Howard Shrier - Buffalo jump

We stood together in silence. The towers of the financial district seemed to rise straight out of the blackness of the tree-lined valley, clustered together in a haze of light. To the north, the sky was a lighter shade of blue. The few stars I could see were bright, though not as bright as the backlit logos of the banks. The banks always win out in Toronto.

“Nice move there, Geller,” he said. “I want to hit someone, I don’t usually miss.”

“You had a few drinks.”

“So did you.”

I shrugged. “What’s his name?” I asked.

“I told you. Lucas.”

“Not him. Your son.”

He didn’t look at me. “Who says I have a son?”

“The way you tried to take my head off. This thing is personal with you.”

Ryan nodded. “His name is Carlo and he’s almost the same age as Lucas. Turned four this winter. Sweet little guy. Must take after his mother.” Behind the pride sounded a note of sorrow or loss. He lit a Player’s and inhaled deeply.

“You see him much?”

Smoke drifted out of his nostrils as he stared out at the skyline. “What makes you think I don’t live with him?”

I shrugged. “Reading people is what I’m supposed to be good at.”

“Okay, Kreskin. His mother threw me out a few months ago. She’s not supposed to know precisely what I do for a living but she knows. She knows. Maybe she can see it in my eyes. Smell it on me. I can only see Carlo at the house when she’s there. And that’s as much as you need to know about my fucking life.”

When he finished his smoke, we went back inside. More Aussie Cab was poured.

“So what happens if I actually find out who took out this contract?”

“I change the motherfucker’s mind. Get him to take the kid off the table.”

“So he can wind up an orphan?”

“That’s out of my hands.”

“Nothing is ever out of our hands, Ryan.”

“Spare me,” he said.

“Why should the woman die? She didn’t do anything either.”

“I never said she did, but I have to provide a level of service.”

I looked at her picture again, this slim dark-haired woman with a son who was five. I didn’t want her to die. Too many people like her were dead already.

“Aim higher,” I said.

“What I’m doing is dangerous enough already.”

“There’s an old Jewish saying,” I said.

“Oh Christ.”

“No, that’s not it. It goes, ‘Where there is no one else to be a man, be a man.’”

“What, like some gunfighter riding in to save the town? Some crazy samurai?”

“Those are my terms.”

“You’re dictating to me now?”

To move forward, sometimes, you have to appear to take a step back. “I’m asking you.”

Ryan stood, swirled the wine in his glass, then drained it in one swallow. “Look, the truth is, in my heart, I agree with you. If the real beef is with Jay Silver, if this is something he brought on himself, he should pay. But all I can promise as regards the woman is I’ll try. The main thing for me is to keep the kid out of it.”

“What if the guy won’t change his mind?”

Ryan smiled, but only just. “One time,” he said, “a guy named JoJo Santini, a bit player in Hamilton, runs a few hookers and street-level dealers, he orders a hit on a friend of Marco’s ’cause the guy’s doing JoJo’s wife. I go see JoJo, tell him this friend has Marco’s protection and he has to call it off. He says, ‘All due respect, Dante, I can’t do that, else people are gonna laugh in my face.’ I tell him, if you’re giving me all due respect, shut the fuck up and do what I say. He starts hemming and hawing and in between a hem and a haw I grab him by the hair and stick a gun in his mouth. Not just any gun. A monster stainless-steel Classic Smith with an eight-and-three-eighths barrel. You cock the hammer on that thing, you give a man religion. Long story short, what do you think happened?”

“He changed his mind.”

“And then his pants. There’s nobody’s mind I can’t change, Geller. Nobody. So find him. Soon.”

“How? If I can’t tell anyone at work, I can’t get any help. I’ll be strictly on my own.”

“Figure it out. It’s not like you were my natural first choice. Normally we got all kinds of ways to find people- investigators, cops, bondsmen-I could find a guy in witness protection faster than you can find clean underwear. But on this thing you’re my first, last and only choice. The only one I trust not to play it back to Marco.”

“You trust me?”

“I fucking well have to.”

“Why not just warn the Silvers?” I asked. “Tell them to get out of town.”

“Because far as I know, the only people who know about this job are me, Marco and the guy who ordered it. If Silver takes off, Marco will know who tipped him. Look, this is a delicate time. Marco wants to be boss when Vinnie goes. He’ll kill his own brother if he has to. I can’t be seen moving against him in any way.”

“What’s my time frame?”

“None. The client wants it done like yesterday.”

“And you come to me now?”

“I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he snapped. “Taken business outside the walls. If Marco knew I was here he’d kill me with a big fucking grin on his face.”

He pulled a slim prepaid cellphone out of yet another jacket pocket. “You need me, push 1 on the speed dial. It’s a brand new phone, never been used. All the same, for my peace of mind, don’t mention names on the air: mine, yours, Marco’s. If he gets wind, we’re both compost.”

“Don’t worry. As much as I support the environment, I have no desire to be part of it.”

“All right. Keep me posted. And thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, Ryan. It’s the right thing to do.”

“I meant for the wine and cheese. You did a nice little thing on short notice.”

Buffalo: the previous March

Ricky Messina was soaking his right hand in a big glass bowl filled with ice cubes. His left held a heavy glass tumbler filled with Johnnie Walker Black. He was leaning back in his leather recliner, curdled with frustration, waiting for the phone to ring. If it was a local call, it would be the sourpuss bitch downtown, telling him to expect a call from the man in Toronto. If it was the three-ring long-distance signal, it would be the man himself.

Ricky knew he was going to have to eat a certain amount of shit over what had happened and that was all right. Even if none of it had been his fault, he considered himself a professional and a solid management prospect. He accepted that with greater responsibilities came greater accountability. He’d bow and scrape enough to ensure continued employment and good health.

Everything had gone so smoothly at first. Ricky found out everything there was to find out from Kevin Masilek and was just starting to have fun when someone started ringing the bell. Ricky ignored it but the bell kept ringing. Then there was a phone call, then the front doorbell again, whoever it was not getting the message, not going away. Ricky abandoned the knife routine he’d pictured in his head and stuck Kevin straight through the eye, deep into the brain. He threaded a suppressor onto his High Standard Victor, wanting to whip open the front door and shoot the shit out of whoever had ruined his day, bullets hitting them like sharp, deadly punches. Then came a knock at the back door and Ricky almost jumped out of his coat. He said fuck it and stood by the front door with his ear pressed to the wood until he was satisfied no one was outside, opened it, looked around and slipped out. He eased the door shut and walked to his car as slowly as his adrenaline-charged core would allow. He pulled out of his parking spot quickly but quietly, doing nothing to attract the attention of other drivers. He was sure he hadn’t been seen. He drove half a block, checking his rear-view all the way, then parked in the first available space and waited for someone to run screaming out of the house. Only no one had. So he’d gone around the block and parked again where he could watch the house. Follow anyone who came out.