Patrick Quinlan - The Hit

He glanced up from his newspaper. He gazed up and down the street.

‘I say fuck ‘em. Let them gawk.’

He snatched the binoculars off his lap and scanned the street.

Jonah watched the spy glasses move back and forth. The big man had brains – Jonah had to admit that. Among Foerster’s mail had been a bill from North Bronx Central Hospital. It seemed Foerster had been admitted for a bleeding ulcer some months before and still hadn’t paid. The dunning letter came with a copy of Foerster’s admission form. The form contained the name, address and phone number of an emergency contact.

Foerster’s mother.

‘Nothing yet, huh?’ Gordo said.

‘No.’

‘Don’t worry, he’ll come.’

‘Oh, I won’t worry,’ Jonah said. ‘Why should I worry? Here’s a black man, probably from Mars, pointing a laser gun at somebody’s house during broad daylight. Nothing unusual about that, right? We’re lucky they haven’t called out the National Guard.

And meanwhile, Foerster would have to be an idiot to show up here.’

Gordo raised an eyebrow.

‘Patience, my brother,’ he said, scanning the paper again. ‘He’ll show up. I feel him in my bones, like some people feel the rain. A friendless bastard like that, he’s got to come back to his mother eventually.’

And as if by magic, Foerster appeared.

Jonah stared at him for close to a full minute before he realized who it was. Skinny, unkempt Foerster stood at the bottom of the concrete steps of his mother’s house, talking to a heavyset older guy. Foerster wore a gray wool cap like a sailor, probably to hide the scars on his head. It wasn’t remotely cold enough out for wool. Jonah could hardly believe the state of the man. He looked… dingy, like a ring of soap scum left around the sink after washing the dishes. He appeared to weigh about twenty-seven pounds. It was hard to imagine that this specimen had fought Jonah off yesterday, then had outrun him and given him the slip. He must be highly motivated.

‘Would you look at that,’ Jonah said. ‘He’s right out on the street.’

Gordo held the binoculars to his eyes. ‘Put the mike on them.’

Jonah turned the volume up and aimed the mike at the two men.

‘Yeah, yeah, I may stick around awhile,’ Foerster said. ‘My project in Cleveland just ended. It looks like I have something lined up down south, but after that job ends, I might just settle here in the old neighborhood for a while.’

‘What the hell is he talking about?’ Jonah said. ‘What job? Cleveland? I mean, come on already.’

Gordo shrugged. ‘He lies like other people breathe.’

‘Well, we’re glad to have you back, Davey,’ the oldster said. He clapped Foerster on his scrawny back and the mike picked up the slap. ‘I’m sure your mother will be happy to have a man around the house again.’

‘Sure, sure. I guess she gets lonely sometimes. It’ll be good for her.’

‘It’ll be good for both of you. Nothing like Mom’s home cooking to fatten a man up.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ Gordo said. ‘They’re gonna need a lot more than Mom to fatten Foerster up. The guy’s a walking hunger crisis.’

They watched as Foerster went in the house.

The oldster crossed the street and walked off down the block.

‘All right,’ Gordo said. He took a deep breath. ‘I guess it’s time to go for it.’

He climbed out of the car and dropped the binoculars on the seat. In his hand he held a pile of religious tracts he hoped to discuss with Mrs. Foerster. The top one, the one Jonah could see, was called THE COMING FIRE.

‘Let’s go over this one more time, OK? Just so we don’t get crossed up out there. When I see an opening and decide I’m going in, what am I gonna say?’

‘God is love,’ Jonah said. ‘I hear that, then I come running to back you up. Fifty yard dash. I’ll be there in about six or seven seconds. When I come through the front door, you’ll be shouting out instructions – upstairs, or back door, or cellar, depending on where he’s going. He’s only been here one night, so he probably hasn’t had a chance to come up with much of an escape route.’

‘Sounds good, right? Workable?’

‘Actually, it sounds about twice as half-assed as yesterday’s plan,’ Jonah said. ‘But given the circumstances, I feel pretty confident about it. At least you’re the one going in first.’

Gordo smiled. ‘OK. As long as you feel good, I’m happy.’

Jonah watched Gordo amble up the block toward the house, tracts in hand. He trained the microphone on Gordo’s wide back. Gordo started muttering under his breath as he walked along.

‘Are you listening, Jonah? Lovely neighborhood they got here. Looks like the tide went out on this place about twenty years ago.’

He arrived at the house. His breathing came a little heavier, a little more labored. He seemed like maybe he was talking to himself now. It was hard to tell. ‘Are you ready kid? This is the test. This is the big test. This is for all the marbles right here.’

He climbed the short steps to the front door.

Inside, Davis Foerster went around in circles with his mother yet again.

She wasn’t happy to see him. Hey, he wasn’t happy to see her either. But when she opened that front door last night and saw him standing there, she might have been auditioning as an extra in a low-grade horror movie. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened, and overall her face looked as if a creature from the swamp, trailing gore and slime, had appeared at her home. But she had let him in. That she had. What else was she going to do? He was her only son, after all.

She wanted him out as soon as possible, and he wanted to go – more than anything. If it were up to him, he would walk out that door right now and make a beeline for Charleston. Hanging around here gave him the creeps in more ways than one. He kept expecting the angry ghost of his shit-for-brains father to pop out of a closet or from behind the moldy shower curtain in the bathroom. Foerster wanted out before that or something worse happened. But he needed a grubstake to get him going, and she wouldn’t part with the cash.

Oh, she would give him enough for a bus ride maybe as far as Philadelphia and for a Big Mac at a highway rest stop, but that was it. She wouldn’t give him what he needed to get where he was going, to set himself up with a room for a couple of weeks in case the job didn’t come through right away, and to eat like a human being during all that time. His mom was a major disappointment. Then again, he wasn’t surprised at all. Why should he be? This was the way she had always been. You couldn’t pry money out of her with a crowbar.

Now she was sitting across from him at the kitchen table in her goddamn house dress, a hair net on her head, the cordless phone at her elbow like a faithful dog. That was her big hobby, talking on the telephone. Any minute now, she would pick up that phone, dial a number and start her gabbing. She was a world champion talker and not much of anything else. To Foerster, she looked old and tired, like a hag. She didn’t even bother to get dressed anymore. For a moment, he studied the lines of her face. He decided she should have a wart on the end of her nose. That would complete the picture.

‘But Davey, why don’t you just get a job? I’d let you stay here if you were working.’

He reached for the hard pack of Camels he had placed next to her on the table. She didn’t allow smoking in the house. He didn’t care. He slid one out and lit up. ‘No way, Ma.’ He pointed the lit smoke at her. ‘No way, you understand?’ He laughed, and for a moment the depth and breadth of her stupidity, the sheer grandeur of it, delighted him. His mom was the Grand Canyon of dumb, and he could finally see the humor in it.