Charlie Huston - Half the Blood of Brooklyn

– I know.

– Hate to have to make it that way.

– I get it.

– Kind of always thought you’d end up down here with us. Just didn’t think it’d be after you shot Lydia and stabbed Bird. We can stand some heat. The local odds and ends down here below Houston, they cause trouble, we can hold our own against any of them. But a real Clan? We just don’t have the soldiers for it, man.

– Sure.

He points the neck of his beer bottle at the guys goofing in the garage.

– And I’m club president, man. I got a responsibility to the members. I say we’re riding into war, they ride. But there has to be a reason. Has to be some profit. You had joined up back when I offered, it might be different.

– Sure.

He looks at me.

– A war, man. Bird tells you there’s a war coming, I have to take that serious. Sure, man, we like to crack skulls. We want to ride free and do what the hell we please, but there’s shit I don’t need to see again. You, Joe, trying to keep you here, at the Society’s back door, that’s gonna raise things to an instant boil. There’s a war on the way, I can’t stop it. But I have no percentage in hastening it along. Or asking it in.

I get tired of hearing what I already know and take him off the hook.

– I’m not asking you for anything. Sun goes down, I’m gone.

He lets some air out.

– We’ll give you some wheels. Something to wear doesn’t smell like shit. That’s about all we got to spare.

– I’ll take them.

I stand up.

– Mind if I use the phone?

– All yours. You remember how?

– Yeah.

I limp over to the old pay phone mounted on the wall next to a collage of Hustler pinups. I take the handset from the cradle and hit the side of the phone a couple times until I get a dial tone.

I punch in some numbers.

Tenderhooks takes the tarp off a well-used ’75 850cc black Norton Commando.

– Gonna beat your kidneys to hell.

I feel the broken ribs in my back.

– Great.

We get some gas in the tank and dribble a little in the carb and Tenderhooks kicks it a few times and it coughs black smoke and shudders awake. He revs it up, twisting the gas with the chrome pincers at the end of his prosthetic arm, and it settles into a nice, even idle and he lets it run for a minute and kills it.

He wipes some dust from the tank.

– She’ll do ya.

– Thanks.

I finish my last beer and tuck the empty bottle in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. Even after a good sponging and a spray with Lysol it’s rank and stained. But Evie gave it to me, I won’t leave it behind.

The only guy big enough to give me some pants is nicknamed Tiny. So it’s a given I have to cinch the belt tight around my waist to keep the jeans from falling down. I opted for one of Tenderhooks’s sweaty thermals. It’s snug and smells almost as bad as the jacket. But someone had some old combat boots my size. So there’s that.

Christian comes back with the piece of rubber hose I asked for.

– You don’t want a full can? We can stick it in the saddlebags.

I stuff the tube into one of the jacket pockets.

– This is fine.

– Got a couple pieces in the armory, you want one.

– Keep ’em.

Tenderhooks hauls on a chain and it rattles through a pulley and the door rolls up.

I push the bike out to the street and lean it on its stand.

Christian hands me a pair of goggles.

– Hey, man, the Van Helsing. You ever figure that?

I swing a leg over the seat.

– Yeah. That was a bunch of crazy Hebrews out in Brooklyn.

– Brooklyn? No shit?

– Yeah. Way I clock it, Solomon was selling them blood that wasn’t kosher. They found out.

– Serious?

– Yeah.

– What was with all the chopping?

– They like to cut people into twelve pieces. It’s a thing they do.

He shakes his head.

– Some fucking people, man.

– Yeah.

I kick the bike and trip it into gear and ride.

I ride Pike to Division and veer south into Chinatown. Wall turf. Not that there’s much left of the Wall. At Confucius Place I cut down to Pearl, and from there under the Brooklyn Bridge to Water and Slip.

The limo is there.

I pull up behind it and wait for a hail of bullets. It doesn’t come. I let the bike idle and climb off and put it up and limp over to the car and a tinted rear window zips down and Dexter Predo looks at me.

– You look worse for wear, Pitt.

– You look like a rat-faced shit fucker.

He nods.

– Well, now that we’ve exchanged secret passwords to assure each other of our real identities, we can converse freely.

He gets out of the car and the driver’s door opens and his giant squeezes out.

I light one of the Marlboros Christian gave me and blow smoke in his direction.

– Fuck you.

He flexes the muscles in his nostrils.

Predo points down Slip toward Front.

– Shall we?

– You gonna take my arm?

He rakes his fingers across his forehead, brushing aside the sweep of his bangs.

– It’s a busy evening, Pitt. One that promises no end of complications. Most, I have already gleaned, having to do with you. Well, that comes as no shock. But I am pressed. You offered information. Very well. I am intrigued. We can proceed, or Deveroix here can thrash you for bringing me out under false pretenses, and I will depart.

I look at the giant.

I look back at Predo.

– Yeah, sure, let’s talk. I’ve been beat on enough.

He raises an eyebrow.

– Well, you were bound to reach your limit sooner or later.

So we walk.

And I spill.

I give him the whole thing.

The Docks. The Freaks. The Chosen and the lost Tribe of Gibeah. Shooting Lydia. Daniel in the sun. My death sentence. Sela and her machine gun. Stabbing Terry.

I give him everything but Amanda and her plans.

And Evie. I don’t give him Evie.

And when I’m done he looks up at the underside of the bridge.

– A compelling tale. One I can’t help but feel has gaps. Sizable gaps.

He looks at me.

– Still, value given.

He nods and I follow him back to the car where he waves at Deveroix, who touches a button on his key chain and the trunk eases open, and Predo reaches inside and takes out a small leather case and flicks the clasps and shows me the contents.

– As agreed.

Several tight bundles of cash. Several pints of blood. And a loaded.38 Detective Special. All of it nestled in smoking dry ice.

– Value paid for value given, yes, Pitt?

I take the case.

– Yeah.

He closes the trunk lid and waves Deveroix down and the giant crams himself back into the car.

I take the revolver and tuck it in my belt and put the case in one of the saddlebags.

Predo comes over.

– And now?

– None of your fucking business.

He pinches his lower lip.

– But it could be.

I wait.

He cocks his head at the limo.

– Deveroix. I think you were right about him. And his ambitions.

– And?

– He’ll have to be replaced.

I get on the bike.

– I just quit a job.

– I know. It amused me to ask more than anything. And to imagine the look on Bird’s face if you had been smart enough to accept.

He turns and walks toward his long black car.

– But you’re not smart enough, Pitt. And that’s almost a pity.

– Predo.

He stops with the door open.

– Yes?

– Just wondering, when I came to see you and you let it slip that you knew exactly how many pints the Candy Man had in stock, was that on purpose? To test how smart I am?

He’s perfectly still, nothing moves, not an eyelash.

I move my mouth.