George Higgins - The rat on fire

“Now,” he said, “I was satisfied with that, and I don’t really see why I thought I hadda go out and get myself in trouble with the cops too. I didn’t need any cops chasing me around. I had enough on my plate as it was. But once they started, all of a sudden I needed a lawyer.

“Of course I can’t get no lawyer. None to speak of, anyway. But I can get Fein, and Fein has got the thing there that says he is a lawyer, even though the idea of Jerry Fein in court is something that’d gag a billy goat that had to go to court. But Jerry Fein has to do what I say.”

“What you ought to say,” Billy said, “you ought to say, ‘Get me somebody else.’”

“That’s what I said,” Leo said. “And that is what Jerry Fein is doing. And that is why I wanted to talk to you. I thought maybe you could use some cash.”

The truckers left the Scandinavian Pastry Shop revving their diesels on the bumpy parking lot. Billy Malatesta admitted he could use some cash.

“Billy, Billy, Billy,” Proctor said, “you could use a lot of cash. You had a lot of troubles.”

“I could use some cash,” Malatesta said. “Shit, I only make about twenty-one, and that’s before they start creaming everything off the top. You ever try to raise a family on what you got left after they get through taking those payroll deductions? Shit. You couldn’t raise a healthy family of goldfish on that, this day and age, let alone a sick one like I’ve got.”

“You know where that money’s going, don’t you?” Leo said.

“I know where it’s going,” Malatesta said. “I know all right. The taxes’re supporting lazy public employees like me, and the old people and the nutcakes and the sick people that don’t have anybody like me standing in the living room, waiting to pay their medical bills. I’m buying food for families that the guys left when it dawned on them how much it was costing them to feed those women and those kids. I’m buying apartments for women with three kids and every single one of them’s got a different father that the kids never saw and she still won’t learn, what’s gonna happen to her if she lets them fuck her without using a rubber. I’m paying for state colleges some kid that can’t afford to go to school and probably doesn’t want to and most likely hasn’t got the brains to get anything out of it anyway, so my kids probably won’t be able to go to college because I won’t have any money to send them.

“What they let me keep when I get the check,” he said, “the town takes out of me for lousy schools that don’t teach my kids nothing, and the supermarket gets almost all the rest except what the guy down the gas station grabs. I bought two dentists, three shoe stores, at least five Levi stores and most of the sports stuff Wilson ever made, for my kids, and my lovely wife sits there with this dumb look on her face, wondering why it is she’s always so tired and having to lie down when the old bitch knows damned right well it’s because she’s drinking all day. Down at the bank they probably call me ‘Ninety-day Malatesta,’ because that’s usually how far behind I am onna mortgage. Yeah, I could use some money.”

“There ain’t a guy alive that couldn’t,” Leo said. “You show me a guy, couldn’t use some cash, I will show you, maybe, some fuckin’ goddamned Arab that has got an oil well. Except, I can’t show you no Arabs on account of how I do not know too many A-rabs. Until I see one of them A-rabs and he’s riding around in the Rolls with a Caddy on a rope tied the back to get him to the sidewalk, like the little boats they got hooked on the big boats down the Savin Hill Yacht Club there, until I see one of them motherfuckers and figure out a way that I can take him, I am gonna assume that every guy I meet needs cash, and the only way he’s gonna get some cash and I’m gonna get some cash is this: him and me, we gotta sit down, the two of us, and figure out a way that we can get together and make some cash, and split it up.”

“I understand,” Malatesta said. “I do understand what you are saying.”

“This is good,” Proctor said. “My life’s been full’ve misunderstandings. My goddamned wife don’t understand me. My goddamned kid don’t understand me, the one that’s still at home when he’s not running off someplace. I don’t understand my goddamned kid, which could have something to do with him running away three times this year already, and I am sure my goddamned kid does not understand why I keep on bringing him back. Which I don’t understand myself, and I also do not see how that goddamned kid can be so goddamned stupid he can run away three times in seven months and he still can’t get it right so he gets someplace where I can’t find him.

“The kid is thicker’n shit, is what he is, and that is what he’s got for brains. He takes after his mother. I am stupid, but even I could run away and make a go of it if that was what I wanted to do. I ran away when I was twenty-three, for Christ sake, and I ran away from a prison, and I made it. I know it was medium security and all I hadda do was get over the barbed-wire fence inna dark without snagging my pants, but I made it and I didn’t tear my pants and I was gone for fourteen months. And now I got this here kid that claims I had something to do with him being on the earth and he’s unhappy about it, and I look at that great big fat woman and I know he’s right but I do not fuckin’ believe it.

“I do not believe it,” Leo said, “because I look at her and I know I would never in my right mind fuck a goddamned Goodyear blimp like that – I would figure Don Meredith and Howard Cosell’re in the broadcast booth down onna field, asking me how it’s goin’, onna TV. ‘He’s on top the fat lady now, fans, and we’ll get back to the Dolphins and the Redskins here at the Orange Bowl in just a minute.’ And I would never do that. But the kid says he’s my kid, and furthermore, he don’t like being my kid, it was a bad hand God dealt him, being my kid. But still he don’t have the common ordinary brains, he’s gonna steal a car, he doesn’t park it the next day beside a hydrant with a cop standing there, but I guess he doesn’t. If he does, he don’t show it, because the dumb son-bitch keeps doin’ it and things like that, so I’m inclined to think: he don’t.

“That kid,” Leo said, “that kid, that kid. He runs away and he ain’t gone more’n six hours on his best night, which was the one I figure he was finally gone and I didn’t have to worry about the little bastard anymore. So there I am, I go up his room, see what he took, and it wasn’t much, and I think, ‘He’s nine years old. He’s done it before. This time with all that experience, maybe he makes it.’

“Can you believe that, Billy?” Leo said. “Nine years, ten years ago, I must’ve fucked that woman. Here I am, pushing fifty like it was a rock up a hill, I got more troubles’n God gave the Jews, and I must’ve actually fucked that woman. I know I must’ve. No angel’d touch her, no matter what They offered him. Besides, nothing came out of there could save anyone from anything. No human guy would do it because she always looked like a tractor, ever since we’re married for a year. Jesus Christ, I was seventeen years old and she was sixteen years old and she had this pair of tits on her and this nice little ass and all I could think about was gettin* her clothes off and gettin’ my dick in her twat and I did it. Of course she got pregnant. Of course we hadda get married. Don’t know why it didn’t occur to me, that was what she wanted when she took her pants off. Worked, though. Two years later and there I was, married to this woman that if she was in town no hot fudge sundae was safe. When I married her she looked like a little cat, or maybe a pussy, with these brown eyes and she bleached her hair and she was really tight in the ass. Two years later she began to look like something that escaped from a fat farm, and when I got out of jail the first time, she’d found out about the Manhattan cocktails, as she calls them. The hair was brown and the back end of her looked like something that finished last in a fifteen-hundred-dollar claiming race at Suffolk, and I chewed her out for it and you know what she did? She got worse.