Doug Allyn - v108 n03-04_1996-09-10

Sid lunged to his feet to shake the detectives’ hands. Sid had a hot glint in his eye. “It was my idea,” he announced loudly.

P.T. said, “Sit down, Sid,” and Sid sat. P.T. sighed again. “Now we’re not crooks, not a one of us, and we got a reason for this. That’s why we’re here. Detectives, we got to get Marsh some new teeth. He broke his old ones and he can’t hardly eat a thing. So we figured out how much new ones is gonna cost and that’s all we’re gonna steal, right down to the penny.”

He fished into his jacket and pulled out a wrinkled slip of paper. Fascinated, the pain in his jaw all but forgotten, Skovich took it.

“And we’ll pay it back as fast as we can,” P.T. went on. “But our problem is, we’re not as young as we used to be, know what I mean? And we don’t want anybody getting hurt, least of all us if we’re a tad slow making our getaway. So we figured if we told you about it first, you might let us go on and do it without shooting us dead. Or sending us to the pen. That’s no place for men our age.” He was smiling, clearly pleased with his reasoning. “So what do you say? We got us a deal?”

The detectives were momentarily speechless. Skovich finally roused himself. “Now look here,” he began, “we can’t make a deal like that. What you’re proposing is a crime, no matter how old you are.”

P.T. slumped again. His lip curled. “Then I guess we’ll just have to take our chances, boys,” he said. “Our men in blue are heartless when it comes to the common comforts of life.”

“I’ve seen you all before,” Hacker put in. “You live around here, don’t you?”

Sid tilted forward, eyes burning. “The Cozy Corners Retirement Home,” he spat out. “How’d you like to live in a place called Cozy Corners?”

“Never mind, Sid,” P.T. advised wearily. “They don’t care. Try to be a good citizen and this is what you get.”

“Wait a minute,” Skovich protested, wondering why he felt guilty. “Surely you men have pensions and health care of some sort. There must be another way to get money for the teeth.”

“Well, sure there is,” P.T. snapped, shooting erect again. “That’s already in the works. But, you see, this is the second set Marsh has busted this year. You don’t know yet, sonny, but it’s hard times when you get old. Lose your sayso. Other people tell you what’s gonna happen to you. Yeah, Marsh’ll get his new teeth but nobody’s in a hurry about it. It’s drug on now for a coupla months and no end in sight. I tell you, there’s not many pleasures left when you get this old, but eating is one of them and Marsh is real partial to that.” Marsh grinned agreement, baring naked pink gums.

“Now I know he ought to cut out hard candy and cracking his choppers on it,” P.T. said. “But seems to me a man ain’t a man unless he can make his own decisions, know what I mean?”

Everyone was silent for a moment. “Maybe we can come up with another way,” Skovich said finally. “You men don’t really want to rob a bank, do you?”

Sid shot forward. “I do!”

“Well,” P.T. said, “I have to admit it sounded like fun. Break the monotony, you know.”

“I’ve got a cousin who’s a dentist,” Hacker volunteered. “Maybe we can work something out with him.”

Skovich stood up. “Good idea. Come on back to the lunchroom for coffee and donuts. Let my partner make a call.”

The old men rose in unison. “No coffee for me, thanks,” P.T. announced. “I’ve drunk an ocean of it in my time, but these days it makes my eyes bug out. I never turn down a donut, though. Whaddaya say, Marsh? You can gum a donut, can’t you?”

And they followed after Skovich and Hacker in single file.

The deal was arranged with Hacker’s dentist cousin and everyone but Sid looked relieved. The gathering turned festive. The partners learned that all four men were in their late seventies. P.T. had worked the docks, Sid trained boxers, Marsh labored for the railroad, and John had been a nurseryman. John also didn’t talk.

“Well, he does sometimes,” P.T. explained. “But mostly he’s already said everything he has to say in this life.” John, munching donuts, nodded seriously.

They spent most of their time on the park bench to keep up on what was going on in the world. “Betcha we know more what’s doing in the neighborhood than you boys do,” P.T. boasted, and the partners had to agree he was probably right.

They were clearly delighted to be in such close proximity to the excitement of police work.

“You working on that lady who got killed in her apartment on Towne Place?” P.T. inquired, chin quivering. Skovich said they were.

“We heard it was like a burglary gone bad,” P.T. offered. The detectives were evasive and P.T.’s eyes began to spark. “We saw that lady walking her dog every day. Marsh had a kind of crush on her. She seemed nice. Ugly dog, though.” His chest expanded visibly. “Anything we can do to help you boys out, anytime, just say the word. I figure we owe you now.”

“Okay,” Skovich said without enthusiasm. “That would be great.”

Sid, depressed because the bank job had fallen through, suddenly brightened. “We could keep an eye out, feed you stuff. Like — what do they call them, P.T.? We’ve seen them on TV.”

“Snitches!” P.T. crowed. “Hey, we can be your snitches. How’d that be?”

The detectives exchanged helpless looks. “We can always use information,” Skovich said lamely.

When the men departed, single file, the partners watched them go. “The Hard Times Boys,” Skovich mused with real affection. “A real over-the-hill gang if I ever saw one.”

“And you know,” Hacker responded cheerfully, “that could be you one of these days.”

Skovich’s mood continued downward towards glum as he and Hacker ventured out for lunch. He kept seeing himself with a sharp grizzled jaw and bare gums.

“Don’t forget your medicine,” Hacker reminded while they waited for their burritos and refried beans to arrive.

“I don’t want to take the damned medicine.”

“Then don’t take it.” Hacker smiled cheerfully. “Walk around with an infected tooth, I don’t care.”

After a respectably defiant moment, Skovich took his medicine. “You ever worry about getting old, Terry?”

“Naw,” Hacker said.

Skovich glanced at his partner’s smooth young face, his plentiful blond hair, and snapped, “No, I guess you wouldn’t, would you, punk? You’re barely out of diapers. Think you’ll live forever. Well, trust me, kid, senility will be on you before you know it. It’s breathing down my neck right now.”

Hacker grinned on, unruffled. “Hank, you’re forty years old and all you’ve got is a toothache. You’ll probably last another year or two, so get off my case, okay?”

The jalapeños arrived, hot enough to paralyze everything in him, pounding tooth included. Skovich brightened. “I guess you’re right,” he admitted sheepishly. “Every male ancestor I know of lived past ninety and kept most of the sense he was born with. I won’t give up yet.”

The conversation soon turned towards Hacker’s love life. Skovich had grown resigned to the parade of women. Each was trumpeted to be The One, and each eventually drifted off into memory. Sometimes it puzzled Hacker.

“I really want to settle down and have a family,” he had confessed during one long dark night on stakeout. “I had a good one growing up, so I have no hangups. But it’s a big thing, you know? What if I make a mistake? Get hooked up and The One is just around the corner?”

The current applicant was Pam, a travel agent, and over lunch they agreed that her occupation was a definite plus.

“All those cut-rate vacations,” Hacker enthused through nachos. “The Alps, the Far East. Egypt. Always wanted to ride a camel through Egypt. She might even swing something for you. Where’s the one place you’d like to go?”