Herbert Burkholz - Brain Damage

You getting anything? asked Chicken. Anything at all?

No, but keep alert. Don't let up.

Look, I've been thinking…

Don't. Whenever you think you have an accident.

When I was on the Sextant job…

If I hear anything more about that job, I'll puke. Get back to work, and stay on it.

All right, all right, I'm on it.

He was on it, I was on it, we all were on it, but by the time that the house lights dimmed we had turned up nothing. The message came from Sammy in the truck. Everybody out of the Hall. We gathered in the lobby, and Sammy came through again. Don't bunch up in there. Some of you get out on the street and move around. Be back in time for the intermission.

I went across the street and climbed into the truck. Ritter and Costello were there, hooked up to their people, and Sammy and Martha. I didn't see any smiling faces.

"Anything?" I asked.

"Zilch," said Sammy. "A couple of false alarms."

"Then we might as well pack it in and go home. He isn't coming. '

"It's still early."

"The house is full. He'd be here by now."

"We could have missed him going in. We have two more cracks at him."

"Damn it, you're kidding yourself. He isn't here."

Ben. It was Martha. Costello and Ritter were looking at us curiously. Let's keep the discussion inside the family.

Sorry. It's just that I don't think this is going to work. I never did.

You don't want it to work. That's why you're so sure he won't show.

What's all this? asked Sammy. You don't want it to work?

He's afraid of what's going to happen if we nail this creep tonight.

Leave it alone , I told her. She had taken a really good look in my head.

It's nothing to be ashamed of. If Safeer goes down tonight, right here, everything about him comes out in the open. Lila finds out that her father is a cold-blooded killer, June gets robbed of her one decent memory, and Teague finds out what happened to the boy he treated like a son. So Ben would feel better if he didn't show up.

Fuck you, Madam Freud, I said. Were you able to keep a tap on Chicken?

As much as I could. You're hurting him, Ben.

He'll live. That kid is made of solid brass .

She flipped me a mental sigh . When you get like this I can't talk to you.

I went back to the Hall for the intermission screening, and once again we turned up nothing. Some of the audience went out onto Fifty-seventh Street to smoke, some gathered in the lobby, some stayed in their seats. We screened everyone who moved past our positions, and to cover the ones who had stayed in their seats we sent a few aces sauntering up and down the aisles, tapping as they went along. Nothing. Upstairs, downstairs, inside, outside. Nothing. When the second half of the program began, we withdrew again from the Hall. We gathered in the lobby and on the sidewalk, and Sammy made a speech to the troops from the truck speaking head-to-head, all hands tapped in.

Quiet down and listen up, he said. The fact that we haven't spotted this bastard yet doesn't mean that he isn't here. In a crowd like this we could easily have missed him, but we still have one more crack at him, so don't let down. I want you on your toes when the concert ends and the people start coming out. Tap them once, tap them twice, tap them three times if you get the chance, and report anything you find. Send it straight in to me in the truck, and then get out of the way. The Feds and the cops will take it from there. Stay with it, gang.

Tucked away somewhere I have a program of that concert at Carnegie Hall, and if I looked at it I could tell you what Bonfiglia sang that night, but I don't remember any of it. All I remember about the second half of that concert is pacing up and down Fifty-seventh Street in the rain with Chicken at my heels, waiting for it to be over. My mood was foul and angry, made worse by what Martha had said. Yes, I wanted Safeer caught, I even wanted him killed, but I wanted something better than that for the memory of Hassan Rashid.

"Ben," said Chicken.

"No," I said, and that was the end of that conversation.

We went back to the Hall, and took up our positions. Through the closed doors we heard the applause and the calls for encores. She sang one, and then another. They forced her to sing a third, and then it was over. The applause died down, the doors swung open, and the crowd came pouring out.

I tapped and I tapped, and I got what I expected. Nothing. The crowd thinned down to a trickle. Still nothing. I went into the Hall to take a final look around. Anyone who has worked as an usher either in Broadway theatres or in halls such as Carnegie, Avery Fisher, or the Met will tell you that people exit from an auditorium in three different ways. There are the taxi hunters who rush for the door as soon as the curtain begins to fall, there are those who exit in an orderly fashion, and there are the very few who sit stock still while the others leave, reluctant to remove themselves from the scene. Still captured by what they have seen and heard, they can sit that way, unmoving, until they are politely told that it is time to go.

Ushers call them the rocks, and from where I stood at the back of the parquet I could see five of them still seated. An usher moved from one to the other, saying a few soft words to break the spell of the evening and send them on their way. Each one, when spoken to, responded with a blank stare, and then a reluctant nod. They began to leave slowly. One of the women had tears on her cheeks, and one of the men did, too. The man with the tears came up the center aisle. He was tall, with sloping shoulders, and he moved with an ambling gait. I nodded, but he did not return the nod. I doubt that he even saw me. He was still in another world. I tapped him lightly.

Ben, said Chicken.

Yeah, I know. It's Safeer. And I missed him.

We both did.

Yeah. You missed him because you're sixteen years old. I missed him because I wanted to miss him. I raised the volume. Sammy, I've got him. He's coming up the main aisle heading for the lobby.

You sure?

No question. He's about six three, one eighty, dark and clean shaven. Dark blue suit, light blue shirt and tie. He's alone.

Got it. I heard him speaking vocally to Ritter and Costello, passing it on. Okay, Ben, we take it from here. Stay out of it.

Gladly.

Safeer was at the top of the aisle, going through the door. I sprinted up the aisle, Chicken close behind me. I swung the door open just enough to give me a crack for vision. I was out of it, but I was going to see it happen. It happened quickly.

The lobby was clear of civilians. There were five FBI agents in the area, one of them a woman, and they all were trying to look as if they belonged there. Two were near the front doors, staring out at the rain, two were looking at the list of coming concerts, and one was leaning against the wall near the box office window. Safeer started across the lobby to the front doors, and the five began to move.

The two at the door turned to face him. The two at the poster moved slowly to come up behind him. The one at the box office window started for the center of the lobby. Pistols appeared in their hands.

Safeer stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the two behind him. He stood still. A woman carrying a canvas sack came out the box office door. She did not see the pistols, and she started across the lobby.

The agent nearest the door shouted, "Get back. No, damn it, no."

Safeer moved with the instincts of a man who had been hunted for years. He took two quick gliding steps and swept the woman in front of him, his arm around her neck. She shrieked. He put a small flat pistol against her cheek. His eyes swept the room. No one moved. Safeer sprang back, dragging the woman with him like a panther with its prey. He kicked open the box office door, and backed inside. He kicked the door shut. The agents stared at each other. Not a shot had been fired.