William Lashner - Marked Man

“So how do you guys all know each other?” I said when I returned with the beers.

“From the old neighborhood,” said the big man.

“Your daddy was younger than we was,” said the thin man. “But we still remember when he went into the army. All spit and polish, with his feathers preened. From the snappy side of town, he was.”

“That’s enough of that,” said my father. “We don’t need no more old stories.”

“Sure we do,” I said. “I love old stories.”

“He wore his hair all swept up and back, shiny black, it was, and a little wavy. That was the Jewish in him. And he always had a tube of grease and comb with him. Always getting that hair just right.”

“And good with the girls,” said the big man.

“Course he was,” said the thin man. “Take a lesson, boy. Never underestimate the power of a good head of hair.”

We all laughed at that, all but my father, whose hair wasn’t anymore black and shiny.

“So what brings you here this afternoon?” I said.

The two men on the couch glanced at each other. “Just visiting,” said the big man.

“Really? Just visiting, out of the blue?”

“Well, Joey did have some business to talk about.”

“We was talking with your father,” said the thin man, “about a moneymaking proposition. Ralph and me was discussing it together, this opportunity, and we thought we’d give our old friend Jesse here a taste.”

“Why, that is so nice of you,” I said. “Isn’t that nice, Dad?”

“I already told them to keep me the hell out of it,” he said.

“Oh, Jesse’s just not seeing the possibilities,” said Joey. “He’s always been like that, so busy looking down at the sidewalk so he won’t trip over those feets of his that he can’t see what’s up there to be grabbed.”

“I see it all right,” he said. “I just don’t want anything to do with it. And neither does Victor.”

“My dad’s a little shortsighted when it comes to money,” I said, which was something I believed all my life but knew now to be untrue. “Though I myself might be interested.”

“What do you say there, Ralph,” said the thin man. “Think we ought to let the kid in?”

“I guess we don’t have a choice, do we?” said Ralph.

“Not no more,” said the thin man. “Being as you showed up when you did, smack in the middle of our discussions.”

“Good for me, huh?” I said, my grin so wide it hurt my cheeks.

Joey took a long drink of his beer, nodded his head. “So this is it, Victor. We have received an offer, a very generous offer. Something that could change all our lives, and let me tell you, speaking for Ralph and myself, our lives could use some changing.”

“Mine, too,” I said.

“It’s an opportunity to take advantage of, don’t you think?”

“He don’t want nothing to do with it,” said my father.

“Let the boy decide for himself,” said thin Joey, tilting back his cap, leaning forward. “We have an offer from a certain party to purchase an object that belongs to us. It’s simple enough, and the terms couldn’t be more generous.”

“Oh, terms could always be more generous. Getting them more generous is my specialty. Tell me who it is you’re talking with, and I’ll give him a ring.”

“We don’t need you negotiating for us, fool,” said Joey. “I didn’t spend thirty years driving a cab without learning how to negotiate the fare.”

“But if you like the deal as it is, then sell the damn thing by yourselves and be done with it. You don’t need me or my dad. That’s capitalism.”

“Yes, yes it is. Precisely put.”

“But there’s a problem,” said the big man.

“There always is, isn’t there, Ralph? Let me guess.” I closed my eyes, rubbed my hands over my face as if trying to pull an idea out of the air. “Something makes me think you don’t know where this object is.”

“Jesse, why didn’t you tell us your boy here was an Einstein?” said Joey. “Why didn’t you brag on him? I had a boy like that, I’d tell the world.”

“He’s not as smart as he thinks,” grumbled my father.

“Actually, Joey, since my father isn’t really interested, we don’t need to involve him in these discussions any further, do we?”

“This is the deal of a lifetime, and you want to cut out your own dear dad?” said Joey. “I admire the hell out of that.”

“My father and I have learned never to mix business with blood. Why don’t we go someplace to talk?”

“How about a bar?” said Joey, smacking his lips. “All this talk about money builds up a thirst.”

“I bet a lot of things build up a thirst for you, Joey.”

“Don’t never trust a man who don’t drink or don’t laugh,” said Joey. “That’s what my daddy taught me. That and not to trust nobody named Earl.” He swallowed the rest of his beer. “Which was, unfortunately, my daddy’s name.”

“Then let’s go,” I said. “The drinks are on me when we get where we’re going.”

“Why, that is most generous of you, squire. Most generous. Let’s be on our way, then. I’m sure your dad’s got better things to do than waste his time talking to old friends.”

“I’m sure he does. Just give me a minute with him, won’t you, for some family stuff?”

As soon as they left to wait for me outside in the taxicab, I sidled over to my father, still in his chair. He roughly grabbed my sleeve. “Do you know who they are?” he said.

“Yeah, I know. They’re two of the guys who used to hang out with Charlie the Greek thirty years ago.”

“Then why are you getting involved with them?”

“To remove them from your house, for one thing. They only came to you to get to me, and you didn’t seem so happy to have them here.”

“It’s Sunday. The Phils are on.”

“And you wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“What are you doing here anyways?”

“I wanted to see how you are. And maybe also to ask a few questions. Like why you owe that old witch Kalakos a favor.”

He turned away. “None of your business.”

“It is now, since she’s using it to rope me deeper into her son’s cesspool. You’re going to have to tell me sometime before I get submerged. But not now. Now I have to share a pitcher with Big Ralph and Little Joey.”

“Be careful.”

“Oh, I think I can handle a pair of sweet old guys like that.”

“They’re not that old, and they’re not that sweet.”

I looked at the still-open front door and the Yellow Cab waiting outside for me.

“When they were boys, they roamed the neighborhood like wolves,” said my father. “They beat some kid to near death with a baseball bat.”

“You got me into this.”

“I made a mistake.”

“I don’t think they’d let me ditch them now, do you? Besides, I have a question they might be able to answer.”

“Like what?”

“Like who the hell knew enough to make those two old crooks an offer.”

“So we saw onthe TV you’re representing that Charlie Kalakos,” said Joey Pride, the froth of a beer on his upper lip.

We were sitting in the back booth in the Hollywood Tavern, just down the road from my father’s house. There was a half-filled pitcher of beer between us, rough-hewn glass mugs, a bowl of little pretzels. I took a handful of pretzels from the basket on the table, shook them like dice, popped one into my mouth. “Yes, I do.”

“And there was something about some painting by some dead guy that was stolen from some museum,” said Joey.

“Yes, there was.”

“So we was just wondering” – he glanced at Ralph – “the way guys, they wonder about things, what this Charlie was planning to do with the painting?”