Jack O'Connell - Word Made Flesh

“Don’t be a dick, Rudy, okay? I still got friends—”

“Hey, Gilrein”—gloves off now—“you don’t got no friends, okay? You never had no friends, all right? Your wife, she had the friends. Christ sake, I had more weight with the boys in blue than you did.”

“Good to know you haven’t changed.”

“Just so we understan’ each other, cabron.”

“Don’t call me names, Rudy. It’ll just piss me off.”

“You’re the one jumps down on me. I di’n’t come to your taxi an’ mess you up.”

As a wedding gift, someone, maybe Zarelli from narcotics, gave Gilrein and Ceil a set of matching his-and-hers blackjacks. An elaborate and overpriced joke at a time when they really could’ve used a new microwave oven. Gilrein wishes he could remember what he did with them. He’d love to sap Perez across the belly right now, follow up with a couple of shots to the back of the head, ring his bell till he never said the word chico again.

Perez moves behind the sales counter and starts shuffling papers. Gilrein stands in place and looks around the Text Shoppe. He takes in some air and gets that same smell, something like old glue and hay and wet suede and maybe just a little sewage.

“So,” he says, “you still scouting for St. Ignatius these days?”

Perez looks up, scratches his beard. “Wha’s a cab-drivin’ fool like you care who I trade with?”

“You’re going to be a hump about this?”

“Someone knocks me down, trashes my store, that puts me in a bad mood all day, cab-boy.”

“You know, Rudy, savvy businessman like you, I’d think you’d know when there might be some coin involved in a discussion.”

Perez stares at him, picks up a pencil, and taps on the counter.

“Tell you how savvy I am, mister taxicab, mister I stop for any scumwad whistles my way. I learned long time back, you don’t piss on tomorrow’s dollar for today’s nickel.”

“Where the Christ did you learn English?”

“Cab-boy, you flatter me so much, I’m going to close down the shop and take you to breakfast. Tell you everything you want to know.”

“Let’s skip breakfast and instead we can go down the Manetti Home. Pay our last respects to Leo Tani.”

Perez looks up but keeps his mouth shut.

It’s Gilrein’s only chip so he plays it all the way, looks around the shop and in a low voice asks, “You wouldn’t have a Mass card lying around here?”

“Tani’s dead?” Perez says and Gilrein gives a single nod.

Technically, Leo and Perez were business rivals. But where Tani’s merchandise varied from month to month and client to client, Perez stayed in the specialty line. Gilrein knows that now and again the two men broke bread together down on San Remo Avenue and that more than once they made a mutual profit off a joint transaction.

“Leo Tani was trussed up like a pig inside Gompers,” Gilrein says, watching Perez study his face. “Somebody peeled all the skin off his body. You imagine that, Rudy? Can you get a picture of that?”

“Holy mother …” Perez begins and lets the sentence fade.

Gilrein walks to the counter and comes close to Perez’s face. “I heard,” he says, “he was sniffing around for August Kroger.”

He waits a beat, then adds, “What did you hear, Rudy?”

Perez starts to shake his head, but there’s no joke and no insult. He simply says, “I don’t know shit, Gilrein.”

“If the ’Shank was working for Kroger,” Gilrein says, “we both know it was a book. And we both know that means at some point he gave you a call.”

“I knew this was going to be a bad day,” Perez says.

“Rudy, there are always two ways to do this. First way is, you tell me everything you know about Leo Tani and August Kroger and what business they might have had cooking.”

“What’s plan B?”

“Plan B is I come back here tonight with a gas can and a butane lighter.”

“That’s pathetic, Gilrein. Tell me something I can at least pretend to believe.”

“Listen, Rudy, understand something. You don’t know me anymore, okay? You haven’t known me for three years now—”

“You grow some balls in the interim?”

“You might have this dump insured,” Gilrein says, straining to keep an even voice, “but I’m pretty sure none of the real stuff, none of the bootlegs or the hot property, would be listed on your policy. Would it, Rudy?”

“Gilrein,” Perez says, “you know the San Remo boys still look out for me, huh? You know I go fifteen percent a month to avoid threats like this.”

“You don’t know me anymore, asshole. I don’t give a pig’s bladder about your San Remo thugs.”

“You be a dead man before the last fire team pulled away, Gilrein.”

“You do what you want, Rudy,” Gilrein says. “Because I sure as hell will.”

Perez stares at him, then shakes his head and says, “Your wife, she’d be rolling in her grave.”

Gilrein nods.

“All right,” Perez says. “It’s not much but you can have it. A new book came onto the market. Something from out of town. Eastern Europe. Old Bohemia. More than one party is interested.”

“Kroger and who else?”

“Don’t know, but the product originated in Maisel, so who you think?”

“You’re trying to say Hermann K?”

Perez nods.

“But Kinsky’s no collector. Bastard’s never read a book in his goddamn life.”

“First of all,” Perez says, “collectors aren’t always readers. Second, just ’cause he wants it doesn’t mean he wants it for himself. Man’s the neighborhood mayor for the Bohemians. His people wanted it, Kinsky would do what he could.”

“What kind of book is it?”

“I’ve heard a lot of rumors. None of them scratch my butt, you know?”

Gilrein takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, Rudy, this has been a good start. Now one last piece of business and I’m out of your life.”

“Don’t make promises you won’t keep.”

“It’s about Wylie. And where I can find her.”

“Oh no, shit, Gilrein, c’mon,” Perez whines, shaking his head. “This is pathetic. Don’t do this. You embarrassing both of us.”

“A phone number or an address. Then I’m gone.”

“I don’t step in boy-girl fights. This ain’t dignified, hermano.”

“It’s business. She’ll understand. Let’s go.”

Perez puts a flat hand on his own chest and says, “She may understand. But I don’ think her boss would be too excited, you know?”

Gilrein looks at Perez and says, “Her boss? What are you talking about?”

And Perez realizes he’s made a huge mistake, that as bad as the morning has been already, it’s about to get worse.

“I wish I could help you,” he tries, feeble and distracted. “If I knew where—”

“Cut the bullshit,” Gilrein yells. What little play there had been is now immediately sucked out of the exchange. “I know you were with Wylie last night.”

Perez shakes his head, conscious now of just how tightly wound up the cab-boy is, of the bruises on the taxi driver’s face. He stares at Gilrein, frantic for a way to end the dialogue.

“She’s working for Kroger,” he says, spilling it all at once, opting for the truth in a moment of fright and weakness.

The sentence has an effect on Gilrein exactly the opposite of what Perez was hoping for.

“You lying sack of shit,” Gilrein says.

And then he does what he’s never done before. He throws the first punch, connects under the chin and sends Perez reeling back into the plywood shelving. The dealer falls to the floor and reams of paper tumble down on top of him. Gilrein leaps the counter as Perez pulls his piece again, but this time Gilrein stomps his wrist and Perez screams and the gun comes loose. Gilrein kicks him in the ribs, kicks down on a kneecap, pulls Perez to his feet, and then sails him into a glass case filled with oversized Bibles. The case topples and shatters and blood starts flowing from Perez’s cheek.