Andrew Vachss - Two Trains Running

“Yeah, well, when he gets the license, he won’t know how to read that, either. Not until it gets explained to him.”

“Our operation, we can afford to send the collectors out with cover,” Beaumont said. “But with Dioguardi’s penny-ante action, he did that, it would cost him more than he’s bringing in. So he’s either got to step up or step back.”

Dett opened his hands in a “Well?” gesture.

“Oh, he was coming anyway,” Beaumont said, calmly. “He probably would have tried another sit-down first, see if there wasn’t some way I’d let him have a slice, peaceable. Like he did before, when he came out for a visit. But even if I went along, it would never have stopped there, and he knows I know it.”

“That’s why, after he gets the license, he gets a phone call,” Dett said, watching understanding slowly fill the other man’s eyes.

1959 October 01 Thursday 20:21

“There has to be more than that,” Procter said to the jowly plainclothes cop standing beside him at the base of the water tower.

“If there is, we don’t know it,” the cop said. His hair was snow white, worn in a stiff brush cut, its precision and neatness a stark contrast to his cratered face, which was the color of old mushrooms.

“One of Sally D.’s men takes a baseball bat to the head, and you’re playing it like he was some stewbum who fell off a barstool?”

“If you’re asking, did we get a lay-off order, the answer is no,” the cop said. “Besides, it doesn’t look in-house. If that punk was dipping into the till, he might have caught himself a beating, sure. Maybe even worse. And, yeah, they might have left his head on a stake, make sure the troops get the word. But this…”

“How could you tell?”

“Well, for one thing, it was too clean.”

“Clean? The guy’s in a goddamn coma.”

“Very clean,” the cop said, reluctant admiration clear in his voice. “You hit a guy with a bat in the face, it’s instant mess. Splat! You got blood spurting everywhere-including all over the guy holding the bat. But whoever did this, he was like a doctor, operating. One shot to the back of the head. Perfect. Little Nicky never saw him coming, I bet. And he sure as fuck didn’t know what hit him. Still doesn’t, from what I hear.” The jowly man snorted.

“Maybe he doesn’t, but I do,” Procter said.

“Yeah?”

“Perrini got his arm up in time to block at least one of the blows. So it had to be a couple of men, one in front, one behind.”

“You get what you pay for,” the cop said, chuckling snidely.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, one of your stooges down at the station house gave you a look at the report, Jimmy. You saw that his watch was busted, so you figure he threw up his arm, tried to block the bat coming at his head, right?”

“But…?”

“But you weren’t on the scene. I was. Me and the great Sherman Layne. Whoever busted that watch, he did it on purpose. After Nicky was laid out, face-down.”

“Huh! I never heard of that one. What did Layne say he thought it meant?”

“Sherman? He don’t share his observations with the rest of us,” the jowly cop said. “Me, I think it was like saying time’s running out, or something like that.”

“You read too many detective magazines,” Procter said.

1959 October 01 Thursday 22:16

“Who the fuck is this?” The voice was hoarse with what the speaker believed to be intimidating menace.

“It’s the boogeyman, genius. Now, I’m going to ask you just one more time, so listen good. I got something I need to mail to your boss. It’s something he wants. Something that could help him with his business. I need an address where I can be sure it’ll get to him.”

“Listen, pal, you think I’m stupid? How’s Mr. D. gonna know you didn’t mail him a fucking bomb or something?”

“Because he’ll get a stooge like you to open it for him,” Dett said.

1959 October 02 Friday 10:17

“My plans have changed,” Dett said to Carl.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Dett. Does this mean you won’t be staying with us as long as-?”

“Oh, I’m staying, all right,” Dett said, shaking his head. “In fact, I may be stuck-well, that’s not exactly the right word-I may be staying longer than I thought.”

“Of course,” Carl said, agreeably. “Does that mean you would prefer a smaller-?”

“I’ll be fine where I am,” Dett said, “but I can’t keep getting around on foot. I think it’s time to rent that car.”

“Oh, we… I… can take care of that for you, sir. Is there any particular sort of car you would like?”

“Something… respectable,” Dett said. “Good-quality, but not flashy. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“Absolutely,” Carl assured him. “Would dinnertime be soon enough?”

1959 October 02 Friday 11:44

“I don’t know what he driving right this second, but I know what he goan be driving tonight, boss.”

“Well?”

“Be a brand-new Chevy Impala. Four-door sedan,” he said, emphasizing the first syllable of the last word. “Nice dark-green one.”

“Plate?”

“Ain’t got that yet, boss. But that ride I jest tole you ’bout, that’s the one the deskman ordered for him from the rental company. It goan be delivered tonight; I get you the plate number then, okay?”

“Don’t call this number tonight. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

“Yessir. I-”

Rufus stopped in mid-sentence when he heard the line go dead.

1959 October 02 Friday 20:13

“When you first came in, you looked so different, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I’d recognize you if all you did was just change clothes.”

“You did more than that,” Tussy said, tilting her chin up as she regarded Dett, her big green eyes luminous. “I just can’t tell what it is yet.”

“This is the real me,” he said.

“I-”

“Pick up!” came from the kitchen.

“I’ve got to run. This is our busiest time. That’s why there’s no space at the booths.”

She whirled and moved toward the opening in the kitchen wall. Dett admired the way she snatched a pair of trays, pirouetted smartly, and swivel-hipped her way around various obstacles to a booth where a young couple was sitting. She off-loaded the two trays, chattering to her customers as she worked. Then she strode back toward the delivery slot to exchange the empty trays for three loaded ones, which she stacked onto a little cart and wheeled off in the opposite direction.

It was twenty minutes before she returned to where Dett was sitting.

“What’ll it be?” she said, her pad at the ready.

“The lemon pie.”

“That’s not dinner; that’s dessert.”

“Well, I’m not really hungry.”

“Then you shouldn’t go near my lemon pie,” Tussy said, smiling.

“I don’t always say things as good as I want. I meant to say, even though I’m not hungry, your lemon pie is so good I still want some.”

“You know what,” she said, leaning on the counter and dropping her voice, “all we have left is one piece, and it’s really yesterday’s-I didn’t get a chance to bake today. You don’t want that piece. You come back tomorrow, earlier, if you can, and I’ll cut you the first slice. It’s always the best.”

“I will come back. But that’s not why I came. I wanted to-”

“Tussy, damn it!” bellowed from the kitchen.

“I’m sorry. Can you…?” she said, and trotted off.

Dett sat quietly for a few minutes, eyes on a menu. When Tussy didn’t return, he got up, went over to the jukebox, and invested a few nickels in Jack Scott.

By the time he returned to the counter, the stool he had been using was occupied, along with the three closest to it. High-school kids, in blue-and-gold varsity jackets with “Locke City Eagles” in block letters across the backs. Dett tapped one on the shoulder, a deep-chested young man with a knife-edged crewcut and a practiced curl to his upper lip.