Tough Baby (Martin Fender Novel) (21 page)

“Don’t ruin it for me,” I said. “I’m a fan of Albert Collins, and I don’t want to have to think of your perverted fantasies every time I hear one of his songs.”

“Aw, come on, Martin. Who you calling a pervert, huh?”

“You, you fat bastard.”

He sighed, rubbing his stomach. He looked at the Cuervo bottle, thought it over for a second, and poured another shot. He set the bottle down, pinched the shot glass between his thumb and forefinger, and sent it home. The liquor elicited a small tremor within his huge bulk, which he acknowledged with a short gasp and a smack of his lips. He looked at me and winked as he set the shot glass down and said, “Man, I’m just a junk salesman, Martin. You know that. Whatever else I am, I can say it ain’t my fault. My parents brought me up the only way they knew how, and if that was wrong, well, that’s just too fucking bad. It’s too late now, and I ain’t crying about it.”

“Product of your environment, you say.”

He smacked his lips again and stroked his chin. “Momma always said, Son, you gotta pay for what you do. Strict Protestant fire-and-brimstone stuff. Church every Sunday, and during the week too, on special occasions. Back talk was good for a slap in the mouth. General infractions were good for a whupping with a belt. If I fucked up real good, she’d wait till Daddy came home, and he’d execute the punishment, whacking me with a belt or a Ping-Pong paddle. Don’t get me wrong, Martin. I didn’t enjoy it. But that’s where I got the connection, you pay for what you do.

“This organist in church, she was mighty fine-looking to a young boy of ten. She was tall and prim and had the nicest, smoothest white skin you ever saw. Nice ass too, the way it spread out just slightly on the bench. Had a mole on the back of her neck, made you wanna bite it real hard. I used to sit there and watch her play and get a big old diamond cutter during church. I didn’t really understand what sex was all about. I mean, I knew the actual mechanical way it worked and I knew it was highly recommended by everyone who tried it, but I didn’t really know what it felt like. Didn’t have a clue. I didn’t know that doing it was gonna give me the satisfaction my young body craved. All I had was my imagination. So what come to mind was to strip this woman naked and tie her up. I’d tie her down to a board and stick pins in her. Spank her, put little clamps on her titties. Make her beg, and she’d love me for it. That’s what I’d be thinking about during church, you know, watching that woman sitting on that organ bench playing those hymns so sweetly, me having a big old hard-on, not knowing what it was for.”

“It’s time to cut to the chase, Vick,” I said. “This had better be leading up to something. Like a confession, I hope.”

“Confession?” He feigned insult. “What do I have to confess about, Martin? You gotta get that outta your head. I haven’t done nothing wrong. I don’t know why I gotta keep telling you that. The things you’re upset about ain’t my fault, they’re a whole different matter. I pay for what I do. I’m the godfather, I’m the rockin’ daddy. You’re on my turf here. You need some money, you come to me like you come to a bank. You go into a bank and say, I need some money. Then you wait for them to say, OK, we might be able to give you some money, and if you want to take it, here’s the terms. That’s what I do. I lay out the terms. You don’t want to take them, fine. I’m not saying everybody has to have terms. There’s plenty of people I just give stuff to, out of the goodness of my heart. I’ve given away a dozen guitars in the last ten years, no strings attached, so to speak, just here you go, play the shit out of it, boy. Clothes too. But if
you
come to
me,
you gotta be ready to let me dictate some terms. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand what I misunderstood before,” I said. “I misunderstood that the reason you broke Donald Rollins’s arm and then paid for it was because he owed you money and it was punishment for not paying you back. I misunderstood before that Leo got a guitar from you and a broken hand the same night but didn’t realize the two were connected, two parts of one deal. You’re sick, Vick. The kind of sickness you have may not be contagious, but it isn’t good for the overall health of the community.”

“Now hold on just a minute here,” he said, his jowls shaking. “I don’t hurt anybody, not really. You ain’t as goddamn straight arrow as you think you are, I bet. Think about it: don’t tell me when your girlfriend screams when you ram it in her it doesn’t turn you on?”

“I don’t want to hear this, Vick, I just want some facts.”

“Well, look at it this way, Martin. I’m entitled to a little pleasure in this fucked-up world. Everybody has their little favorite things, and I got mine. If somebody’s willing to accommodate me so that I can derive some enjoyment, where’s the harm in that?”

“I told you, I want facts. Stop bullshitting around.”

“Facts, shmacks,” he drawled. “I like you, Martin. I don’t know why, maybe because you remind me of dear old Momma. Always coming at me with some kinda angle, some kinda higher viewpoint. Hard-headed, old-fashioned. But I got the notion you’re a modem enough guy to, uh, understand my position here. So hear me out, OK? You want a thousand bucks?”

“You owe me more than that,” I said. I felt the hair on the back of my neck standing up, felt my face flushing, getting hot. “You lied to me, and our deal was that you weren’t going to lie to me, or else you lose the shop.”

“OK, two thousand,” he said, trying to dismiss our contract with a shake of his head. “Plus, whatever you wanna know, I’ll tell you. Consider this money an option fee, an option to negotiate. I guarantee, you hear me out, you’re gonna see where I’m coming from, and you’ll see I’m right. You interested?”

“You know what I’m interested in.”

“OK, Martin. OK. Come on upstairs, then. It’s cooler up there, and more comfortable, and it’ll all make more sense up there.”

He struggled to his feet and I followed him, with a mixture of dread and morbid curiosity, around the comer to a freight elevator. Ed the Head went up with us. I noticed that he’d picked up a black, rubber-gripped claw hammer from somewhere.

Vick’s living quarters took up the second floor. It wasn’t cooler, and it was mustier. The space ran the length of the building, unobstructed. Down both the lengthwise walls were windows that had been painted over a sickly green. Light came in from the street through the painted glass as a strange glow, illuminating the panes more than the room itself. It was as if the panes were radioactive, soaking up the light like cancerous cells. The furnishings were all rejects from the store—a sway- backed bed with a ragged homemade quilt and satin pillows with rust stains, a three-legged nightstand, and numerous sofas and recliners strewn haphazardly about like abandoned cars. A heavy butcher-block table as big as a grand piano was stationed just within reach of the bed, an ugly Tiffany lampshade suspended over it. Other than the creaking of the floor and the squeaking of the bedsprings as Vick tried to get comfortable, it was strangely quiet.

Ed was fondling the claw hammer and Vick was looking up at me half-lidded, with as much coyness as a 320-pound man wriggling out of a motorcycle jacket can muster. He was a bit red-faced and short of breath.

“I like you, Martin. And when I like somebody, I like to show it.” He looked over at Ed, leaning against the butcher-block table, uncomfortably close to me, then his gaze rested on the hammer in Ed’s hands. Great rolls of fat tumbled around underneath his undershirt as he swayed on the bed. “I like Leo, too. He needed a guitar, and I helped him out.”

“This is making me sick, Vick. Why don’t you just go ahead and say it?”

“OK, Martin. You think you’re a pretty straight guy, right? Don’t answer, ’cause I know it’s true. And it’s a fact, you are a hell of a lot straighter than most. So I wouldn’t bring you up here and try to buy you off cheap. You’ve heard that old proverb, about the guy who asks the gal if she’ll fuck him for a million bucks. She says yes, for a million bucks I would. Then the guy asks her, How about for a hundred grand? How about for fifty bucks and a couple of drinks? She gets all insulted then and says, What do you think I am? And he says, We already established what you are, we’re just haggling over the price.”

“That’s old as the hills, Vick.”

“Sure, but it’s as true as it ever was. It just so happens, in this proverb, pain is the thing. It’s my thing. It gets me all excited in a way I can’t explain. I don’t know why. I just know it
excites
me. I tried doing things to myself, but it just don’t work that way. If only pain wasn’t so
painful.
But if someone else is willing to take it,
ooohh-ee.
A big shot of pleasure for me, just a little hurt for you, and a whole lotta money to help you forget about it. I bet you’d let me break your finger, any finger, or a toe, like maybe your big toe . . .”

Ed the Head brought out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket, grinning, wetting his lips with cruel anticipation. “It wouldn’t hurt long, Martin,” he said, reaching out, taking hold of the sleeve of my shaking arm.

“How ’bout ten thousand bucks, Martin? I’m rich now, man . . .
Twenty
thousand bucks. Huh, how about it? Could you turn it down?”

I jumped back from Ed, electrified, sucking in big gulps of air. Nausea rose in a tidal wave up from my gut, eating into my throat like battery acid, exploding into purple spots in front of my eyes. I reached back under my jacket and came out with the gun, holding it stiff-armed in both hands, first aiming at one, then the other.

Vick looked crestfallen. Ed the Head looked ready to pounce on me, jiggling the handcuffs in one hand, grinning, somewhat excited by my response. He laughed, an ugly, feral sound.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

Vick’s hand went up to his heart and he made a little cooing sound. “Oh, shit,” he said, “I guess this means no.”

“Damn right it means no, you goddamn freak.”

“I shouldn’t have offered you money. People think of it different when they do things for guitars, or leather jackets. I just thought since I have all this money . . He started to pout, then looked at me suspiciously. “I’m just trying to make a
point,
for chrissakes.” He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the gun. “Jesus Christ, Martin, you aren’t gonna shoot anybody.”

He glanced at Ed, who wasn’t laughing anymore, then back at me. Childishly, “Are you?”

After a while I settled down into just a slow, smoldering rage. I collapsed into a Naugahyde recliner held together by duct tape that stuck to my suit every time I moved. But I wasn’t moving much, just sitting there, feeling the jaundiced glow from the green windowpanes as an encroaching symptom of the whole sick scenario. The gun was still in my hands, a heavy cold weight.

Vick was talking in a sort of singsong drawl.

“I mean, hell, it’s not like I go out and attack people. I guarantee, you need the money bad enough, you’ll be glad to do it. I mean, what I always say, if it’s fun, people do it for free. That’s what the whole principle of work is based on. So, in that sense,
lots
of guys have worked for me, people that’d surprise you. And it doesn’t mean you’re queer, for chrissakes. Leo sure as hell ain’t. He didn’t even scream when the hammer came down. I never hurt nobody.”

“Never hurt anybody?” I said. “What about Nadine, who can’t even look at Leo anymore without crying?”

He shrugged his fat shoulders.

“What about Donald Rollins, comes to you for a beating so he can buy his last fix?”

Another shrug.

“And what about Retha Thomas?”

He didn’t move. I looked at Ed, who was looking the other way. “What about Retha Thomas, you sonofabitch?”

He stayed still, just a blubbery iceberg with his lower lip sticking out. “Ask Eddie about that.”

“I’m sick of hearing that,” I said. “Whoever knows had better tell me.
Right now.”

Ed the Head’s face had cracked into an ugly grin. His eyes were hard marbles, unfocused, his lips curling out, baring his crooked teeth, as he said nonchalantly, “Weren’t my fault the goddamn bitch ...”

Vick cleared his throat and swatted the air with a shaky hand. “Retha had met this Brackenridge ER nurse down at the Goodwill store,” he said. “The nurse told her about this kid who’d been down there a couple of times for broken toes. One of those times I did something stupid and paid him with a check, and he tried to get them to take his bill out of it. Well, it seemed like Retha was ready to run and tell the IMF guys about my little hobby here and I was afraid that’d blow my deal. I mean, maybe it wouldn’t have five, ten years ago. But today, shit, just like that congressman who got run out on a rail ’cause he went to a rub joint a couple of times and got a gal pregnant. People act like a little fucking on the side is a capital crime nowadays, so I know they ain’t gonna look kindly on me. They got Ted Bundy, they got AIDS, they got all kinds of things they can point to and say, See? I told you so, if it ain’t normal it ain’t right. So I gave Retha Thomas eight hundred bucks and some vintage jewelry as a little gift to keep her mouth shut. But Eddie’s been asking for a raise, and he got his feelings hurt when he found out about it. So I said OK, whyn’t you go get it back from her?”

Ed was grinning again. “I slipped her the Mickey at the party, but I didn’t lay a finger on her.”

“Expect her to have a car wreck?” I asked.

“Naw, I was just figuring to soften her up. Maybe I was pissed and just wanted to fuck her up, ruin her night. I didn’t know she was with you at first. When you guys left I could see you weren’t gonna be any good to her so I went back to her motel. When I got up to her room, somebody was inside, with the TV or radio going, so I split back to the party and ran into Leo.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

He just shrugged. “I don’t give a fuck if you do or not. But I wasn’t gone long enough to do anything. Ask Leo, he’ll tell you.”

“Aw, shut up,” I said. I looked over at Vick. “So Ed brought Leo over here and you had some sick fun with him and paid him with the Flying V?”