joey’s demeanor.

“Yeah, but I’m fucked. Probably do time again. And I swear, I’ll kill the mudder fucker dat set me up.”

Trick watched Joey go for the back pocket where he kept his stiletto switchblade. “I’m telling you, Joey, I didn’t set you up. You know my reputation. When I got busted in 81, I kept my mouth shut. Never ratted on anyone in my life.”