Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

“You look terrible,” Sylvia said, shaking her head. “An apron on a man is such an unmasculine-looking thing. What’re you making here — three-fifty an hour plus tips?”

That’s right,” David said, “and it’s more than sufficient.”

“What about your expenses East? Motels, gas, food, car upkeep and just living there before your college money comes in. Throw that apron away and come home with us.

Next job we got for you we pay seven hundred — just think of it. That’s probably three weeks’ earnings here for just one day’s work, and we don’t take off for taxes and Social Security.”

“Definitely no,” and with a hand he tried his best to make tremble, he served them tea with lemon and a stale doughnut each. “I’m sick. My mind: it forgets. Even this job’s too much. Got into a car accident last week. Because of my dizzy spells since, my doctor thinks I’ve a concussion or worse. I’m going crazy, is the truth, and a crazy man can shoot off his mouth without knowing it and ruin all your good plans.”

Then you’re better off not working here,” Sylvia said. “And don’t worry about your mind. For this job we need muscle, not brains, and looking and acting like a lunatic will even be an asset. You see, we’ve gone into the loan business with most of the theater money you got for us, and our very best customer won’t pay up.”

“And this guy’s about the same height as the last one,” Georgie said, “but much older — more than seventy — besides being an out-and-out coward. He’s a horseplayer, a real loser, and all you’ve got to do is talk tough, flash him your cold sparkling teeth and maybe give him a slight rabbit punch below the ears to show we haven’t just hired a blowhard for the job. That should be all we need to get back our money with interest, and then we leave the loan business and move upstate to invest in and help run my brother’s dairy.”

“As you can see, David,” Sylvia said, “we want to get out of the rackets as much as you. We’re getting on in years and just want to lead a simple country life again and not always be rattled by thoughts of policemen at our door. But we can’t go unless Abe Goff pays us back what he owes. So come on: Do we have to be spiteful and tell your boss you spit in our teas and later tip off the police about your last theft? You know, that movie-house manager said in the papers he’d recognize your face even in his afterlife.”

David knew damn well what the manager had told the papers. At least ten times he’d read the article about the night the man got held up, had the movie receipts stolen and his wallet, ring, five-hundred dollar watch and three-hundred dollar cufflinks taken from him after he’d been beaten unconscious. He wasn’t sure how eager the manager would be to recognize him, since he must have collected a bundle of money from his insurance company for his own personal loss, but David still couldn’t take the chance. He wasn’t, though, about to give in to the Peartrees so easily as he felt he had always done, so he begged them in a sickly voice: “Listen. You’ve got to find another patsy. I’m hopeless. As I said: in the worst physical and mental shape of my life.”

“College life has ruined you,” Sylvia said. “Made you soft, parasitic, vulnerable and a little stupid, which for us is a perfect setup. Besides, you’re obliged to us up to your neck. So now, do I start by phoning your boss,” whose home phone number she waved in front of him, “or do you leave this place for good tonight and do what we say?”

The following night, David went into Abe Goff’s cleaning store, shortly before closing time. Abe, another little guy, had photographs of victorious racehorses and mud-caked grinning jockeys hanging around the room, and on top of the cash register a shiny bronze of Man o’ War. He seemed annoyed that a customer had come so late, but quickly gave David his most accommodating professional smile and said “So, what can I do for you, young man? Suit, coat, shirts, two pairs of pants with the cuffs removed? Let me guess. Old Abe’s the best guesser you ever seen. Your girlfriend’s yellow mohair G-string that she had French-cleaned? You come for that? Well, no tickly, no stringy, friend, so let’s have it,” and he stuck out his hand for David’s cleaning ticket.

David didn’t say anything more than he’d been instructed to. This is from the Altruistic Loan Company,” he said, with a face — without any effort at all — empty of emotion and hard. Then he grabbed Abe by the neck with one hand, punched him twice in his surprised but still accommodating face with the other hand and, when Abe was on the floor, moaning, coughing, pointing feebly to what he muttered was a bum ticker, kicked him in the chin and heard a bone crack, though he’d aimed for his shoulder. Then he fled to the street, past a screaming woman carrying clothes to be cleaned, and around the corner to where his car was parked. His instructions were to drive to his cabin and wait there till they contacted him. But he drove to their home and continued to bang on the door till Sylvia let him in with a remark that alluded to his unique idiocy. He brushed past her and searched through a few cabinets till he came up with an unopened bottle of Scotch. He had downed three quick drinks from the bottle by the time Georgie, in his pajamas and yawning, dragged himself downstairs.

“We’ve created a Frankenstein,” Sylvia said, pointing at David, who was now filling up a tumbler of Scotch.

“I nearly killed a man tonight,” David said, drinking up. “I’ve had it with you both, which is what I came here to tell you.”

“So who’s asking you for more favors?” Sylvia said. “Go home, sleep it off. Even take that cheap bottle of Scotch, if you want.”

“I can’t go home. They’ll find me. I’ve been recognized, I’ve got to stay here — just until you get your money from Goff and I my money from you — and then I’ll be heading East and out of your way for good.”

“You’re heading nowhere but home, and you’re never going East. You’re into us plenty. Even Abe the cleaner will testify on our behalf. He knows the rules of this game, which is just another thing you’re too damn smart to be aware of. Now, enough. Your college security is gone, so realize that. It was an illusion, anyway, for you haven’t the heart and mind for the good academic life, as you do for our kind of work. Be satisfied you’ve the makings of a fairly competent criminal with a financially secure future, and you’ll feel much better with your lot,” and she headed upstairs. “Lock up after you get him to leave, Georgie, love.”

Georgie didn’t like the prospect of that. Stepping back and smiling amiably, he said “Come on, son, go home peaceably. We don’t aim for no rough stuff.”

“Why not?” David said, stumbling forward drunkenly. “Get rough. Throw me out, you skinny wreck. I’m as crafty as the two of you now and surely as mean.” He slapped him — not a hard slap, as he felt a little sorry for the sickly guy — but Georgie’s reaction to it was as if he’d received a powerful blow to the face. “See what you created?” David said. “A monster of Frankenstein’s, rather than the doctor himself.” He slapped him again, this time so hard that Georgie fell back for real and nearly toppled over. “See what you made me do, Georgie boy? I was just a mild-mannered relatively honest thief when you first met me — but small-time, barely out of my diapers. Now I’m some tough goon full of rage and violence, perhaps even a possible killer.” It was obvious Georgie sensed something bad was coming. He stepped back but was too slow and David’s foot caught him in the groin. He fell to the floor, clutching himself, and David pounced on him, howling like a wild man and tearing at Georgie’s thin hair. Then he turned him over on his back and began slapping his face with both hands so fast that they became one whirring motion in the air.