Caught Stealing (2004) (15 page)

Bolo opens the rear door and climbs in with a bottle of Formula 409 and a roll of paper towels and starts cleaning up Red's brains.

The plan was that we would wait for everyone to leave the bar, then I would let us in with my key and one of Roman's crew would open the safe. After that, things got vague about what happens to me. But I still thought it was a pretty good plan since it didn't involve any more people I care about getting hurt. I liked the plan just fine until Roman blew his safecracker's brain all over the backseat of the car.

Roman explains to me the relative advantages of my going in alone to get the key over him and his minions going in to get it.

-You have the advantage of being able to go in and simply ask your friend to get the key for you. If we go in, we'll have to resort to threats and the use of violence.

I start to hyperventilate and Roman puts his hand on the back of my head and bends me forward until my face is between my knees.

-Just breathe.

I breathe while Bud squirms out of my lap and jumps down into the car's footwell. Roman gives my shoulder a little squeeze.

-Good. Now, I would just as soon not go in there. Too many variables, too many risks, and the most likely outcome would be bloody. But it's getting light out and someone has to be going in there very soon. I need that key, I really do.

I sit up and look out at the graying sky. The dash clock is at 5:34. The street is still empty, but soon early morning stragglers will appear. In the backseat, Bolo is still cleaning, humming a song under his breath. I think it might be "Car Wash." Roman stares out the front windshield, eyes still focused on the bar's front door. I try to picture happy endings and all I get is the nightmare image of Yvonne. There is no happy ending anymore and all I want now is to go home. I want to leave New York, I want to be with my family and be safe again and forget.

-Will you help me?

Roman is silent.

-Will you still protect me from Ed and Paris and get me off the hook with the cops? Will you still protect me?

Roman scratches his earlobe and nods.

-Nothing changes. Get the key and bring it out and I will help you. But do it now and do it quickly. Dawdle, and we'll have to come in.

I pet Bud, climb out of the car, and cross the street over to Paul's.

They're listening to Black Sabbath. Edwin loves Sabbath. He has all the CDs from the original lineup loaded into the jukebox. It's his party music. I take a look through the little window set into the door and, sure enough, it's a party.

Edwin and Lisa are on the bar. Edwin is doing push-ups and Lisa is sitting on his back. A small group of regulars is gathered around them, keeping count, shouting out the numbers as Edwin pumps up and down, showing no sign of strain or stopping. From the door I can see Wayne, the ex-marshal, and his hippie girlfriend, Sunday. Also Cokehead Dan and Amtrak John. It's an after-hours party and, by the huge lines of coke Dan is cutting on the bar, I'd say it's not ending anytime soon.

I look at Roman's car. The Russians have gotten back in, and I can't really see anyone. I give a little wave and the headlights flash back at me. I take out my key, unlock the door and go in.

Paul's was a Thai restaurant until Edwin bought it. He gutted the whole thing and rebuilt from the floor up. The place is just a long hallway, about four yards wide and twenty deep, with a bar running down the right wall, an elbow-high ledge running down the left and thirty stools scattered between. The bar itself is an antique Edwin bought at an auction, as is the mirror behind it. He put in hardwood floors and an old-style tin ceiling with insulation and another plaster ceiling above it so the noise wouldn't bother the landlady, who lives right upstairs. It works great. Master of Reality, Sabbath's second album, is pounding at full volume and no one seems to be complaining. I close and lock the door behind me.

Edwin is a bit past fifty but still built like a tractor. I've watched him carry a full beer keg on his shoulder up and down the cellar stairs. He's still grinding out push-ups as I walk down the bar, apparently going for a personal best. The crowd is reaching a crescendo with the count and Edwin is finally slowing down.

-Forty-three! Forty-four! Forty-five!

His record with Lisa on his back is fifty-three. He did around fifteen once with Amtrak on his back, but Amtrak weighs about 280. With nobody on his back Edwin can do push-ups until everyone just gets tired of counting.

-Forty-nine! Fifty! Fifty-one!

The natives are really whipped up. "Children of the Grave" has just started screaming out of the juke and Lisa is giggling uncontrollably on Edwin's back. She tries to take a sip of her greyhound, spilling it down her chin. Edwin is now shaking and grunting. Sweat is racing down his face and arms.

-Fifty-two! Fifty-three!

Edwin gulps air and Lisa gets down a big slug of vodka and grapefruit juice as he ratchets himself up again and again and again.

-FIFTY-FOUR! FIFTY-FIVE! FIFTY-SIX!

The record is shattered and Edwin collapses on the bar. He rolls to his back, tumbling Lisa to the floor behind the bar, where she lands, still giggling. Edwin gasps and shouts.

-Reward me! My just due! Reward me!

The gang applauds and cheers. They pour beer into Edwin's open mouth and dig bills from their pockets to throw at him.

It's a good party.

Edwin spots me when he boosts himself back up on the bar.

-Sailor! There ya are, ya fuck!

Everyone turns to see me, and they send up a new cheer.

-SAILOR!

They all toast and take a drink.

-Sailor, how goes it?

-Hank. How's it hangin', Hank?

-Did you see the fucking Giants game, man? Mets, man, it's all about the Mets now.

Edwin vaults down from the bar and rushes me. He wraps his arms around my middle, lifts me from the floor and squeezes. All the air rushes out of me and I make little squealing noises.

-Ya little girl, ya little fucking girl. Get the beat shit outta ya and ya quit! Ya little fucking girl.

His arms are locked around the wound and my arms are pinned to my sides and I can't get enough air to tell him to let me the fuck down.

-What's a matter, little girl? Looks like he's gonna cry here.

Edwin starts to swing me around and around. Everyone is crazy, laughing. Amtrak shakes up his beer and sprays me with it while someone else pelts me with peanuts. Lisa picks herself up from behind the bar and sees the action.

-Edwin! Edwin, for chrissake, Edwin, put him down. EDWIN!

She walks over to the juke and pulls the plug.

-Edwin, for fuck sake put him down, he just had surgery.

Edwin stops spinning and sets me gently on my feet.

-Oh, fuck! Fuck, Hank, I'm fucking sorry, man. I wasn't thinking, man, I'm just glad to see you, man.

-It's cool, Edwin, I'm, man, I'm really glad to see you, too. It's great to see all y'all.

This sets off another round of cheers and Edwin grabs me by the back of the neck and shakes me a little. He's totally fucking loaded. He's got booze-sweat pouring out of his skin and his pupils are pinned up tight from the coke and the whole place reeks of weed. He steers me over to the bar by my neck and waves to Lisa.

-Set 'em up, Leez. Gobble gobble, Wild Turkey all around, all around.

Lisa grabs the bottle of Wild Turkey 101 and starts filling shot glasses while everyone packs around us at the bar. Someone turns the music back on, but it's not Sabbath anymore. There's a wind sound and a bell and the opening organ notes to Elton John's "Funeral for a Friend" fill the bar. I put my mouth close to Edwin's ear.

-Edwin, man, I need a favor.

He looks at me and nods and smiles.

-Sure, sure, man, anything.

-No big deal, but that little envelope I gave you to put in the safe the other night, I need it now.

-What?

-The envelope, man, I need it.

-Here, drink. Drink!

He shoves a shot glass into my hand and pushes it toward my face.

-Edwin, man, I can't really drink anymore.

-"Can't really drink." Hear that? Motherhumper was in here falling off his stool other night. Now he can't drink.

-Seriously, Edwin, I need to get into the safe, man.

-Fucker quits on me without, I might fucking add, the traditional two weeks' notice and he won't have a drink with me.

The group is into it, egging him on and yelling for me to drink.

-Edwin, man! This is important and I'm kind of in a hurry.

Edwin looks to his audience.

-The man is in a hurry. A hurry! Well, you better hurry up and drink that drink, man.

Another cheer. Everyone is holding their shots aloft, chanting.

-DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!

-Edwin, please.

-Drink first, then business.

I toss down the shot. Everyone hollers and knocks their own back. It hits my stomach and I almost choke it back up. It stays down. And I wish for another. Edwin hugs me again, puts an arm around my shoulder and moves me a few feet down the bar away from the group.

-OK, man, OK. Now, what's up, what do you need from the safe? Hope you don't think ya got any money comin' to ya 'cause I'm dockin' all your pay till ya come back.

-No, man.

-Seriously, though, you need cash? You need it, you can have it.

-No, Edwin, man, I need that envelope, that envelope I gave you the other night.

He looks at me.

-Envelope?

-The envelope I gave you to put in the safe. It has a key in it, I need it right now, man, the envelope with the key, fast.

He puts a hand on my shoulder.

-Hank, man, I'm sorry, but you didn't give me no envelope the other night, no envelope and no key.

The music segues into "Love Lies Bleeding." How long have I been in here? Five minutes? Ten? Not ten, between five and ten. How long will Roman sit out there? How much time will be too much?

-Edwin, don't fuck around, I know I gave you that key.

-And I know you didn't give me shit that night except a pain in my ass from being so fucking drunk, which is why you can't remember what you gave me or didn't fucking give me. Your key is not in the safe. Period.

The bar hounds are all singing along to the jukebox, Lisa behind the bar leading them. Edwin and I are at the very back of the bar, where there are four doors. The two doors on the left are bathrooms, the one straight back is for the little box of an office where the safe is and the one on the right opens on a little courtyard. The yard is shared with most of the buildings around the block; it's clogged with garbage and the only way in or out is through one of the other buildings' back doors or up the collection of rickety fire escapes.

-Edwin, I'm in trouble.

-Yeah, I kinda figured that.

-Big trouble, Edwin.

-What is it?

-Guys are looking for me, Edwin, coming for me.

-Those fucks that beat you up?

-Yeah, but worse. Edwin, they're here, they're coming here. Oh, God! Oh, fuck! Edwin, I'm sorry, man. Big trouble, Edwin. It's big trouble.

-No problem.

His little coked-out eyes are shining. Edwin likes to fight. Back in the late sixties, early seventies, he rode with a gang in St. Louis called the Sable Slaves; picture a cross between the Hell's Angels and the Black Panthers. When he takes his shirt off, Edwin's black skin is covered in a mixture of tattoos and scars. Tattoos of naked women, spiders, daggers, skeletons, dragons, and a big one on his back of a Klansman strapped to a burning cross. Scars from motorcycle timing chains, knives, baseball bats with nails driven into them, broken beer bottles, and at least one from a bullet. Edwin is the toughest fucker I've ever seen, and he likes to fight. He smells a good fight right now.

-Trouble's no problem, Hank. Bring it on. Bring. It. On.

-Edwin, no, no. No! We, we, we. Listen, man, we need to go now, we need to take everyone out the back door and get the fuck out of here.

-The fuck you say. The fuck I'm gonna chase my friends out, get run out of my own bar.

I've started opening the locks on the back door. Edwin is trying to stop me, grabbing at my hands, but not wanting to hurt me.

-EDWIN! HEY, EDWIN!

Sunday is at the front door, looking out the little window. She yells over the music again, still looking out the window.

-EDWIN, THERE'S A BIG GUY OUT HERE WANTS IN. SHOULD I LET 'IM?

We stop wrestling with the locks and look at Sunday. There is only the sound of breaking glass as the window in the front door shatters. Sunday's head snaps back and she drops to the floor with a little black hole drilled in her nose. Bolo's huge brown hand smashes through what's left of the window and starts groping around for the dead bolt. Edwin has started running in that direction as I flip the last lock and open the back door. Blackie and Whitey are standing there, their tracksuits dirty from coming over the rooftops. They're holding the kind of pistol-size machine guns that look like toys but aren't. Bolo gets the front door open and steps in and Edwin barrels into him sending the gun he used to kill Sunday spinning to the floor. Bolo does the easiest thing: he lets himself fall forward, pinning Edwin between his own enormous mass and Sunday's corpse. Edwin can't get a limb free to strike at him but keeps trying until Roman steps in, closes and locks the door, picks up the fallen pistol and sticks it in Edwin's ear. "Love Lies Bleeding" ends. No more music plays on the jukebox.