Andrew Vachss - The Weight

“What the hell is this?” I couldn’t help asking him.

“Putz,” he said. “You never heard of the Lincoln Continental?”

“Sure. But…”

“Not a Lincoln Continental, Sugar; the Lincoln Continental. You know how they have them all with numbers, like the Mark III or the Mark IV, like that?”

“I guess so.”

“This one’s got no number. Know why? Because this is the first of the line. If they had a Mark I, that’s what this would be. Back when this was new, they built cars to last, not like the crap they make today.”

“They were all like this?”

“Don’t be a clown, kiddo. A Chevy’s always been a Chevy; a Ford’s always been a Ford. But this baby never saw an assembly line; it was hand-built. Not just top-of-the-line, top of them all .”

“I’m not surprised it lasted this long-feels like we’re in a damn tank.”

“A tank with plenty of pep. Not that you want to go racing around in a car like this. That would be… Well, it would just be wrong.”

“I don’t get it. The whole car thing, I don’t get any of that.”

“It’s not the car; it’s what it means. Me, I wanted one of these from the minute I first saw one, a couple of years after the war. A car like this, it sets you apart.”

“From who?”

“From everyone . I don’t care if you’re a young shvartser in Harlem or an alter kocker in Miami, your idea of heaven is still a Cadillac. But next to this beauty, a Caddy’s a piece of shit. Back when we were kicking the crap out of the krauts, this was the best car on the planet.”

“You were in that?”

“You think I’m, what, a Zen Buddhist? Back then, a Jewish boy, he couldn’t walk the streets unless he was home on leave. Better be in uniform, too. Otherwise, the old ladies, they’d spit on you. And the young ones-forget it.

“Don’t get me wrong, that was one job I couldn’t wait to get in on. Look at me now, you wouldn’t believe it, but back then I was a lion. The only thing I ever worried about was getting sent to the Pacific Theater.”

“That was extra bad?”

“It was all bad, kid. But how was I gonna get to kill any Nazis over there?”

“You wanted to kill them?”

“I wanted to kill all of them. I just wish the assholes who ran the government had dropped that big one on Berlin, too.”

“The atom bomb, right? You mean, they only had the one?”

Solly slapped himself on his forehead. “Who am I talking to? We had lots of them, Sugar. You think we only hit Japan one time?”

“Well, if they had so many-”

“They weren’t gonna drop nukes on white people, kid. Simple as that. I don’t know how it was out west back then. But here, the Germans had their own part of town. First Avenue in the low nineties. They even called it ‘Germantown.’ Before the war, they had a lot of pull in this city, so you have to figure, they had it other places, too. But it still comes down to the same thing. You can’t tell a German from a Swede just by looking at them, but you can spot a Jap at a hundred yards.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Nah. It’s a lot more complicated than that. But let me ask you a question, okay? Tell the truth: you really give a rat’s ass about anything that happened way before you were born?”

“I guess not.”

I watched him drive, working the column shifter like one of those guys who can type with their eyes closed. It was all so smooth. Not just the ride, with the big car swallowing all the bumps in the road; Solly, he was smooth, too.

“Isn’t this thing a little-?”

“What? Distinctive? Sure it is! What, I’m gonna use it on a bank job? Besides, people need to see what real class is every once in a while.”

“It’s… really something.”

“Just like new,” Solly said. “Better, actually. Things like tires, they don’t make ’em like they used to… and that’s a good thing.”

Nearly five o’clock in the morning, and people were still staring at the car every time we stopped at a light. One time, it was a big black one like Solly’s, only it was one of those SUVs. It was painted a different kind of black from Solly’s. Even the windows were black.

Somebody stuck a cell phone out the window. It was on Solly’s side, so I slumped in the seat, looked down. The SUV was playing some noise, sounded like an elephant stampede. Same stuff they play over the speakers at Rikers. That was another good thing about being sent way Upstate.

Neon ribbons inside the SUV kept changing colors. The wheels were black, but the centers were gold; they kept spinning even with the wheels stopped.

“Solly…”

“I see him, kid. Just taking pictures with his cell phone. Every place I go with this car, they do that.”

“What about your license plate?”

“I should care?” Solly said. “This beauty, she’s as legit as it gets. Those kind”-tilting his head in the direction of the fancy black SUV-“they don’t know how to act.”

We just kept driving. A long loop around the city, like old men taking a stroll in the park. Solly stayed in the right-hand lane on First, timing it so we rolled through on green. Way downtown, he caught a yellow light. Solly eased the big car to a stop, being real careful.

Looking straight ahead, he asked me, “Is that place still open?”

I didn’t know what place he meant, but as I turned to look out my window, a flash went off. By the time I got done blinking, Solly had the green and we took off.

“I saw it,” he said, like he knew what I was thinking. “Just one of those ‘artiste’ dipshits running around with a camera. Probably wants to catch the sun coming up over the East River or something like that.”

“You sure?”

“How’m I gonna be ‘sure,’ Sugar? I’m saying, those kind, they’re all over the city now. Besides, this guy, he had a girl with him. Probably his fucking ‘assistant.’ Like an assistant you fuck, get it?”

“Yeah.”

“Get over yourself, kid. Who’d want a picture of you ? Some CIA surveillance team? Come on.”

We just kept driving. When we got near Canal, Solly pulled to the curb.

“In the back, there’s a suitcase. See it? Everything you need’s in there.”

“I’m not-”

“Get out, walk back the way we came. A little over two blocks. Then turn left. Maybe ten, twelve doors down, you’ll see a sign: ‘Voodoo Veils.’ It’s one of those art places. Above it, there’s a loft. This key”-he handed me a key attached to a little red tube by a short chain-“it opens the door next to that sign. You walk up two flights, you’re in your own place.”

“What about-?”

“It’s all in there,” Solly said. “Now get outta here before we start attracting attention. There’s a cell phone in the suitcase. Call me when you want to work.”

“Who owns the-?”

“Later,” he said.

I knew I wasn’t getting anything else out of Solly, so I grabbed the suitcase out of the back, stepped out, and closed the door. I did it soft, out of respect for the car. Then I started walking.

I only had a short distance to cover, but I was still glad it was already starting to get light out. I wasn’t worried about muggers-they stop working in the early morning, and I don’t look like a good target, anyway. But the cops, they do whatever they want.

If a prowl car called me over, I’d have to go. Show them ID. They wouldn’t like the suitcase. Ask me if I minded if they looked inside. I’d have to say I did mind. Then they’d say they saw a gun in my belt, or make up anything they felt like. Once they looked inside that suitcase, I’d be cooked.