Hit & Mrs. (26 page)

They filled up their gas tanks, and by then Ida had returned from the washroom. She emerged from the door at top speed and was nearly run over by a car pulling into the station.

“Get outta my way,” she yelled at the driver as she careened into the gas platform. She almost toppled over but righted herself at the last minute and charged ahead over to her sons. “Get in the car. What's wrong with you? Move it, move it, move it!”

They scrambled to put her back in the van and fold away her wheelchair. Sid decided he wanted to be in Mordecai's van in case his brother needed him. They were about to pull away when Izzy remembered he needed more cigarettes. He ran into the station.

“Where is that man going? I'm going to kill him.”

“He's doing a good job of killing himself with those cancer sticks,” David said.

“Well, he's not doing it fast enough. If something happens to my Bette, it'll be his fault.”

“Don't say that, Ida,” Sid pleaded. “It doesn't help the situation.”

“I can say whatever I like. I don't need a lecture from you.”

Everyone kept their mouths shut. Izzy rushed back to the van and was so out of breath that he coughed for the next half hour, and by then everyone in the van wanted to kill him.

As the Weinbergs drove into the city, Ida couldn't stand it anymore. She demanded Mordecai give her his cellphone.

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Someone might be trying to get through.”

“I'm the mama.”

Mordecai knew better than to argue with that logic. He handed it over. Ida called Bette's cellphone over and over again. Her heart sank every time the operator said the customer had the phone turned off.

“You're going to wear the numbers off those buttons if you're not careful,” Izzy said between puffs.

“Never mind,” Uncle Sid said. “It keeps her quiet.”

Ida turned to look at her brother-in-law, who, if it was possible, was even thinner than Izzy. “Who asked you?”

She tried once more and lo and behold, the line was busy.

“It's busy!”

Izzy turned in his seat. “Bette's phone?”

“No, Frank Sinatra's. Who else do you think I'd be calling?”

“Well, that's a good sign,” Izzy grinned.

“Try again, Ma,” David said.

She did. “Still busy. At least that means she's alive, doesn't it?”

Mordecai said over his shoulder, “Of course she's alive, Ma.”

The phone remained busy for quite a while. Ida tried once more and it rang.

“It's ringing! It's ringing! Oh my God. Please answer, Bette. Please.”

They held their breath.

A man answered. “Candy? Is there a problem?”

“Candy? Who's this?”

“Who's this?”

“What have you done with my Bette? Please. We have ransom money. We'll give you money. As much as you want.”

The voice hesitated. “Ya don't say. How much?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Izzy almost fainted. “What? We can't get out hands on…”

Ida brushed him away with her hand. “Shut up, I'm negotiating.” She spoke into the phone. “Tell us where Bette is and I'll give it to you.”

“No, no, no. You give it to me and then I'll tell you where she is.”

“Okay, okay. Where can we drop it off?”

“Give me a number I can call and I'll get back to you about where and when.”

Ida gave him Mordecai's cell number and the guy hung up. She closed the phone. “I can't believe it. I talked to a kidnapper.”

“I can't believe it either. Where are we gonna come up with that kind of money?” Izzy said.

Ida glared at him. “Do you have a better idea? Why do I have to do all this crime stuff myself? I kill men for you, I talk to kidnappers…”

Mordecai said, “Did he say he had Bette?”

“Yeah, sort of. He said he'd tell us where she is once he has the money.”

“Of course he did. He'll say anything to get money. But who is he?”

“Well, he has Bette's phone. He must have had some contact with her.”

“Even if we do meet this guy, we don't have the money,” Izzy insisted.

“We'll gather up as much as we can and make it look like more,” Ida said. “They do that all the time in the movies.”

“But how much money have we got?”

Everyone started to look in their wallets.

“We go to a bank machine,” Ida insisted. “We each take out our limit and pool the money together. Why am I the only one thinking? You're all useless. Now hurry up, Mordecai. My daughter's been kidnapped.”

Flea and Tony couldn't believe their luck when Flea answered the phone and some woman offered them fifty grand.

“This has got to be the weirdest day of my life,” Flea said. “After we deliver the diamonds to these people and get our coke, we'll arrange to meet this dame. Where do you think?”

“Washington Square Park gave us a lot of luck. Why not go back there?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Are you gonna tell them where the women are?”

Flea made a face. “What do you think? We gotta get rid of those dames.”

Tony took a drag and looked out the window at the traffic going by. “I don't think we should. I mean, we're not murderers.”

Flea yelled at him. “Well, I'm gonna be one if you don't stop with the soft routine. These women have seen our faces. If we don't play our cards right, we'll go down not only for the coke but smuggled diamonds as well.”

Tony didn't say anything.

They drove from Astoria to the Bronx and soon found themselves in the parking lot of the Bronx Zoo. It was too early for the zoo to be open, so they easily spotted the car with three men in it. They pulled up about a hundred feet away and waited for someone to do something.

The three men got out of the car.

Flea shook his head. “Look at that asshole, Blue. If I never see him again, it won't be too soon.”

They got out of their beat-up car and stood beside it. A guy who looked like a shark held out a package. Flea took the bag of diamonds out of his inside jacket pocket and held them out as well. Minus his cut, of course. Candy had offered him three diamonds for his inconvenience. He crammed them in his sock. And then he took three more. One was in his jeans pocket and the other two were in a film canister in the car. By spreading them out, he thought he was covering his tracks.

The two groups walked forward. They looked around to see if they were being watched, a reflex developed by their criminal lifestyles. When they got to within ten feet of each other, they stopped.

Candy shoved Blue towards them. “I believe this idiot belongs to you.”

Blue tripped and nearly fell at Flea's feet.

“You can kill him, for all I care,” Flea said. “He's too stupid to live.”

“Where's Starr?” Blue asked. “Did you take her?”

“I wouldn't take that loser anywhere,” Flea laughed.

“Hey, that's my girlfriend you're talking about.”

“Shut up.” Candy held out the package of coke. “Give me my diamonds.” Flea held out the bag. Candy grabbed it and tossed Flea the coke. Candy looked in the bag and then up at Flea. “I think you've made a mistake.”

Sweat appeared on Flea's upper lip. “How's that?”

“There's a few missing.”

“How the hell do you know that? Ya didn't even count them.”

Candy grinned and poked Dumber in the ribs. “How do I know? Because that's what I'd do.”

He and Dumber whipped out their guns. Flea, Tony, and Blue jumped back and put their hands in the air.

“Hey, man…”

“Give me the coke,” Candy demanded. “
Now
.”

Flea passed it over.

“Search him.” Dumber went over and patted them down. He found the four diamonds and gave it to Candy. Candy looked at it. “Well, well. You're stupid, too. There's only four here.”

“We're not stupid. We have two more in the car,” Tony said. Then he looked at Flea. “Aw, jeez.”

Candy gestured with his gun to Dumber, who went over and searched Flea's car. He came out with the film canister and passed it to his boss. Candy shook his head. “Boys, you've got a lot to learn about wheeling and dealing. Never, and I mean never, try to pull a fast one. It's the quickest way to get killed.”

He pointed his gun and shot Flea in the leg. Flea grabbed his calf and fell to the ground. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

Candy and Dumber sauntered back to their car with both the diamonds and the coke, and then they revved their engine and with tires squealing, left the parking lot.

Tony and Blue were shocked. They didn't move, not until Flea started to rant: “Get in the car, get in the car.”

The two of them hurried to the car.

“Get me first, for Christ's sake.” They turned around and picked Flea off the pavement, then wobbled back over to the car. They struggled to get Flea in the back. He screamed in agony. “Follow those bastards.”

Tony got in the driver's seat and barely gave Blue a chance to jump in the front seat before he tore out of the parking lot after Candy's car. “I think you should go to the hospital.”

“With a bullet wound? Don't be so fucking stupid.”

Blue looked over the front seat at Flea. “You should put a bandage on that.”

“No shit. Give me that thing around your neck.”

Blue untied his filthy bandana and passed it over. Flea tied it around his calf as tightly as he could. He couldn't contain his anger. “I shoulda known better. This pisses me off.”

“I say you're lucky. They're wise guys and the Mob usually shoots to kill.”

“Maybe he was in a good mood,” Blue said.

Flea hit him on the head from behind. “I'd be in a good mood too, if I took off with a package of cocaine I didn't pay for.”

“Whadda we do?” Tony shouted. “Keep following? They could shoot us.”

“They already did, you genius. Of course keep following. We're dead if we don't deliver that coke.”

“But how are we gonna get it from them?”

Flea pulled at the back door panel until it came off. He reached inside and pulled out a gun. “I'm not gonna be so stupid next time.”

Gracie ran out of the warehouse as fast as she could. She panicked at the sight of more low, rundown, and abandoned warehouses with broad parking lots between—she was so exposed. What if Candy and Dumber came back? She needed to get to a street, preferably a residential one.

Poor little Keaton cried at being jostled. “Some day, little guy, I'm going to tell you how sorry I am.” She kissed his head and kept moving, even though she stuck out like a sore thumb. A few trucks went by, but Gracie stayed in the shadows. She wanted nothing to do with big, burly men.

It was daybreak. People would be about soon. She'd have to keep moving until she found someone who could help her; there were hardly any cabs on the street at this hour. She turned a corner, and at the other end of the block on the opposite side she saw a diner.

“Please be open,” she whispered against Keaton's hat. She hurried closer and saw two people inside, but when she went to open the door, it was locked. She knocked and the man turned around and yelled, “Come back in twenty minutes.”

She knocked louder. “Please, help me.”

A large woman, obviously the waitress, pushed past the man and came to open the door.

“Thank you.”

“Girl, whatcha doin' at this time of day with that poor baby in your arms? Ya wanna give that child pneumonia?”

Gracie stood and shivered and suddenly couldn't talk.

“Lord, child. It's all right. Don't mind me and my big mouth. You come on over here.”

The waitress led Gracie over to a booth and made her sit down. She turned to look at the cook. “Get me some hot coffee.”

“I'm goin' broke feeding all your strays,” the cook muttered, but he did as he was told and delivered the coffee with a piece of pie. “You look like you're starvin'.”

Gracie could only nod.

“Give me that baby,” the waitress demanded, “and you eat up.”

Gracie passed Keaton over and that's when she realized how heavy he was. She took a sip of coffee and it warmed her. She was back in the real world. Gracie cleared her throat. “I'm sorry, I need to call the police. Can I use your phone?”

“The police?” the cook said. “Didn't I tell you? These waifs are always trouble. You mark my words.”

“Shut your mouth. Don't mind him. He's always saying dumb stuff. Of course you can use the phone. There's a payphone right over there.” The waitress nodded her head to the left.

“Thanks.” Gracie ran over, picked up the receiver, and called 911. “Hello? My name is Gracie Martell and I need to talk to the police. I've escaped a kidnapping and my friends are still being held. Please hurry.”

The cook and the waitress stared at her with big eyes, their mouths agape. It even sounded unbelievable to Gracie when she said it out loud, but she knew it was all too real, and it was all because of her. The guilt bubbled up from somewhere deep inside and Gracie was overcome with tears.

Candy shot out of the parking lot, turned right on Bronx Park South, left on Crotona Parkway, and right again onto East Tremont Avenue. He headed for his warehouse in the Bronx. He thought they'd lost the bozos in the parking lot but soon saw the junky car trailing them a few blocks away, exhaust pouring from its tailpipe.

Candy drove as fast as he dared and tried to lose them. Then his cellphone went off. He reached for it in his inside pocket. “Yeah?”

“It's me.”

Candy drew a sharp breath. “Dumb, you better not tell me you've lost someone, or so help me…”

There was a pregnant pause. “Uh…”

“
What
?”