Эйс Аткинс - Kickback

“Cape Verdean,” I said.

“Whatever,” Vinnie said. “Hello, Hawk.”

“Vinnie.”

They shook hands. Vinnie didn’t offer to shake my hand. He turned his back and walked to an old-fashioned U-shaped bar. Stools had been put up upside down. The beer taps didn’t have handles. Neon signs for cheap beer flickered with delight.

“What time is the show?” I said.

“Up here?” Vinnie said.

“Yeah.”

“Nineteen sixty-five.”

“So noted.”

Vinnie reached up and pulled down three bar stools and righted them on the floor. The only light upstairs shone from the strategically placed neon beer signs. There was a painted mural on the far wall of a ball hitting a strike, pins flying in the air.

“I guess you ain’t here to talk about the old days.”

Hawk and I sat. Hawk on my right. Vinnie on my left.

“Arty Leblanc,” Hawk said.

“Oh, shit.”

“Is that a nickname or an alias?” I said.

“What the fuck are you guys doing with Arty Leblanc? He’s a freakin’ head case. Did you hear about the garden-hose thing?”

“His reputation has preceded him,” I said.

“Stuck it right up this guy’s keister and turned up the water pressure,” Vinnie said. “He’s nuts.”

“So he’s not your employee,” I said.

“Employee?” he said. “What kind of business am I running? The menswear department at Sears?”

“Not in that suit,” Hawk said.

“You like it?” Vinnie said, looking down at his sleeve, admiring the fabric.

Hawk shrugged. “Needs a better tie,” he said. “To make it pop.”

Vinnie walked behind the bar and uncorked a bottle of grappa.He pulled out three small glasses and lined them on top of the dusty bar.

“Feeling nostalgic?” I said.

Vinnie shrugged. “It’s a gesture,” he said. “Remember when that meant something?”

I nodded. Vinnie poured. He raised his glass. We did the same.

“Doesn’t mean we’re good,” Vinnie said, giving me the eye. “Unnerstand?”

“Arty,” I said. “Leblanc.”

Vinnie drank down the grappa. I sipped mine. It tasted like licorice-infused rocket fuel. I drank half and attempted to smile. Hawk downed the whole glass and set it down with a thud.

“He make a run at you?” Vinnie said.

“He made a request,” I said.

“Arty Leblanc doesn’t make no requests,” he said. “He insists.”

“I showed him and his two pals my .357 and insisted they leave.”

Vinnie nodded. The old lounge had a wide and sprawling dance floor made of parquet tiles. The tiles were old and scuffed and in need of a good waxing. I rested my elbows along the old bar. Someone had started a game downstairs. You could hear the roll of the ball and the explosion of pins. There was a nice rhythm to it all.

“You know the DeMarco family?” Vinnie said.

I nodded. Hawk did not respond. He stood completely still, relaxed, as he rolled the shot glass between the fingers of his right hand.

“They’re taking on new territory,” he said. “They’ve overrun Gino, squeezing out Fast Eddie Lee. They’re in tight with Providence.”

“The old gang is getting back together.”

“Everything was busted up before Joe Broz disappeared,” Vinnie said. “It’s not the same. But it’s a lot of the same people. Or their kids. You know.”

I nodded.

“You ever heard of a judge named Joe Scali?” I said.

Vinnie shook his head.

“Callahan?” I said.

Vinnie shook his head some more.

“Bobby Talos?” I said.

Vinnie didn’t shake his head this time. He reached for the bottle, poured out a little more grappa. God help him. He sipped it slowly. The ball rolled again downstairs. More pins were knocked down and scattered.

“He on the same team?” I said.

“Don’t know,” Vinnie said. “Depends on the money. I’ve done business with him before. Mainly just to make sure things run smooth.”

“No union issues.”

Vinnie sipped some of the grappa. His eyes were hooded and withdrawn. Hawk picked up the bottle and examined the label.

“Nice to know if the DeMarcos are in with Bobby Talos,” I said.

“I bet.”

“It would help me,” I said.

Vinnie shrugged again.

“I’d consider it a favor,” I said.

Vinnie didn’t speak. He examined the color of the grappa refracting in the neon light. It looked to be the most interesting liquid on the planet.

Hawk stared at Vinnie. And Vinnie looked to Hawk and then back to me. He shook his head with disappointment.

“Goddamn, Vinnie,” Hawk said. “History is a bitch.”

Vinnie put down the glass. He righted his tie. He looked to both of us and shook his head some more. “For crissake,” he said. “I’d really like it if you didn’t get me killed.”

29

Two days later, Iris Milford showed up at my office. She looked bright and pretty, holding a smile that hid some terrific secret.

“You look like a woman who knows things.”

“You have no idea.”

“Perhaps some things you’d like to share?”

“Just the secrets of the world, baby.”

“In that case, take a seat.”

I’d just returned from a lunchtime workout at the Harbor Health Club. I was properly tired, four miles on the treadmill at a nice clip and a few rounds on the heavy bag and shadowboxing. The knee was coming along. My right punch was like the kick of a frisky mule.

“You’re not too busy?” she said.

“Gisele is stopping by later for fashion tips,” I said. “Later, I plan to rearrange the bullets in my gun.”

“Thought it best to drive to the city,” she said. “Of course, I look for any excuse to leave Blackburn.”

“Have they put up the wanted posters yet?”

“Of you?”

“Yeah.”

“Just a few,” she said. “You look better in person.”

“Hard to capture the nose,” I said, touching the flattened end.

“Looks like too many people captured that nose.”

I winked at her and pulled a clients’ chair from the wall. She sat and I returned to my desk. After the time off, my legs felt like Jell-O.

“I had to write about your arrest,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“You had to do your job.”

“I quoted several people who called the claims outrageous,” she said. “You have a lot of friends in high places. A lot of cops. Even more called after the arrest.”

“You don’t know where you truly stand until you’re accused of propositioning a teenybopper.”

“They’ve gone way too far.”

“I think that started a while back.”

“How’s the boy?” she said. “Dillon?”

“Still on Fortune Island,” I said. “It’s out of Scali’s hands now. He’ll be free in a few days.”

“How about the girl, Beth Golnick?”

“I tried to call her, but her cell number is no good. Wasn’t too keen at stopping by her house unannounced.”

“You do know her mother works in the courthouse?”

“Nope.”

“Probate,” she said. “Along with the bogus drug arrest to scare her, they probably scared her mom to get to her. Ain’t easy being a single woman in Blackburn. Jobs are hard to find. Lots of connected families and friends.”

I nodded. “Did you at least use a good photo of me?”

She tossed down a small scanned mug shot. It wasn’t pretty. “Figure you might want to hold on to this,” she said. “You know. One day we’ll all laugh.”

“Tell me when that day comes.”

Iris shook her head. She crossed her legs, a stylish boot swinging back and forth. She wore a white cashmere sweater under a high-necked black coat. Bracelet-sized gold hoops dangled in her ears. She peered around my office, checking out my place of work with a reporter’s eye. Her eyes lingered on framed pictures on the wall.