Caught Stealing (2004) (11 page)

I sit on the bar stool and comtemplate the bottle of Bud. The bartender offered me a glass, but I like to drink my beer out of the bottle. There's sweat all over the brown glass and the lower right corner of the label is peeling. I make a deal with myself: If I can peel the label away in one piece, I get to drink the beer. I tease the label a bit, then strip it away in a single smooth swipe and it comes off in one piece. I get off my stool and walk to the back of the bar.

The phone booth is one of those old-fashioned wooden ones, a cabinet built into the wall. I step inside and close the door and a little light in the ceiling flips on. I dial a long series of numbers, listen to some instructions and dial more numbers. Finally there is a ringing at the other end of the line and I sit on the little bench in the booth. Someone picks up the phone at the other end.

-Hello?

-Hi, Mom.

-Oh! Oh, there you are.

-I'm sorry, Mom.

-No, no, we were just. I was worried when you didn't call. Is everything OK? Did you decide to stay at the hospital a little longer?

-No, Ma. I just. They gave me these painkillers.

-Painkillers? Does it hurt a lot? Are you OK, Henry?

-I'm fine, Mom, it just aches a bit, ya know?

-But you're OK?

-Yeah, I'm fine, but the pills they gave me really knocked me out and I kind of turned off the phone so I wouldn't wake up. I should have called right away, but I just listened to your message.

-Well, Dad told me not to worry, but he was worried too and I just.

It's quiet on the phone for a minute. I lean my head against the glass of the booth's door. My mom misses me, she has missed me for ten years since I came to New York. She doesn't understand my life. Neither do I. So I can't help her much.

-Anyway, I was just worried.

-It's OK, Mom. I'm really OK.

-Are you sure I can't come out?

-No, Mom. There's no reason. I'm fine. I'm taking it easy and everything is fine.

-Is someone there taking care of you?

-Yvonne gave me some help, but I can take care of myself.

-How is she?

-She's fine, Ma, but she's not really taking care of me. She just ran a few errands.

-She's so sweet.

-Yes, she is.

-I just wish I could be there.

-I know.

-I can't wait to see you at Christmas.

-Me too.

-Did you ever decide what you want?

-Anything, Mom. I always like what you get me, and besides, it's still a ways off.

-Well, you know I like to get things done.

-I know. So is Dad around?

-He's at the shop today. Do you want to call him there?

-No, I'm pretty tired, I think I'm gonna get some more sleep. Be sure to tell him I love him, OK?

-I know. Oh, did you get the package I sent?

-No, not yet.

-That's OK. It's just stupid stuff I know you like.

-Thanks, Ma. Look, I'm gonna go and I'm gonna probably keep the ringer off. I'm still really tired. So if you don't get me right away, don't worry. OK?

-OK. I love you, Henry.

-I love you, too, Ma.

-I'll talk to you in a day or two, OK?

-Great. I love you, Mom.

-I love you, Henry.

-Good-bye.

-Bye.

I sit in the booth for a while after that.

I sit in the booth and look out at the bar, at my bottle of Bud still sitting in front of my stool and the little pile of bills, my change, sitting next to it. I pump coins into the phone and call United. They can change my ticket whenever I like for a seventy-five-dollar fee, plus the difference in ticket price. Would I like to make that change now? Yes, I would, very much. But I need to get the key first, decide who to hand it over to and stay in one piece while I'm doing it. I know where the key is. Now, who do I give it to? I dig out one of the cards I have in my pocket and dial. He picks up himself.

-Roman.

-I have it.

Pause.

-Where are you?

-I don't have it, I know where it is.

-Where?

-I'm not. Look, I'm not going to tell you.

-And so the purpose of this call is?

-I'm not going to tell you where it is. I'll get it and then give it to you.

-When?

-I. I want to leave. I want to leave New York. I'll give you the key right before I go.

-When are you leaving?

-I don't have a flight yet. I'll get the key and I'll call you. I'll meet you, I'll call you . . .

-Yes?

-I don't know how any of this works.

-Well, there aren't any actual rules. But may I make a suggestion?

-OK.

-Get the key. Book a flight. Call me and tell me the airport, but not the flight number, and tell me what time you want me there. Pick a time before your actual flight so that I won't be able to make a guess about which plane you're leaving on. At the last moment possible before you board, have me paged and tell me what gate you are at. I will meet you there, in full view of the public and you can give me the key.

Wow, good plan.

-OK.

-And you might want to book a flight to someplace other than your final destination and fly to . . . wherever, from there. To discourage pursuit.

-Right, that's good.

-Well then.

-Yeah, OK, so, I'll go . . .

-Get the key.

-Right.

I sit there holding the phone.

-Good-bye.

-Oh, yeah, good-bye.

I hang up. Then I walk straight to the beer and pick it up. Before I can take a drink, I catch a glimpse of the TV. I look again. The Mets game has just concluded: Atlanta 5, Mets 3. I put the beer back down. I don't need it. Besides, I'm going to another bar right now.

Now that I've made a decision about what to do, I'm in a hurry. I flag a cab and tell the driver where to go. I close my eyes, try to ignore all the places my body hurts.

I'm glad I called Roman. Roman is definitely the one I want to deal with. I mean, he may scare me, but he doesn't freak me out like Ed and Paris, who are obviously crazier than a sackful of assholes.

The cabbie drives like all New York cabbies, which is to say he guns it flat out as soon as the light turns green and slams on the brakes at the last possible second when it goes red. I have my seat belt on, which keeps me from slapping my forehead against the Plexiglas sheet that separates the driver from the passenger. Our progress downtown is measured in a series of jumps and lurches. I take a quick look around at the cars behind us, but I don't see any signs of a black Caddie. The cab pulls over and I pay the driver and hop out.

I walk into Paul's. Lisa, the day bartender, takes one look at my face and lets out a little scream.

-Jesus fucking Christ, Hank, you look like yesterday's shit on last week's paper.

When I first came in here looking for a job ten years ago, Lisa was behind the bar. She was about thirty or so back then, six feet tall and built. Just big everywhere. She nailed me about a week or two after I started behind the bar. I never went back for more, but I never had any regrets. She's a big, happy woman and about the only thing she does that pisses me off is getting shit-faced on the job when I'm working the shift after hers. Trying to pick up the pieces for a drunk-off-her-ass bartender is a pain. She's sipping on a greyhound right now and I can see trouble ahead for whoever's on tonight.

It's just about 4:30, so it's a light crowd at the bar. Happy hour starts at 5:00, and things will pick up then. For now it's just a few of Lisa's hard-core regulars. I don't know this bunch too well, but Amtrak John and Cokehead Dan are in. Everybody in this fucking place has a nickname.

I plop down on a stool and put my bag on the floor. Lisa comes over and brushes her fingertips across my forehead.

-Oh, Hank! They told me those guys left your pretty face alone. I specifically asked and everybody told me those assholes didn't touch your pretty face.

-They didn't, this is brand new.

-New! Oh, shit, Hank, what are you up to? You're a lover, baby, not a fighter.

-Just lucky this week.

-Well, shit, baby. Let me get you some medicine.

She reaches into the cooler, pulls out a Bud, pops the top and puts it in front of me before I can say no. But I don't want to say no; I don't want to say no at all. Lisa raises her glass to me and nods at the beer.

-Drink up, Sailor.

That's my nickname here, Sailor. Sailor Hank. I don't know how it got started. Edwin picks your name and it just sticks.

-Drink up.

-Not right now, babe. I really just need to see Edwin, is he around?

She tosses off the rest of her drink and shakes her head.

-Naw, he's been picking up your shifts till he can find someone he likes. So he's takin' a lot of naps to keep up with the hours.

-He'll be in later?

-Should be, he's been comin' in around, say, six or seven to do the cash, gets behind the bar about nine.

Edwin trusts me. It took about a year for me to become his top bartender, we never used the word manager, but at some point, I just started helping with inventory, ordering stock, and training new employees. But with Edwin, trust is a matter of degrees. So my problem right now is that while I'm pretty sure he put the key in the floor safe in the office, I don't know the fucking combination.

-So you gonna have a drink with me or not?

-Doctors say no, babe.

-No shit?

-No shit.

-Not even beer?

-Not even beer.

-Well, shit on that.

-Shit on that indeed, babe. Shit. On. That.

-Well, you mind if I carry on myself?

-Don't mind me, babe, it is no longer my problem.

She laughs as she builds another greyhound. She puts it in a beer mug and really lays on the vodka. I've got to give it to her, she may end up drunk as a monkey, but it takes her all day to get there. She takes a sip from her glass.

-Aaaaahhh! Still mother's milk to me, Sailor.

-Well, thank God for that. Look, I'm gonna run out to the store for a few things. Can I grab you anything?

-Yeah, get me a pack of smokes, will ya? Marlboro Lights. The hundreds.

-Yeah, I know.

She tries to hand me a couple bucks for the cigarettes, but I wave her off.

-Just keep an eye on my bag, will ya?

-Sure.

I pass my bag over to her and she tucks it into one of the cupboards behind the bar. I've got the cash in my jeans, but everything else is still in there. I head for the door and she cruises back down the bar. I turn to take a quick look at her ass. Time has been kind to Lisa. But then, she really is built for the long haul, not the sprints. The beer is still on the bar where she put it and I just can't believe this is the second one I'm gonna walk out on today.

-Sailor! Hey, Sailor!

It's Amtrak, waving to me from down the bar.

-Hey, Sailor, you watchin' this?

He's pointing at the TV and I look up just in time to see the first-inning scores from the day games out west: Dodgers 9, Giants 0. Amtrak cackles and tips his Mets cap at me.

-One back with two to go; stick a fork in you, pal, you're done.

I wave my middle finger at him and walk out the door.

I'm at the Love Stores at 14th and Third. The bandage Dr. Bob stuck on my side got rubbed half off during my ride in Ed and Paris's trunk and I want to fix it. I grab a basket from the pile next to the door and head down the first aisle. I get a bunch of gauze pads, some surgical tape, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, Band-Aids, and some Advil. I take everything up to the counter and ask the girl there for a carton of Marlboro Light 100s. I figure I'll get Lisa a little going-away present. The girl is ringing it all up and putting it into a bag and I'm just kind of letting my gaze drift around when I catch a bright flash of color through the window behind the counter and I just say it:

-Shit.

-What?

-Nothing, sorry. How much?

-Fifty-nine forty-nine, and you best watch your language in here.

-Sorry, I just remembered I forgot something.

-Fine, forget all you like, just watch your language.

-Sure. Look, I know this sounds fucked up.

-I said, watch your language.

-Right, sorry.

-Yeah, you're sorry. Now that's fifty-nine forty-nine.

I take three twenties and a hundred from my pocket and spread them on the counter.

-What I'm trying to ask, I know this is weird, but is there a back way out of this place, and can I use it?

I push the C-note toward her and look at it significantly. She looks at the bill and back at me.

-No, there ain't no back door to this place and you couldn't use it if we had it and can't you read?