Andrew Vachss - Two Trains Running

“I thought Lacy hated Preacher.”

“Maybe he does, but he sure didn’t act like it. It was… like they didn’t give a fuck, one way or the other. The only thing they cared about was the lot on Halstead. After Wednesday night, that’s theirs. Maybe if the Kings tried to claim it-’hold their ground’ is what Lacy said-that’d make him call an all-out. But it doesn’t matter anymore. The plans we had, they’re no good now.”

“We still gotta show. Otherwise…”

“You think I don’t know that, man? But no matter how it comes out, we’re never going to end up part of the Gladiators, not now. Remember how we had it figured? After the meet, after they see what we can do, we get asked to come in with them? Sure, I don’t be President anymore. And you wouldn’t be Warlord. But men like us, we could move up in the organization, be a part of something big. That’s all gone, now. So I’m thinking about what those Klan guys told me.”

“About Fat Lucy’s and-?”

“Yeah. See, it’s like someone talked to the Gladiators, too. About the same thing, only bigger.”

“What are we going to do, Ace?”

“First, we’re going to take care of the Kings,” the young man said, grimly. “Then I’m going to ask to see Mr. Dioguardi. He’ll know what we should do.”

1959 October 05 Monday 17:21

Dett shaved slowly and meticulously. He patted witch hazel onto his cheeks, and started to dress. His face was a frozen mask, his mind a cloudless night sky.

1959 October 05 Monday 17:29

Tussy grunted as she tugged a panty girdle over her hips, finally letting out a breath when it was in place. She attached her stockings-a brand-new pair, purchased earlier that day-to the garter clips, then shrugged into a pale-pink bra trimmed in lace around the top of the cups. Next came a dark-gray pencil skirt-her earlier attempts to fit into it had necessitated the girdle-a lightly ruffled ice-blue silk blouse, and a peplum jacket that was a mate to the skirt. Finally, ankle-strapped black pumps with three-inch heels.

Tussy walked over to the full-length mirror and surveyed the result of her handiwork. Her makeup had been applied before she dressed herself. The glass reflected a radiant beauty. Fatso! she said to herself, sticking out her tongue at the mirror.

1959 October 05 Monday 17:40

When the elevator car opened on the eighth floor, Dett entered, carrying a leather shaving kit in his right hand.

“I wonder if you’d mind holding on to this for me until I get back,” he said to Moses.

The old man pulled a folded brown paper bag from inside his uniform jacket. He snapped open the bag, inserted the shaving case, rolled the bag closed tightly, and deposited it atop the padded stool next to the brass control lever. He moved the lever to the right, and the car slowly descended.

Neither man spoke until the car opened in the lobby and Dett stepped out.

“You have yourself a good evening, suh,” the operator called out.

Dett walked over to the front desk, waited patiently as Carl finished speaking with one of the maintenance men, then asked, “Do you know where I can find a good flower shop around here?”

“At this hour?” Carl said, glancing at his watch.

“Yeah,” Dett said, his voice shifting tone so slightly only a human mine-detector like Carl would have noticed. “Right now.”

“Give me a moment,” Carl said. He picked up the desk phone, dialed a number from memory. “Laurel,” he said, to whoever answered, “we have a guest who needs some flowers. Yes, I know you close at six. But this is a VIP request, Laurel. The Claremont would very much appreciate… Hold on,” he said, turning to Dett. “Did you have any particular flowers in mind?”

“Just nice ones.”

Covering the receiver with his hand, Carl leaned toward Dett ever so slightly, said, “Forgive me if I seem intrusive, sir. But there are flowers one brings to a lady, flowers one leaves as an offering, although that would be more a floral arrangement…”

“I’ve got a date,” Dett said, the spaces between his words so measured, the effect was just short of mechanical. “I want to bring her some flowers.”

“Ah! Excuse me…” Carl removed his hand from the receiver, said, “Laurel, we can make do with American Beauties. I know you still have some very fresh ones from earlier. Of course long-stemmed. And, I think”-glancing over at Dett-“some whites, too.” Catching Dett’s confirmatory nod, Carl went back to the phone: “No, Laurel, not a dozen. That’s so… ordinary. Let’s have six white, with three red, centered, of course. Wait…” Turning to Dett, he said, “Their boy has already gone for the day; they won’t be able to deliver. Shall I send someone over to collect them for you, or would you prefer-?”

“I’ll pick them up myself,” Dett said. “Just tell me where I have to go.”

“He’ll be there in, say, ten minutes, Laurel. We won’t forget this.”

Carl hung up. “It’s really not even five minutes from here by car,” he said to Dett. “I’ll just draw you a little map.”

1959 October 05 Monday 18:45

Tussy peered out from behind the living room curtains. It was six-forty-five in the evening, past dusk, but the street was alive, as if the unseasonably warm weather had turned back the calendar. The men in work clothes had been home for a while; the ones in business suits always came later. A man played catch with a boy wearing a blue baseball cap with a white bill. Tussy didn’t need a telescope to read the embroidered logo on the cap-anyone in her neighborhood would recognize the colors of the Beaumont Badgers, the Little League team sponsored by Beaumont Realty.

Some of the men were doing what Tussy always thought of as weekend work-washing their cars, mowing their lawns. A pack of kids were playing touch football in the street, making the kind of noise that quiets every mother’s anxiety. A little girl jumped up and down excitedly in front of her parents, telling them something wonderful. The neighbor’s beagle-a notorious escape artist no fence could contain-charged across a backyard, chasing an invisible rabbit.

Parents watched as a bronze Buick came slowly down the block, silently approving of the driver’s cautious approach. It was more than his being alert to the ever-present possibility of a child or an animal darting into the street-somehow, it felt as if he was showing respect for their neighborhood, like a man who knew enough to take off his hat in church.

They all watched as the Buick pulled to the curb in front of Tussy’s house. Tussy watched, too. And when a tall, neatly dressed man emerged from the car, a bouquet of roses in his hand, and started up her flagstone walk, she thought, Now they’ll have something to talk about for weeks!

Dett felt eyes on his back. He didn’t feel endangered; he felt… appraised. Squaring his shoulders, he tapped the brass door-knocker gently, the sound barely registering.

He counted to seven in his head, and was just reaching for the knocker again when the door opened.

Tussy.

“Hi!” she said. “You’re right on time. I’m almost ready. Come on in.”

Dett stepped across the threshold, holding out the flowers. “These are for you.”

“Oh, they’re just lovely! I never saw roses like that, so… perfect.”

“Well, I-”

“I have to put them in something. I think I have… Oh! I’m sorry; I have no manners. Please sit down; I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dett looked around the small living room, dominated by a large couch made of some dark wood, with an ornately carved frame into which sky-blue cushions with a white fleur-de-lis pattern were inset. In front of the couch was a simple slab of white-veined pink marble, standing on wrought-iron legs. The floor was wide pine boards, with knotholes showing through a gleaming coat of varnish. Against one wall was a small hutch, backed by a mirror. Its shelves held framed photographs, some hand-painted porcelain figurines, and what looked like military medals.