Hard Case Crime: Fake I.D. (15 page)

Janene stared at me for a few seconds, then she said, “You’re serious. You really want to go out with me again?”

“Why not?” I said. “I thought we were pretty good together.”

“What makes you think I’d want to go out with you?”

“It’s up to you.”

“Dating you was like a nightmare,” she said. “Not only do I not want to go out with you—I never want to see you again.”

“Then why do you keep coming back here?”

“To get my jewelry.”

“I can’t help you there,” I said, “but if you want the hundred bucks I owe you I have that. Just stop by my place any time and I’ll give it to you.”

“I have a better idea,” she said. “Maybe I’ll go inside right now and tell your boss that you robbed me— see what he has to say about
that
.”

I stood in front of her.

“Hold up,” I said. “If you think I’m letting you go in there—”

“You can’t stop me.”

She was right—people were walking by, looking at us.

“Why do you need to tell my boss about this?”

“Maybe he’d like to know how his bouncer robbed me.”

“So then maybe I get fired. How’s that gonna help you?”

“You know, you’re right,” she said. “I have a better idea—I’ll call the police.”

She started to walk away. I knew I had to do something.

“Wait,” I said.

She turned around and looked back at me. On cue, I started to cry. Well, I guess I wasn’t really crying, but I did a good enough job of faking it. I turned around with my back facing her and then I put my hands over my face and made loud sobbing noises. It might’ve been the best acting performance of my life.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

My hands were wet with tears. Now I knew I had her.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just can’t help it.”

“Help what?”

“Everything.” I squeezed out a few more tears, then I said, “All right, you wanna know the truth? The truth is I took your fucking jewelry. You satisfied?”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t have it.”

“Why not?”

“I pawned it off for gambling money. I tried to buy it back—I swear to fucking God I did—but the guy already sold it.”

She stared at me for a few seconds then said, “For gambling money? What are you talking about?”

“I’m a compulsive gambler,” I said, crying. “I didn’t want to tell you about it, but it’s the truth. I started betting in high school and it’s gotten worse and worse since. I go to the racetrack and the OTBs all the time, betting on fucking horses. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it—I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“But why?” she said. “Why did you steal from me?”

“Because I have a problem, that’s why,” I said. “I gamble too much—I get out of control. It’s my fault, I know. I have no one to blame but myself.”

“Why don’t you go for help?”

“That’s what I’m
gonna
do. I’ve thought about it before, but now I know, I
really
know I need it. I’m gonna go to Gamblers Anonymous—quit once and for all. Please, Janene. I don’t know why I did it. I mean I liked you—I thought we had something special going. Then, as usual, I fucked everything up. But please, I’m begging you, please don’t tell my boss any of this. I can’t afford to lose my job. I’m begging you.”

She was looking at me like I was her kid that she’d just spanked, and now she felt bad about it.

“How could you steal from me?” she said. “How could you do something like that to me, Tommy?”

“I was out of control—what can I say? But I have some good news—I won at the track with your money and I can pay you back for everything. If you come to my apartment I’ll give you the money right now. Just tell me how much you think that jewelry was worth and—”

“The money doesn’t matter,” she said. “It was the sentimental value.”

“Jesus, you don’t know how sorry I am about all this,” I said. “Just tell me the amount—any amount and I’ll give you the money. Please—it’s important that I do this.”

“I have no idea what it was worth.”

“Give me a ballpark figure.”

“I don’t know—maybe a few hundred dollars.”

“No problem,” I said. “I’ll give you the money right now—three hundred for the jewelry and the hundred I owe you—but you have to promise not to talk to my boss or the police.”

“Do you have the money with you?”

“Wait one second,” I said.

I went back into the bar and asked Frank if he could cover for me for about fifteen minutes, a half hour tops. He said it was no problem and I came back out wearing my leather coat.

“Where are we going?” Janene asked.

“To give you your money.”

“I thought you had it with you.”

“No, it’s in my apartment.”

“I don’t want to go to your apartment.”

“Why not?”

“Why don’t you just send me the money?”

“Put cash in the mail? Come on, it’ll take two minutes. I really want to make up for what I did to you.”

She looked away, trying to make up her mind, then she looked back at me and said, “All right, let’s go.”

It was weird walking next to her. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest and she didn’t say a word. I didn’t say anything either. I was pissed at her for threatening to call the cops. After what Rodrigo pulled in the kitchen, I was getting sick of people trying to blackmail me.

We turned on to Sixty-fourth Street. When we got to my building, I headed up the stoop, but Janene stopped on the sidewalk.

“You coming up?”

“No,” she said, “I think I’ll just wait out here.”

“Come on, it’s freezing out.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“I just feel like waiting down here on the street.”

There was a group of teenagers across the street, smoking cigarettes and laughing.

“Whatever,” I said.

I went upstairs and came back down with the four hundred dollars. She put the money away in her coat pocket.

“I really hope you quit gambling,” she said, “for your own sake.”

I watched her walk away toward York Avenue, hoping she was out of my life for good.

Walking home after work, I didn’t feel like being alone. Remembering how Susan Lepidus had asked me to call her sometime, I stopped at the nearest phone booth. The phone rang four times and then her answering machine picked up. I was about to hang up when she said, “Wait—hold on,” then she turned off the machine and, sounding tired, said, “Hello.”

I realized that one-thirty was probably kind of late to call somebody.

“Hey, Susan,” I said, “it’s Tommy. You know, from O’Reilley’s.”

She didn’t say anything for a few seconds then she said, “Oh, hi, how are you?”

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” I said.

“No...I mean I was just getting into bed...what time is it?”

“About one-thirty,” I said. “I just got off work. I know it’s late to be calling, but I want you to know it was really nice seeing you again the other night. I’ve been thinking about you a lot since then.”

“That’s sweet. It was nice seeing you again too.”

“I know this is short notice, but I figured I’d be spontaneous. You want to go out for a late drink?”

“Now?”

“Why not? There are a few places still open.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean I have to go to work tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I always forget how normal people work in the
morning
.”

She laughed.

“Maybe we could go out some other time,” I said. “Unless...nah, that’s a stupid idea.”

“What is?”

“I was thinking, I could come by your place, if you want. Just to say hi, have a quick drink and leave.”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Forget about it then,” I said. “I told you it was a stupid idea. I’ll call you some other time. I’m off on Tuesdays. Maybe tomorrow night we can do something.”

“I have plans tomorrow.”

“Some other time then.”

“Wait,” she said. “I guess you could come over now.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah...why not? Do you remember where I live?”

“I sure do,” I said. “Should I bring over some beer?”

“That’s all right, I have some in the fridge.”

“See you in a few.”

I started to walk, but my feet were cold in my motorcycle boots, so I jogged up First Avenue with the stiff wind in my face. Susan lived on Eighty-third Street between Third and Lex. It was about twenty blocks from the phone booth, but it only took me about ten minutes to get there.

I’d walked Susan home that night after we went out dancing, but I’d never been up to her apartment. It was a doorman building, but not nearly as nice as Frank’s. The doorman buzzed her and I took the elevator up.

Susan looked good, especially for two in the morning. She was wearing jeans and a long black T-shirt and she’d put on makeup—lipstick and blush.

After I kissed her hello on the cheek, she invited me into the apartment. It was a small place—bigger than my dump, but so was just about every other apartment in the city. It had an L-shape with a little kitchen and a living room in the big part, and the bedroom area was off to the right. A U2 poster was hanging on the wall above the couch.

She took my coat and put it on the back of a chair.

“Why don’t you sit down?” she said.

She pointed toward a seat at the kitchen table.

“That’s all right,” I said. “So this is a nice little place you got here.”

“Thanks,” she said, twirling a few long strands of her curly red hair with a finger. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

“Why not?” I said.

She went to the fridge, took out two Heinekens, and put them down on the counter.

“I’m really glad you called me,” she said, opening the beer. “I was hoping you would.”

“I should’ve called you right away,” I said.

“It’s all right,” she said.

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “I told you I’d call you and I never did. That was wrong.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “It’s just as much my fault as it was yours. I could’ve called you too.”

I put my hands against her hips and turned her around toward me. I kissed her—gently at first, then I pushed her back against the refrigerator, kissing her all over her face. She was kissing me back, sucking on my earlobes. As I was unhooking her bra she said, “Wait, you really think we should do this?”

“Yes,” I said. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Her bra fell onto the floor and she pulled off my shirt. I carried her to the bed, still kissing her, when the doorbell rang.

Susan looked terrified.

“Who the hell could that be?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“So let’s just ignore it,” I said.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he knows I’m home.”

“Who knows?”

“My boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend. The guy I was at the bar with the other night.”

The knocking was louder now. Then the guy—I remembered his name was Jim—said, “Come on, Susan, open up! Open the fuckin’ door, Susan!”

“Just forget about it,” I whispered. “He’ll go away.”

“No, he sounds drunk,” Susan said. “He’ll wake the whole building. Why did my stupid doorman let him up?”

“Susan!” Jim yelled. “Open the door Susan! Open the fucking door!”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Susan said.

She put her shirt on.

“You sure?” I said.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Wait one sec.”

Susan went to the door and I was thinking how, when she came back, I’d make up some excuse and go home. Although Susan was a nice girl and she was very good looking, we didn’t have anything in common and I couldn’t remember why I’d called her in the first place.

Susan and Jim were talking at the door.

“Come on, lemme in,” Jim said.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Susan said.

“No, let me in now,” Jim said. “I wanna talk to you.”

“It’s too late,” Susan said.

“Why, you got someone here?”

“Nobody’s here.”

“Who’s here?”

“No one.”

“Stop it...Jim!”

Jim pushed his way into the apartment. He stormed into the bedroom area and saw me sitting there on Susan’s bed without a shirt on. He was wearing a business suit, his tie partially unwound. His hair was a mess and he looked drunk.

For a few seconds, he just stood there, shocked, then he said, “What the fuck is this shit?”

“Just go home,” Susan said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“You fuckin’ son of a bitch,” Jim said to me.

He stood there for another second or two, then he charged me. I stood up and pushed him away, which wasn’t very hard. The guy was about five-six and probably weighed eighty pounds less than me.

Susan was screaming for Jim to go home and I said, “Just take it easy—take it easy, all right? I don’t wanna hurt you, just take it easy.”

“Fuck you,” Jim said, spraying spit. “Just fuck you.”

He tried to punch me in the face and missed by about a foot. Then he came at me again and grabbed my chain with the little gold barbell. The chain snapped and the barbell fell onto the floor.

“Look what you did,” I said. “Look what you did.”

“Fuck you,” Jim said.

I went after him, punching him in the face again and again. His nose started gushing blood, then he fell onto the floor, curled up into a ball, yelling, “Help me, Susan! Help me!”

Finally, Susan pulled me away. She kneeled next to Jim and said to me, “What’s wrong with you? Why wouldn’t you stop?”

I picked up my barbell chain, happy to see that only the clasp was broken.

“Just get the hell out of here,” Susan said to me. “Leave!”

I put on my shirt and coat and left the apartment. Walking home down Third Avenue, I finally started to calm down.

When I arrived at my place, I went right into the bathroom and washed up. I didn’t even have a scratch on my face, but my knuckles were sore. I felt bad for hitting Jim as hard as I did and I hoped he wasn’t seriously hurt.

I put the barbell and the busted chain away in my dresser drawer, then I sat at the table and counted the money I had left over from the robbery. The total came to about $1,700 and tomorrow was my day off. Maybe what I needed was to get away for a day or two—clear my head.