21 Tales (13 page)

His palms felt moist. He rubbed them several times across his pants and took another deep breath before heading out onto the street. With thirty thousand dollars as seed money he should be able to do something. He checked his bus ticket. The trip to Vegas wasn’t for three days. That would give him enough time to go back to New York and organize a high stakes poker game. He’d have to kick in about five hundred for fake police uniforms and, of course, take on a couple of partners, but after the game was “busted” his split should at least match the seed money. Thirty grand would probably be enough for a Hollywood scam that had been playing in his mind for years. Right after the delivery to Vegas, he’d head straight to California.

There was a gorgeous redhead walking about thirty yards in front of him. As plans whirled through his head, he found himself absent-mindedly enjoying the soft rhythmic motion of her hips. He was so absorbed by his own thoughts he didn’t pick up on the motives of the punk heading towards her. It wasn’t until the punk grabbed her handbag, and the woman screamed as the punk hit her, that the scene registered on him.

Pete then moved quickly. Within seconds he had sprinted to the punk, grasping the handbag and holding his briefcase with one hand and using his free hand to reach for an eight inch switchblade to persuade the punk with.

The punk tugged hard on the handbag and then pushed it away using all his weight. Caught off balance, Pete could feel his feet slipping out from beneath him. Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the sidewalk smack in the middle of a puddle. He felt stupid as he watched the punk run away.

The redhead was standing over him speechless. She was wearing a tight fitting business suit that showed off nice curves. Her green eyes were dazzling, but not quite as much, Pete noticed, as the diamond earrings she was wearing. Pete smiled at her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I guess I’m a little shaken,” she said, color slowly seeping through her ashen paleness.

“How’s your cheek?”

“What? Oh.” She put a hand up to where she was struck, flinching slightly. “I must’ve rolled with the punch,” she said, smiling. “I think I’m okay.”

Pete nodded, returning her smile. He held up her handbag. “I believe this belongs to you, ma’am,” he said with the utmost courtesy.

All at once she started laughing – a nice, wholesome, friendly laugh. Pete liked it. He also felt stupid as all hell. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, wiping tears from her eyes. “Ha, ha, I’m so sorry. You just look so funny sitting in that puddle. But thank you.”

“I’m glad I could be of service,” he said gruffly.

“I really am grateful to you for rescuing me.” Her dazzling eyes twinkled. “My hotel is less than a block away. Why don’t you come with me? We can get your suit dry-cleaned.”

She offered him her hand to help him out of the puddle. The beautiful redhead introduced herself as Lauren Hadley, visiting Boston on business. He introduced himself as PaulMichaels. As they walked, Pete laughed and joked with her, all the while trying to estimate the value of her earrings. They looked real to him. His sixth sense told him they were real. He’d get his chance to palm them off her. If they turned out to be cubic zirconium, he’d give them to Toni, his fiancée. If they were real diamonds, he’d sell them and use part of the proceeds to buy Toni a nice pair of cubic zirconium earrings.

By the time they got to her room, Pete was glad she had made the offer. And not just because of the diamonds. His clothes were soaking wet, from the lower part of his back to his thighs. They were uncomfortable and he was anxious to get out of them.

She pointed out the bathroom. “Paul, why don’t you change in there. You can take a shower and I’ll call the concierge about sending up a man’s robe. This place advertises two hour dry-cleaning. You don’t mind spending a couple of hours alone with me, do you?”

He flashed her a grin. “You do what you have to do,” he said.

“That’s awfully brave of you.” She took hold of his hands and placed them on the side of her face. The skin felt hot. “I’m still trembling from that mugger,” she breathed softly. There was a glint in her eyes.

Pete brought the briefcase into the bathroom and got out of his wet clothes, leaving his wallet, switchblade, and envelope on the vanity. He wrapped a towel around his waist and carried his soiled suit and underwear out to Lauren. As he headed back to the bathroom she called out to him, a warm throaty purr resonating in her voice, asking him not to be too long.

The hotel was a high class one and the room was really more of a suite with a separate sitting area in the bathroom. Pete examined the lock and was satisfied with it. Still, he propped a wicker chair under the door handle. One thing he took a great deal of pride in was his thoroughness. Always one step ahead of the next guy – which was why his recent setbacks had been so tough to swallow. He wasn’t used to his plans crumbling apart, and it hurt him deeply.

As Pete stepped into the shower and turned the hot water on, he could feel his body start to relax. Finally, the bad luck had run its course. Things were back to normal. Better than normal. First two grand for a simple delivery job, then thirty grand to borrow for seed money, and now diamond earrings that were probably worth five grand. And to top it off, an hour or so to tumble around with Lauren’s luscious and willing body. Pete smiled, wondering how long it would take for her peaches and cream skin to blush a deep red.

By the time he got out of the shower he was feeling on top of the world. As he reached for a towel, he noticed the bathroom door was missing. He stared at it, unable to comprehend why it was that way, and then a sickish feeling wormed its way into his stomach. He only half glanced at where he had left the briefcase, knowing full well it was gone.

He stood motionless, his eyes narrowed, his features marble hard. Peering out from the corners of his eyes he could see that the envelope was gone but his wallet and knife were still on the vanity. He let another minute pass before reaching for a towel. As he left the bathroom, he could see the bathroom door laying flat in the hallway. It had been taken off its hinges. When Pete had first entered the room, he had seen clothes scattered about and a suitcase next to the bed. They were no longer there. Of course, neither was Lauren.

Pete sat down on the bed, a towel wrapped around him, and tried to think. It was obvious that he had been set up. The redhead and punk had been tipped off about the briefcase, and he, like the first class putz that he was, handed it right to them.

Now he was stuck in a hotel room without any clothes and without any real hope. He wanted to call Toni. To beg her to drive up from New York and rescue him. He wanted to, but he knew he couldn’t. It would be tough enough under normal circumstances to explain how he was literally caught with his pants down, but it would be impossible with the way things stood between them. Before he left to Boston, they had had a doozy of a fight – one of their worst. Well, he had really only been a spectator, with Toni screaming enough for both of them.

It had ended badly. With tears streaming down her face, Toni announced their engagement was over. She was sick of his excuses about why they couldn’t set a wedding date. She finally realized he was a lousy stinking jerk who had no intention of living up to his word. Then in dramatic fashion, she stormed from their apartment, her sobs echoing painfully from the hallway. During their five-year engagement it was the first time she’d threatened to break things off, and it had Pete worried.

As much as he hated to do it, he called Warren Langely.

# #

Langely paced the hotel room, his small body moving in short jerky motions.” Less than an hour and you lose the case. Less than a goddamn hour!”

Pete sat silently. Langely glared at him, his eyes burning with anger. “A real smart guy, aren’t you? Too smart to listen to me, huh? Well, I’m sorry I insulted you before by trying to warn you to be careful. I guess you showed me!”

Pete met Langely’s angry stare. “I was set up …” he tried to explain.

“Don’t give me that crap. You screwed up, plain and simple.”

Pete shrugged. “Okay, I screwed up. What next?”

“What next?” An indignant snort exploded from the small man. He shook his head with disgust and then curled his lips and let loose with a string of curses. When Langely had arrived at the hotel room, he had brought Pete a soiled work shirt, a pair of worn corduroys, and an army jacket. The clothes smelled heavily of garlic and onions, and itched around the crotch, neck, and armpits. He now listened as Langely compared him to the different anatomical parts of a donkey. He had half a mind to deck the small man, but a sickish feeling deep in his gut held him back.

“Let me explain it to you,” Langely seethed. “Mr. Carbone needed a job done outside of the family. You see, if he went to the family with it, he’d have to split a good deal of money with them and he didn’t want to. So you screwing up will put him in a very uncomfortable situation. And since I recommended you, I too will be made very uncomfortable. But believe me, not as much as you.”

From his outward appearance Pete seemed calm and unconcerned. Inside, though, he was dying. His instinct was to flee, and he would’ve if he’d had any money. He considered rolling Langely for whatever was in his pockets, but decided against it. He asked how they were going to square things with Carbone.

“I don’t know,” Langely answered dully. “You meet me at Jack’s in two hours and I’ll see what I can come up with. And trust me, you better show up.”

The small man gave Pete a sullen stare and then left in a huff. Pete sat for a few minutes to collect his thoughts. Fortunately, the redhead left his shoes. Thank heaven for little things, he told himself as he slipped them on.

Jack’s bar was a little cubbyhole of a place bordering Boston’s Chinatown and theatre district. When Pete showed up there he was still wearing the ratty clothes Langely had brought him, having been too depressed to bother going back to his hotel to change out of them.

The bar was crowded, filled with a mix of hookers, college students, and businessmen. As Pete pushed his way in, he caught sight of Langely. The small man looked in his direction, then left his seat and headed to the back of the bar. Pete followed him. Noises lofted through the air: glasses being slid across tables, a woman shouting angrily, men laughing.

Langely had found an isolated spot. When Pete approached him, he stared at Pete with eyes that were nothing more than cold ice chunks. He spoke in a voice that was painfully low. “I arranged for us to meet with Mr. Carbone tomorrow night. Before that you’re going to make it up to him.”

“W-What do you mean?” Pete said, amazed to hear himself stutter.

“I’ve been calling around -” He stopped to let a large, busty woman pass by. “And found you a job.” Pete felt something hard and cold being forced into his hand. He looked down and saw that Langely was giving him a gun. “Take it,” Langely ordered. Pete obeyed, hiding the gun in his army jacket.

“You’re going to hit a local bookie tomorrow,” Langely explained. “The mark should be carrying ten grand. You’re going to stick the gun in his ribs and free him of his burden. Time and place are written on this paper.” He shoved something into Pete’s jacket pocket.

“No.” Pete shook his head. “I don’t do that type of job.”

“Is that so? I guess, buddy boy, you’re going to have to start learning.”

“You don’t understand -”

“Listen,” the small man’s tone was murderous. “You’re going to make it up to Mr. Carbone. You’re going to show him respect.”

“I can’t -”

Langely moved within an inch of Pete and poked him hard in the chest. “You can and you will,” he forced through compressed lips. “Mr. Carbone’s got connections all up and down the east coast. If you ever want to set foot in your beloved New York again, you will show the man the proper respect. You’re going to do what you can to pay him back.”

“There was thirty grand in the briefcase.”

“You broke into it, huh?” Langely smiled, his lean face as deadly as a razor. “So you know Mr. Carbone’s not going to be happy only getting back ten grand. But it’s the only chance you got.”

Pete looked away from Langely, his eyes seeming to focus on some distant point. Slowly, he nodded.

“So you see how it is,” Langely said gravely. “Tomorrow night at nine you meet us at the same Italian restaurant.” He started to walk away but turned back. “And don’t try anything stupid,” he warned. “Even if you run to freaking Afghanistan, don’t bet Mr. Carbone won’t be able to reach you.”

It was minutes after Langely had left before Pete moved. Slowly, a smile stretched across his face and he laughed out loud, startling a tired-looking blond a few feet away.

While Langely had been poking him in the chest, he realized how deep the setup was. If Langely had been watching him carefully enough, he might have detected a slight glimmer in his eyes. That was the only indication, though, that Pete gave of his revelation.

He found himself admiring the scam Langely and Carbone were running on him. It was cute. First hand him thirty grand, then take it away, and finally, scare him hard enough to commit an armed robbery.

Of course, they had to soften him up first. It was more than a coincidence that his luck turned sour after he had met up with Langely. He had to be made desperate enough to accept their delivery job.

Pete left the bar and started walking towards the Charles River. The cold night air blew against his face. He felt restless.

The scam had to be an ongoing concern. A game they played on drifters. Find some witless sap and make him dance. They were probably right now having a good, long laugh at his expense. More than anything, Pete wanted to rip them off, and he was willing to bet they still had the thirty grand on them. If it was the last thing he did he was going to take it away.

He had come up to the Charles River. He walked halfway across one of the connecting bridges to Cambridge before dropping Langely’s gun into the water. In order to play along with the scam he would have to come up with ten grand, but he wasn’t going to do it with a holdup. His angle was the confidence game, the scam, the rip-off – not guns and robberies. Even though he carried a switchblade, he did it more for show than anything else. If he could flee he would flee. If not, he would show the knife for effect, hoping to scare the son of a bitch away.