Andrew Vachss - Two Trains Running

“One more pass,” Rufus said to Silk. “Then we’ll have it all mapped out.”

1959 October 07 Wednesday 06:11

“You’re up early, Beau.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead, Cyn.”

“Why do you always have to say things like that?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I just meant there’s so much to do and there’s never enough time.”

“I know.”

“And I’m never really sleepy, you know? A couple of hours, that’s all I ever need.”

“At least have a good breakfast, for once. I’ll make some bacon and eggs, and maybe some potato pancakes?”

“I’m really not so-”

“You know how much Luther loves it when we have breakfast together, Beau. We can all eat at the big table. What do you say?”

“Sounds good,” Beaumont said, smiling at his sister.

1959 October 07 Wednesday 07:12

“What?”

“Oh, Walker, I’m sorry! I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“Tussy,” Dett said, as if to reassure himself. “I thought it was… business. No, you didn’t wake me up at all. Is anything wrong?”

“No! Nothing at all. I was just… I… well, I remembered you were staying at the Claremont, and I don’t have to be at work until three, so I thought… I mean, I know you’re busy, you have business and all, but I thought, I mean, if you wanted to come over for lunch, I could…”

“I never wanted to leave,” Dett said.

1959 October 07 Wednesday 07:13

“You can pay six hundred dollars for a suit,” the man with the rawhide skin and dirty-water eyes said, fingering the sleeve of his alpaca jacket. “And it could still be a bargain. A real work of art, all hand-tailored. Takes a whole team to make something like that. You have to see the design in your head, draw a pattern, cut the cloth perfectly, sew each stitch by hand, fit it and refit it until it hangs on you just right…”

The spotter sat behind his tripod, listening with the patience of his profession. The rifleman’s eyes watched the speaker’s hands.

They’re not two men, they’re one man with two bodies, the man in the alpaca suit thought to himself. Put them next to each other in a lineup, you couldn’t tell one from the other. “But one loose thread,” he said aloud, “and the whole thing could be ruined. It’s not the thread itself, you understand; only if someone were to pull on it the wrong way. The thing about a loose thread, dealing with it is no job for an amateur.”

The speaker glanced around the top floor of the warehouse, as if waiting for one of the other men to speak. The spotter didn’t change position. The rifleman breathed shallowly, dropping his heart rate as offhandedly as another man might wind a watch.

“Now, even the best professionals can disagree on something like that,” the speaker continued. “One member of the team looks at the suit, says, ‘We can fix it.’ Another one, he says, ‘No, we need to snip it clean.’ The first tailor, he says, ‘You do it my way, there won’t be a trace-we can weave it back in; it’ll be as good as new.’ But the other one disagrees. He says, ‘That loose thread, it’s like a cancer. Just because you can’t see it, that doesn’t mean it won’t eat you alive. Only thing you can do is cut it out, at exactly the right spot, or the whole beautiful suit, the one we all worked so hard on, could get ruined.’ ”

The rifleman and the spotter listened, growing more and more immobile with every word.

“Now, let’s say the tailors, they’re partners,” the speaker said, his low-pitched voice just a shade thicker than hollow. “Equal shares in the business. They both worked on the suit; they both want it to be perfect, but, now that something’s gone wrong-potentially gone wrong-they can’t get together on how to fix it. It’s like America: you let everyone vote, but, somewhere along the line, the big decisions come down to one man. So, with a suit like I just told you about, it’s not up to the tailors to decide how to fix it. No, that’s up to the customer, the one who ordered it made in the first place.”

The man in the alpaca suit shifted position, moving his hands behind his back.

“You’re a minute-of-angle man, aren’t you?” he said to the rifleman.

“I’m better than that,” the rifleman said, “and you know it. I can do a hundred yards on iron sights and a bipod. Give me the right scope, I could work a quarter-mile.”

“You have everything you need?” the man in the alpaca suit asked.

The rifleman and the spotter nodded together, synchronized gears, meshing.

1959 October 07 Wednesday 09:10

“What may I tell Mr. Gendell this is in reference to?”

“A legal matter,” Dett said into the phone.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” the receptionist said. “But if you could be more specific, so we would know how much time to set aside for your appointment…?”

“Fifteen minutes is all I’ll need,” Dett said.

“Well, sir, we often find that the client’s estimate is-”

“It’s a real-estate transaction,” Dett interrupted. “A very simple one.”

“Well, let’s say a half-hour, shall we?” the receptionist said, brightly. “Mr. Gendell won’t be available until around four this afternoon. Would that be-”

“Perfect,” Dett said.

1959 October 07 Wednesday 09:13

“You come see me on your lunch break, Rosa Mae.”

“I will, Daddy. Did you speak to-?”

“I tell you all about it then, girl.”

1959 October 07 Wednesday 09:15

“What we need is a fulcrum,” Beaumont said.

“What’s a fulcrum, Roy?” Luther asked.

“Well, let’s say you got a big rock that you need to move,” Beaumont replied. “Way too heavy for even a few strong men to budge. What do you do?”

“Put something under it,” Luther said, promptly, making a fist of one hand and placing stiffened fingers beneath, at a forty-five-degree angle. “Then you push down,” he said, bringing his stiffened fingers parallel to the ground to raise his fist.

“And you put a barrel under the stick, so you can lever it up easy, right, Luther?”

“Right!”

“Well, that’s exactly what a fulcrum is, see? The balance point everything turns on, so you can move a big weight.”

“What weight are you talking about, Beau?” Cynthia asked.

“Ernest Hoffman,” the man in the wheelchair said. “Because, right now, we’re against the wall. Shalare says he’ll get Dioguardi to back away, and, after the elections, stay away. Maybe he will; maybe he won’t. That’s the future. If we say ‘no’ now, if we don’t promise to deliver, there’s no ‘maybe’ left. So we have to go along. But even though Shalare’s been working the whole state, I don’t think he’s gotten to Hoffman.”

“Why not?” Cynthia said.

“Because, if he had, he wouldn’t have come here asking us for anything, Cyn. A man who’s holding all the cards doesn’t have to deal a hand to anyone else.”

1959 October 07 Wednesday 09:19

“Put him on.”

“Put who on? You must have the wrong-”

“Put Procter on, Elaine. And don’t be afraid: I’m not working for your husband.”

The leggy redhead who had once been a pageant contestant carefully placed the telephone receiver under a pillow, then rolled onto her side. “Jimmy,” she whispered.

“Uh,” Procter half-grunted.

“There’s a man on the phone. He asked for you.”

“You think your-” Procter said, instantly alert.

“No. He, the man on the phone, he said not to be afraid of that. What should I do? If Bobby-”

Procter sat up, pulled the redhead over his lap, and took the phone from under the pillow.

“What can I do for you?” he said, coldly.

“It’s what I can do for you,” said the voice Procter last heard six hours ago. “I just wanted to show you that I know things, so you’ll listen to me when the time comes.”