The Weight (14 page)

“Why is that, then? ’Cause you’d be giving me info on dirty cops and crooked judges, yeah? And maybe I could trade that, if I got in a jam, is that about right?

“So the dagos, they all nod, like the fucking movies, you know? And Kenny says:

“That door swings both ways, doesn’t it? If I come to you about a job of work
I’m
going to do, or even if I pay your tax after the work is done, and you get jammed, what’s to stop you from trading that?

“I thought it was gonna be the O.K. Corral right there,” Solly said. “But Kenny sliced into them first. Had a whole list of family men who’d turned rat. And the big shots at that table, they couldn’t deny it. So Kenny says,

“Tell me a guy who’ll give up a
boss
wouldn’t give
me
up. Can you do that?

“It was quiet for a minute. Then one of the older guys—a real survivor, he must have been—he says, ‘We let
you
slide on the tax, word gets around, then
nobody
pays.’ But Kenny, he’s ready for that one.

“ ‘Only way word gets around is if one of you spreads it
.”

“The man had steel balls,” Solly said to me. “But it wasn’t just that. Ken made
sense
. He had a rep. Not just for being crazy—which
he was, I grant you—but for keeping it low-key. No flashy suits. No diamond rings. No nightclubs. You see what I’m saying?

“The man was a master. No trademarks, no patterns. It could be a bank one time, a truckload of furs—only way you could tell it was Ken’s work was by how smooth it went.

“So what would be in it for Ken to brag about not having to pay tax? Nothing. He’d be killing his own golden goose. His game was no-ego, see? The family guys knew he was telling the truth: if they made a deal with Ken, nobody was gonna hear about it from him.”

Only Ken wasn’t around anymore. Which gave me a real problem with Solly being so generous.

He’d gone to a lot of trouble, setting me up like he had. The cops didn’t know Stanley Jay Wilson, but Solly knew him. Knew him real well. Where he banked, what car he was driving … even the business he was supposed to be in.

I didn’t like that last part. I’d been using that “personal trainer” tag for a while before I did my last bit. But, truth is, I don’t know the first damn thing about how to do it. I picked up some lingo from magazines, and I guess I look like someone who
should
know that stuff. It wasn’t like I actually had to convince anyone.

But I’d never mentioned this to any of the guys I ever worked with. It isn’t the kind of thing you talk about.

So how did Solly know?

And how come he told me so much stuff about himself? It was like he wanted us to be even up on info about each other.

I knew this much: Solly never did anything just to be doing it. “It’s all investment,” he once told me. “Risk against gain. Everything in life always comes down to that.”

That’s why my first stop was this Verizon store. The kid in the red shirt called up my account on his screen, said they were really sorry about my phone getting smashed on the subway platform, and sold me a new one.

The place was kind of frantic, people running in and out, arguing about credit, getting their friends to cosign for them, trading up to a fancier model … so the kid I got just told me to pick out whatever I wanted—it’d go on my next bill.

I told him I didn’t want my wife to know I’d broken another phone, so I wanted to pay cash.

That got his attention. “So I’m guessing, maybe your new phone wouldn’t need a GPS …?”

I threw him an extra twenty for being so considerate. And put a fifty on top of that to get a new number right away. He didn’t act surprised.

It took one of those instaprint joints only a few minutes to make me some new business cards.

Still not enough. I drove over to a Toyota dealer closer to the city but still in Queens. Traded the Mustang in on a used—they called it “pre-owned”—2004 Camry.

That bank manager had been right. The salesman hardly listened to me tell him my kids were too big for car seats now, so the Mustang wouldn’t work. We went back and forth a couple of times, but I wasn’t going to spend the whole day there, and I made sure he’d see that.

“My car’s only got thirteen thousand miles on it,” I told him. “Yours has got almost seventy-five. And it’s three years older, too. I told my wife I was taking the day off, and I’d be driving a different car home tonight. So I’m gonna do that. Started first thing this morning. So far, I’ve been to five dealers. I want a Camry. I’m taking the best offer. So tell me yours. Then I can say yes or no and be done with it.”

“We’ll beat any—”

“Jesus Christ. All you guys say the same thing. Fine. Never mind the ‘check with my manager’ routine, either, okay? You take my Mustang, I take the Camry. I’m not asking you for cash back. Which I
should
. So—what’s it gonna be?”

The Camry felt solid. I don’t know much about cars, but I knew this beige one I was driving looked like a million other cars on the road.

Sure, I traded the Mustang away, even though I knew Solly could trace it easy enough if he wanted to.

There was still another reason to get rid of the Mustang, a more important one. Say a guy wants to sell you a really top-shelf piece. Only half-price. Looks brand-new, sure. But you never know where that gun’s been. Or what it was used for.

That Mustang had been bought new, while I was still locked up. With thirteen thousand–plus miles on the odometer, it still
looked
new. But I hadn’t put those miles on myself.

I figured they’d detail the Mustang before they put it out on the lot, so if I duct-taped that GPS’ed phone Solly gave me under the front fender, they’d find it. I had to wait until I could find a better place.

I was just ahead of the outbound traffic by the time all the paperwork was done. I knew it would be smooth sailing to just past the outer edge of Queens, which is where I wanted to go.

First, I stopped at a cemetery. The thing was huge. Almost empty that time of day. I paid my respects to some guy who cashed in thirty years ago. Then I scooped up enough sod to slip Solly’s phone under it, with the ringer turned off.

Soon as I saw the place, I knew it had been what I thought it was when I read the ad: “One bedroom, furnished, immaculate. No smoking, no pets. Quiet neighborhood. Must pass credit check. Rent includes all utilities.”

The woman who answered the door took a little step back when she saw me. I was neat and clean, but I couldn’t do anything about my size and that scar.

“You’re so … big,” the woman said, like she was answering just what I’d been thinking.

“Yes, ma’am. I guess it comes with the territory.”

“Are you some kind of … bouncer or something?”

“Oh no, ma’am. I’m a personal trainer. I also sell fitness equipment. So I’m always in one gym or another, it seems.”

“Well … come in,” she said. Still a little flustered, but calming down quick. I wondered if her husband had a problem with bookies.

After I told her that I never smoked—“How would
that
look, in my business?”—and I didn’t have a pet, she got right down to it. Eleven hundred a month, plus one month’s rent and one month’s security. “You couldn’t come
close
to a place for that much in the city.”

The apartment was over the garage. Looked fresh-painted. Press-on fake-wood paneling. The furniture was all cheap stuff, but it looked new. The only reason I bothered to look around is, if you don’t do that, it makes landlords suspicious.

“It looks perfect to me,” I said. “Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” she said, hands on her hips like I’d just said she was putting on weight.

“Where would I be able to park my car? The last thing I need is another damn ticket.”

“Oh! That’s easy. Come on downstairs and I’ll show you.”

I thought she’d head for the side door. That was the one we came in by—the front was just a couple of windows. But there was a back door, too, right off the downstairs kitchen. “See?” she said, pointing at a blacktop slab laid down in their backyard. “It’s not indoor parking, I know. But you never have to worry about getting a ticket.”

“I’m sold,” I told her.

“You don’t have …?”

“Loud parties?”

She smiled.

“Ma’am, by the time I’m done working, all I want is a hot shower and plenty of sleep. A lot of my work is at night. Some of it, it’s even out of town. If that carpet you put down is as good as it looks, you’ll probably never even know when I’m here and when I’m not.”

“Well, that seems fine.”

“I hope so. Could I leave you a deposit while you’re waiting for the credit check to come back?”

“Why, certainly, Mr.…”

“Wilson, ma’am. Stanley Wilson. My friends call me Stan,” I said, taking out my driver’s license while I was talking. I took something else out, too: thirty-three hundred-dollar bills. “If this is okay, I’ll just leave it with you. If you’re not satisfied with the credit check, just give me a call and I’ll come back to pick it up.”

She fingered the money. The tip of her tongue shot out of her lips for just a split second.

“This is … unusual, isn’t it?”

“Ma’am?”

“To pay in cash, I mean?”

“It’s what I prefer, actually. I mean, I’ll be happy to write a check instead if you—”

“No. No, that’s all right. I guess I …”

“Most of my clients pay
me
in cash,” I said, like we were sharing a secret.

“You mean, you’d
always
be paying your rent that way?”

“Yes, ma’am. You did say utilities were included, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I mean … Oh, I see. You wouldn’t have to write checks to Con Edison, either. But the phone would be your—”

I held up my cell phone, smiled at her again. “The bank automatically deducts every month’s bill out of my account. If you wanted, I could have them do the same thing with—”

“Oh no. No, that’s all right. Why go to all that trouble?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You have very good manners.”

“My mother thanks you,” I said, remembering how Solly had handled that back in his fancy building.