Tom Piccirilli - Fuckin' Lie Down Already

“No, it’s true. He was here, had a party with a few whores, but he left this morning. I swear!”

“I believe you. Where in the city?”

“His club.”

That stopped Clay and took him back a bit. He thought he knew just about everything there was to know about the Merullo business. “Chuckie’s got a club?”

“A new place he opened on the upper west side. 73 rd, I think. 72 nd, something like that. I’m not sure, I ain’t never been there. Restaurant, club, whatever. Called…uh…the Experience, you know, but in Italian.”

“I’ll find it. How about Rocco?”

“Who?”

“Rocco Tucci. Junkie dealer Chuckie uses from time to time.”

Frank’s chest tightened and he damn near sneered. “Don’t know him.” The mutt was starting to get used to his fear, trying to toughen it out some.

“So you’re gonna lie now and cover for a filthy scumbag like that just to show me what a fierce prick you are?”

“You know who I am? I’m Frankie Merullo! I’m Big Frankie’s second cousin!”

“And you’re both assholes. What room is Rocco in?”

Clay shoved the barrel harder, mashed Frankie’s lip against his teeth. He knew the guy was going to make a move, but he hoped he’d get an answer first. “Come on, Frankie, help me out here. I’ve had a rough couple of days.”

“At the far end! Room 16!”

“Key. Hand it to me carefully.”

Frank slowly reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a plastic card. “It’s the master, gets into every room.”

“Now you’re being helpful.”

Frankie tensed up again, knowing what was coming. He opened his arms wide and flung himself boldly forward as if he was throwing a tackle, maybe scared or stupid enough to forget there was a gun in his face. Clay fired once and Frankie did a complete backwards somersault, landed on his feet again and then flopped over Mel’s corpse, just as dead.

Clay didn’t worry about the noise. Rocco was in the back of the Ten-Spot and probably still on the nod with Chuckie’s money.

The hallways were cleaner than he expected. Maybe Mel had taken some pride in the place and had the maids come in and clean after the party broke up. A sweet flowery aroma wafted all around.

The surge of relief in finally finding Rocco nearly dropped Clay to his knees before he could get the key into the lock.

In the two and a half days he’d been on the road he’d started to lose hope. Rocco hadn’t been at his apartment in Flatbush, or at Chuckie’s casino in Atlantic City, or at the Merullo complex in eastern Connecticut.

No, because he was here sleeping on the bed in a T-shirt and sagging shorts, with his arm tied off with a loop of rubber. Needle conscientiously cleaned and set on the night stand next to the throwaway.32 he’d stolen from Clay.

A naked teenage whore sat on the floor cross-legged, smoking a joint. Her chest was tattooed with a giant raven, and when she snapped up at Clay’s entrance her tits went jiggling, and the wings of the bird seemed to be flapping. It was a sharp effect, she probably made some money on stage with that trick.

Clay trained the pistol on Rocco’s heart, fighting down the furious urge to retch. It would kill him if he did.

Just seeing that face again nearly snuffed out Clay’s brain with scorching rage and poison.

Nobody had enough cool to handle it all, but Christ, he was trying.

The girl said, “Hey, man, you can ass-fuck me, all right? Just don’t shoot.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Okay. You wanna see me dance?”

Teenybopper next door looks: cobalt eyes, blonde hair done in a pony tail, pouty lips and a dimpled chin. She reminded him of Kathy back in high school, when beauty and youth overrode everything else. He couldn’t decide if it was already too late for her. Probably.

“Not at the moment,” he said. “Got something else on my mind. What’s your name?”

“Lula. You don’t look so good, man. You’re leaking. And your skin-”

“Shh.”

Rocco had been on the nod for a couple of days and wasn’t ever going to come out of it. He opened his bleary eyes, lost in the back of his own head, about ten seconds behind the rest of the world. He was just picking up on the fact that Clay had busted in. Idly rolled over on the bed and tried to go for the gun in slow motion.

Clay stepped over and pocketed the pistol. He checked the drawer and came up with a couple of grams of skag and $450 in fifties. The money must’ve been left over from whatever pocket cash Chuckie had paid him.

Something inside was moving on its own, maybe his pancreas, maybe an animal that had crawled up for warmth.

That’s okay, we’re getting there.

Rocco’s gaze almost focused on him. Clay had trouble catching his breath, air hissing over his teeth, but finally he bit down a groan and said, “Hey, how’s it hanging?”

It took a while to get an answer. Lengthy pause…one…two…three…with Rocco’s eyes going to half-mast, then widening again, until finally his mouth moved. “Shit, man…you’re…dead…!”

“Pretty much. You and me both.”

Clay’s sweat wasn’t sweat anymore, he could taste the infection as the drops ran into the corners of his mouth. He gestured with the piece.

“Come along, Rocco.”

“What?”

“Come along.”

“What?”

“Come on.”

“Where we going?” That pallid face fell in on itself and his vacant eyes started to water. “The heck is that smell?”

“New after shave.”

Lula was breathing hard too, the raven really flapping. She gave Clay a nervous smile, those blue eyes burning with fear and spirit, pink tits upturned and her pubic thatch shaved down into a thin line so light that it was almost transparent. Despite everything, he suddenly found himself becoming aroused, and the aching misery of it made him want to yelp.

A man was a man no matter what the fuck you did to him.

He said, “Lula.”

“Yes.”

“What’s your real name?”

“That is.”

“Really? Do me a favor.”

A vicious smirk nicked her lips. She could sense his need and came at him like she was going to undo his pants. “Okay.”

Clay handed her all the money, four packs of heroin, the spoon, the lighter, and the syringe. “Make up a nice fix for him.”

“I thought you might be a cop.”

She took everything from him, cooked the H and filled the needle. Rocco had fallen asleep again and a syrupy green drool trickled down his neck. Lula was about to hand the fixings back when Clay said, “More than that.”

“More will probably kill him.”

“And you think I want to take him home with me and introduce him to my grandmother?”

“No.”

“You love him?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then do it.”

She grimaced and started to sulk. “I was sort of hoping I could go for a ride too. He’s going to use it all.”

“You don’t want to take a ride to where he’s going.”

The reality of the moment hit her as if she’d been backhanded, but even that didn’t quite rattle her.

“I believe you,” Lula said. “But-”

Rocco began to softly snore. In a way, Clay envied somebody who could take a nap with a gun pointed at him. The dynamics of murder vibrated in every atom of the room.

“My faith in mankind has been shaken a tad, girl. How about if you just do what I say.”

“Sure.” She drew another five cc’s into the needle.

Clay said, “Make it ten.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?”

“Not a whole lot.”

“He doesn’t have many veins left.”

“All he needs is one more.”

She found the same bloody pinprick track that Rocco had last used and eased the needle in. Rocco showed the whites of his eyes and offered up a hideous smirk big as an ass crack on his face. He sat straight up in bed and went, “Ooooggaaa-”