Andrew Vachss - Two Trains Running

“That’s because they’ve got the reefer business,” the acne-scarred boy said. “The money, that’s what does it.”

“That’s exactly what the men who gave me this pistol said, Donny,” the leader replied. “We should have a piece of that for ourselves.”

“How?” Hog asked. “The Gladiators only signed that treaty with us because of the niggers. They’re not going to give us any of their-”

“They’re not going to give us nothing,” Ace said. “Wednesday night, it’s our meet. We’re the ones that called it. The Gladiators will be there, like to back us up, because of the treaty. But we know what that’s really about, don’t we? It’s just to watch us, see how we handle ourselves.”

Ace took a quick swig from the pale-green bottle of Thunderbird, passed it to the boy on his right, and addressed his audience.

“And remember, their President, Lacy, he fucking hates that nigger Preacher. And after Lacy sees what I do to him, he’s going to think, Okay, those Hawks, they’ve got it. They’re killers, man.

“I’m not saying we’ll run the Gladiators off. They got the numbers. And there’s the treaty, too. We have to respect that. But the reefer, in our territory, by rights, it should be us getting paid from Fat Lucy, not them. After they see how the Hawks have real firepower, I’ll bet they see it that way, too. And Mr. Dioguardi, he’ll know the Hawks can do a lot more jobs than just keeping an eye on things for him.”

“We’re doing all right without…” said a tall, well-muscled boy with a deeply underslung jaw.

“We’re not, Larry,” Ace said. “Not if we want to-”

“What I wanted, when I joined, was to… I don’t know, be with a club. Have a place where we could bring girls, drink a little wine, smoke some gauge, you know what I’m saying. I mean, sure, bop with anyone who calls us out. But I don’t want to be a gang man for my whole life.”

“What do you want to do, then?” Ace confronted the challenger. “Go work in the plant, like your daddy did? The plant’s fucking closed, man.”

“I was thinking about the army.”

“The army?”

“My brother went in. Oscar. He was-”

“Oscar didn’t have no choice,” Ace said. “He was a Hawk, too, remember? The judge told him it was the state pen or the army. A lot of guys went in the same way.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Larry said. “But Oscar ended up liking it. He was supposed to go in for four years, but when that was done, he signed up again. He’s a sergeant. He’s always writing me, telling me I should do it, too. It’s a pretty good deal. He never has to worry about losing his job. And he can even retire when he’s younger than my father is right now. Have a salary for life. He’s got a new car, and he’s saving for a ‘Vette. They get free doctors and free-”

“Free? He’s not free, man. He’s got to take orders.”

“Everybody takes orders from somewhere,” Larry said, stubbornly. “It doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

“That’s because your brother, when he came up, it was a different time. He didn’t have the… opportunities, like we’re going to have.”

“I don’t-”

“What’s your hurry, man? I know all about that army thing. You got to be seventeen to go in, even if your folks sign for you. Just wait until after Wednesday, okay? You’ll see.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Who gave you that gun, anyway?” Hog asked, deliberately redirecting the growing tension in the basement.

“All I know is Mr. White and Mr. Green,” Ace told the others. “They said they’d been scouting us. Liked what they saw.”

“You think maybe they were from Mr. Dioguardi’s-?”

“Oh, man, come on!” Ace said. “Those guys, the way they talked, I know where they’re from.” He paused dramatically, waiting for everyone’s close attention. “They were the Klan,” Ace said, rapturously. “The way they talked, they got to be.”

1959 October 04 Sunday 21:05

“It’s your turn,” Ruth told the busty girl in the white babydoll nightgown. “You want it or not?”

“What do you mean, my turn?” the girl who called herself Lola asked. Her dull-brown hair fell limply on either side of even duller-brown eyes.

“You know the trick,” Ruth said, tapping a yellow pencil against the frame of her cat’s-eye glasses. “I told you about it when you first came here. And you’ve talked about it with other girls, girls who’ve done it.”

“I didn’t-”

“Yes, you did. There’s something else I told you, told you from the beginning,” Ruth said, sternly. “In this house, you can turn down a trick-any trick-and still stay. But you lie to me, even one time, and you’re out on your ass.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Ruth. I didn’t mean to-”

“He’s going to be here soon, all right? Now, either you say yes, so we can get you down to the blue room, or you say no, and I get someone else.”

“I…”

“This isn’t a punishment, you dumb bitch,” Ruth said, sharply. “It’s a fifty-dollar trick. Ever get that much before? In your whole life? There’s girls here who never even heard of such a thing, except when they’re lying to each other. The way it works is, the man calls, and I spin the wheel. Whoever’s name comes up, they-”

“What wheel?”

“There is no wheel,” Ruth sighed. “It’s just an expression. What I actually do, since it’s so important to you to know, I write every girl’s name on a card, like this one,” Ruth said, holding up a plain white index card, with the letter “L” written on it in a composition-book hand, “and I put them all in a bowl, face-down. Then I close my eyes, mix them all around, and pull one out. That one, it’s the winner, not the loser.”

“Does it… does it hurt?”

“You never…?”

“No. I don’t think it’s…”

“And you never asked Barbara? Or Lorraine? They both-”

“I did ask Lorraine. But I know how some of the girls are. They’ll say things…”

Ruth pointedly looked at her wristwatch, a black oval on a thin gold band.

“Does he ever tip?” the dull-eyed woman asked.

1959 October 04 Sunday 21:20

“You better not be calling me from work,” the voice said.

Cold and hard, Carl thought, like a diamond. A perfect pure-white diamond. “No, of course not,” he said aloud. “I would never-”

“-disobey,” the voice finished the sentence for him.

“Never!” Carl said, excitement rising in that part of him he kept buried under his many shields.

“Don’t say ‘never’ to me like that, you sniveling little baby! I told you, no more notes. Didn’t I?”

“Yes, but-”

“Yes?” the voice said, the undercurrent of threat closer to the surface.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I only wanted to-”

“What you want isn’t important. Is it?”

“No, sir.”

“And you know what is important, don’t you?”

“Yes. I… Yes, sir, I know. Please?”

“What time is your shift over?”

“Eleven. But then I have to close down the-”

“Oh four hundred hours,” the voice said. “That will give you plenty of time to prepare yourself.”

1959 October 04 Sunday 21:34

I got to get closer, refrained through Holden’s labyrinth mind. I got to get closer, so I can make my report. He moved as cautiously as a weasel approaching a henhouse, his passage disturbing the underbrush less than a gentle breeze. The night creatures were used to Holden’s presence-his scent didn’t alarm them, his movements didn’t send them scurrying. He was one of them: a resident, not a visitor.

That’s the one, he said to himself. That same ’55 Chevy. That’s why he didn’t back all the way in, the way most of them do-he wouldn’t want to get that beautiful paint all scratched up.