Charlie Hustmyre - House of the Rising Sun

“Will you?”

“Maybe.”

“You believe him?”

Tony nodded. “I sent Joey over there. The bartender knows Charlie and verified it.”

The Old Man was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “Charlie’s worked for me a long time.”

Tony nodded again.

Carlos Messina took another sip of wine.

Tony never liked Charlie. The Rabbit acted like he was better than Tony. Both of them were made men, but Tony ran the motherfucking House. Vinnie was there, but it was Tony who ran the day-to-day. The House was a huge moneymaker, and it was Tony who had made it that way. Charlie had whacked a few people, served some time, but that was all. He didn’t bring in any money; he was just a hired gun. That was old-school. When Tony ran things, everybody was going to have to pull their own weight; everybody was going to have to produce the green.

Tony said, “You think maybe they’re working together?”

The Old Man-he seemed to have aged ten years right in front of Tony’s eyes-looked up at the ceiling. “There’s no reason for Charlie to be talking to Shane.”

“So what do we do?”

“You know where Charlie lives?”

Tony said, “No, sir.”

Mr. Messina pulled a pen out of his pocket and drew a map on his cloth napkin. He handed it to Tony. “I don’t know the address, but this’ll get you there. You go ask the Rabbit what he was doing with Shane. Tell him I want to know.”

Tony glanced at the map, saw it was out in Kenner, then slipped the napkin into his jacket pocket.

Carlos said, “You taking Joey with you?”

“Him and Rocco.”

“Call me and tell me what Charlie says.”

Tony turned and glanced at the bar. The redhead was there, looking pissy, sucking a fruity drink through a straw. Tony turned back to the Old Man. “You going to be near a phone?”

Carlos looked toward the bar, then back at Tony. “I’ll be at home. I lost my appetite.”

Charlie Rabbit was old but he was hard. It wasn’t going to be easy. Tony needed clarification. He couldn’t afford a mistake. “What if he doesn’t cooperate?”

Carlos wiped a hand across his face. He almost looked like he was about to cry. “Do what you got to do, but I want answers.”

That gave Tony a free hand.

“Why are you going to see him?” Jenny asked.

They were in the hotel room in Metairie. Ray sat on the dresser, his back against the mirror. “Because he’s the only one who’s not trying to kill me.”

Jenny sat at the foot of the bed, facing him. “He’s still one of them.”

“But I think he can help me. Help us.”

“How?”

Ray wasn’t sure. He had called Charlie’s cell. “Not on the phone,” Charlie told him. He gave Ray his address and said, “Come over around seven. We’ll figure out what to do.”

Looking at Jenny, Ray said, “He can talk to Old Man Carlos for me, maybe straighten this out.”

“Will he do that?”

He shrugged. “I hope so.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Ray scooped the car keys off the dresser and walked to the door. “No,” he said over his shoulder.

“I’m not staying here by myself.”

He flipped the night latch open, then turned to look at her. “No one knows we’re here.”

“It’s not that. If I stay here, all I’m going to do is worry. If I go with you, at least I’ll know what’s going on.”

Ray shook his head. “No way.”

She folded her hands across her chest. “It’s my car.”

He felt like telling her tough shit. He needed her car, he had the keys, and he was going to use it, but he didn’t say that. They had been getting along so well, and he didn’t want to spoil it. “Jenny, I’ve got to use the car. I’ll be back in a little while.” He turned and opened the door.

“I’ll report it stolen.”

He looked at her again. “No you won’t.”

She stepped toward the phone. “Try me.”

Ray stared at her as the tension between them mounted. She was a tough girl, not given to idle threats. He wouldn’t get very far if she called the police and told them he had just stolen her car.

He grinned, and she grinned back. The tension evaporated. Jenny grabbed her purse. “Plus, I’m hungry.”

Ray pointed a finger at her. “You’re staying in the car.”

She nodded. “After you talk to Charlie, we’ll get something to eat. You can tell me what he said, and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do next.”

He only had about eight bucks on him. “Who’s buying?”

Jenny grabbed her purse off the dresser. “I’ve got money. My old job paid pretty good.”

He stared at her. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Sorry. Sometimes I’ve got to make a joke to keep from crying. Besides, I said my old job.”

Tony had to give the old guy credit. He was tough. The Rabbit had been watching TV while Mrs. Rabbit cleaned up the kitchen. Charlie had answered the door, surprise showing on his face when he’d seen Tony. He must have known it wasn’t a social call because he tried to slam the door, but Tony stiff-armed it open and rushed inside, Joey and the freshly bandaged Rocco following behind.

Now Charlie sat in a dining room chair, wrists and ankles taped to the armrests and legs, a dishrag jammed in his mouth. Mrs. Liuzza was on the kitchen floor, dead, a lamp cord looped around her neck.

Tony hit Charlie again. More blood from the Rabbit’s already pulverized face spewed onto Tony’s shirt.

After they were inside the house and had gotten everyone settled down, Tony had hung his jacket and silk tie on the coat rack by the door, but his starched white shirt with the French cuffs was ruined. His knuckles were sore and he needed a break, so he said again, “Tell me what you were doing at Hobnobber’s with Ray Shane.”

Charlie’s eyes were a sea of blood from the burst capillaries, but still the answer in them was clear. He wasn’t going to talk.

Tony slugged him once more, this time an uppercut to the body, and was rewarded with the unmistakable feel of bone on bone as Charlie’s cracked ribs grated against each other. The Rabbit groaned through the rag and slumped forward.

They had started out easy. After they got the Rabbit tied into the chair, Joey had dragged his wife into the dining room, and Tony had smacked Charlie a couple of times. He asked him why he had been with Shane and where Shane was now. But the old guy wouldn’t talk, so Tony had to get rougher, laying in solid punches, splitting an eyebrow and knocking out two teeth.

Still the Rabbit wouldn’t say anything. A nod from Tony, and Joey pushed Mrs. Rabbit down on top of the dinner table. Shoving his hand up her dress had got her screaming. It also got Charlie screaming. He was threatening and cursing so loudly that Tony had to stuff a rag into his mouth to keep the neighbors from hearing him.

Joey wound some duct tape around the old girl’s head to shut her up, then pulled her off the table and dragged her into the kitchen. The Rabbit wrenched his arms and legs, trying to tear himself loose from the chair. Tears streamed down his face as the sounds came out of the kitchen, bodies flopping on the linoleum floor, fabric tearing, heavy grunting.

Through the five minutes that it lasted, Tony kept saying that Charlie could stop it all with one word. All he had to do was tell Tony where Shane was hiding. But Charlie didn’t tell. He just cried and tore at his bonds. Then there were new sounds from the kitchen, a dish shattering, muffled screams, feet kicking at the floor. Then silence.

Joey walked back in with his clothes all fucked up and blood splattered across the front of his pants. Tony hadn’t known the muscle head was such a freak. Mrs. Rabbit had to be at least sixty.

When he saw Joey, Charlie started sobbing so much that Tony had to thumb the rag deeper into his mouth. Tony could see that the Rabbit was a broken man. Now he would talk.