Caught Stealing (2004) (19 page)

-And, Dad, I'm trying to do the right thing, Dad. I need you guys to know I didn't hurt anybody, no matter what you hear.

-I know, Hank, I believe you.

-Thanks, Pop.

We both go silent for a moment.

-Hank, what about the police?

-Just don't lie to them. If they ask, tell them you talked to me and tell them what I said, just don't lie.

-Sure.

Russ is leaning in the doorway, trying not to look at me, but I know he can hear everything I'm saying.

-I got to go, Dad.

-Well, you better say good-bye to your mom first.

-Yeah. I love you, Dad.

-I love you, too, son.

He passes the phone to my mom.

-You get all that, Mom?

-Oh, Henry, how could anyone think you'd do something like that? How could they?

-I just. It's just a mess, Mom, that's all.

-I love you, Henry.

-I love you, Mom.

-Be safe, OK?

-I will and I'll call very soon, just, just as soon as I can. OK?

-Be sure you do. Don't say you're going to call and forget. You know I hate that.

-I know.

-We love you so much.

-I love you guys, too, Mom.

-Be careful.

-I will, Mom, I'll be careful.

-OK. Good-bye, Henry.

-Good-bye, Mom.

The line is silent except for her breathing and I know she can't hang up, so I take the phone from my ear and push the little END button and the light on the liquid crystal display goes dark.

At the funeral, Rich's parents had slumped against each other, rocking back and forth. They were alone. They had no other children. Only Rich. And I'd killed him. They didn't blame me. They didn't have to. I blamed myself.

I picture my parents at my own funeral: alone, inconsolable.

I will not die. I will not die for money, or even for another man's life.

I look at Russ and watch him stare at something fascinating on the ground.

-I'm gonna give up the money, Russ. I'm gonna give up the money and I'm gonna give you up, too.

He tilts his head up and looks me in the eye.

-That, like, sounds about right.

At a Duane Reade, I grab one of those prepacked first-aid kits and a couple Ace bandages. My stuff is still in Roman's car. Russ gets a carton of Camel Lights. At a bodega, we fill two bags with fruit, snacks, cold cuts and soda. Russ wants a six-pack and I don't argue. We walk a couple blocks to 23rd Street and check into the Chelsea Hotel. It may be hip now, but it's still a flop. The desk clerk is so jaded that we don't raise an eyebrow even when I pay with cash.

Russ is pretty quiet the whole time and once we're in the room, all he wants to do is take a shower. I flip on the tube and check out the most recent updates. I don't have to look far. It's all over the dial. Someone's been digging. All the stations are running breaking news about a dishy new rumor. I catch a replay on NY1.

-The suspect most sought in connection to this morning's barroom massacre had escaped from police custody just hours before the murders took place, according to a source within the New York City Police Department. Furthermore, the source claims that the suspect was in custody for another murder that had taken place just yesterday. As of now, there is no response from the NYPD, but a statement is expected at a press conference later today.

It's not really good news, but it makes me just a little bit happy. If questions are being asked about me, then some heat must be getting close to Roman and the thought of Roman in the fire tickles me to no fucking end.

Russ comes out of the shower in his underpants with a towel around his shoulders. His head is bleeding yet again.

-Mmmm. Man, can you do something about this or what?

Russ sits in a chair and drinks tallboys of Coors Original while I take care of his wound. I use the scissors from the first-aid kit to cut away some of the hair, then I bathe the whole wound with hydrogen peroxide. Russ jumps a bit when the burning starts, but I push him back into the chair and he drains his beer and opens another. Once I blot away the blood and clip off some dead skin and scabs, I can see what we're dealing with and it's all fucked up. I tell Russ to keep drinking and get the needle and thread from the sewing kit that comes with the room.

He doesn't like it much, but I convince him that the wound isn't gonna close up on its own. The smell of the beer creeps right up my nose, but I keep my hands steady and focus on not hurting the poor bastard too much. It's not easy. When I thought I might be an EMT, I took all these first-aid classes. Back then, we practiced this on pieces of steak. That was a long time ago and the steaks didn't move around or bleed. It takes a while. Russ finishes his story.

-Once I, like, fuck! Watch that shit, man. Once I, like, disappeared, I knew all bets would be off and they'd all be after me. Not just Ed and Paris. Like, the way those other guys think, if I make off with the loot, then it's up for grabs and let the best man win. I didn't figure I'd, like, get too far with that damn. Mmmm. With that damn sack on my back. Plus which, if they caught me with the, like, cash, then they could just waste me and that's that. But if the money is, like, stashed, then I'm thinkin' I might be able to bargain a little. I'll blow town and, fuck! Oww! Fuck! Shit, man. I'll, like, blow town, be mobile for a while, let things cool a bit, then slip back into town for the bag and split for good. So I rented that locker, left the cat and the key with you and took off. Mmmm. Sure enough, as soon as I dropped out, the boys heard about it and, like, sent in Lum to scout for me, seeing as they were still too hot to break cover themselves. Way I put it together from there is that Roman hears I've lit out and that Lum is around, so he, like, makes an offer to Lum to sell out Ed and Paris, hook up with him and take a bigger cut.

You have to stitch the live skin together, otherwise it just won't heal properly. It's gory work, but what has me freaked out is the close-up look I'm getting at the dent I put in Russ's skull. I can see and feel just how crushed the bone is and the picture I'm getting of what's on the other side has my stomach flopping around. But there's nothing I can do about it, so I wipe some sweat out of my eyes and keep going.

-Mmmm. Of course, the Russians catch wind of all this, so they send Bert and Ernie around to take a piece for the workers of the world and Roman fits them into the machine rather than having them out on the street going batshit. Me, I'm, like, taking it easy watching the fall colors upstate, moving around, but laying low. Oww! Oww! Oww. Not good, man. Not good! Watch it! Fuck!

I get him settled back in the chair. He cracks another brew and starts up again.

-Ed and Paris, once they got some info and started putting it together, they must have realized they were getting, like, sold out all over town and it was time to roll onto the scene and take care of some fucking business. About that same time, I, like, pulled into Rochester to check on my dad real quick, cuz, ya know, ya know, he really was sick back there for a while. And when I get there, turns out. Mmmm. Turns out he, like, really has taken a bad turn and how about fucking that for irony, right?

I've got the last stitch in. It's ugly, but it should hold. I start cleaning it up and get a bandage ready.

-He's, like, on his deathbed for, like, real and I. Mmmm. I have to, I can't just leave, so I stay. He's only got, like, a couple days and my mom left the fucker years ago and I don't have any, like, siblings, and there's no one, so I stay. Mmmm. And that's how the Russians get a bead on me. I'm there just two days and I step out of the hospital for a smoke and see these clowns in the parking lot and I know I'm fucked. They aren't Bert and Ernie, but they, like, might as well be, the way they're dressed. I ducked back inside and out the rear and figured the jig was up and if I was gonna get away with the cash, I better, like, make my move. So I, like, came back for my cat.

I finish wrapping the bandage and tape it into place.

-How's your dad?

-Hank, I don't fucking know.

He drinks more beer and falls asleep on the bed. I tend to my own wound. I clean it and dress it and take one of the Ace bandages I bought and wind it around my middle. I want to give Dr. Bob's work a little extra protection seeing as more abuse is likely to be on the way. Dr. Bob. Shit.

He's a good guy. A citizen. He'll be on his way to the police to talk to them just as soon as my picture shows up on TV. "Hey, that guy on TV, the mass murderer? Well, I stitched him up yesterday." He'll be thinking he repaired me just in time for me to go kill a bunch of people. Something else for me to feel like an asshole about. Sorry, Doc.

In the room Russ makes soft snoring sounds while I make a sandwich and eat it. There's one beer left and it keeps staring at me. I get tired of trying not to stare back so I put it in the john where I won't see it or hear it. Russ may want it later.

I pull on my clothes. I've got the TV on with the sound off and the radio tuned to a station I like. Springsteen sings "Atlantic City," and I listen all the way through. Then I take out the cell phone and his card and make the call.

-Roman.

He sounds so normal and professional, no stress, no panic, nothing at all. Just a cop on the job.

-Hey, Roman. How's the cat?

-Yes, well, it is difficult to talk here, right now. Maybe you could give me your number.

-Fuck that. Give me the number of your cell and I'll call you back.

-It would be easier if.

-I have the key now, Roman. I have the key and I have the fucking four and a half million dollars, so give me the fucking number.

He gives me the number.

-I'll call in five minutes, so get yourself somewhere private.

I hang up. I feel good, just like a regular toughguy. I set the phone down, go in the can and stick my head in the toilet until I'm sure I'm not really gonna throw up. When I raise my head, I'm right on eye level with Russ's last beer and that's about all it takes. I guzzle it down and, I have to say, it makes me feel a hell of a lot better, except for the fact that I instantly want about twenty-five more. I splash water on my face and rinse out my mouth and go back in the room to make the call.

-Roman.

-So, how's the cat?

He's quiet for a moment.

-Actually, the cat's fine. Bolo has taken a liking to him and is making sure he's well fed, rested and groomed.

Fuck!

-Roman, let's talk.

-Go ahead.

-I want out and I want to know if that is possible at this point. Can I be put in the clear?

-That would be pretty tough at this point.

-Tough, but possible?

He's silent again. In the background I can hear traffic sounds. He must have stepped outside the precinct house.

-I've been watching the news. Did I mention that, Roman?

-No.

-Well, I have, and I have this theory. See, I think someone is connecting the dots. Connecting the bar to me to Yvonne to me to Russ to me and connecting all of it to you. I think you're getting asked questions about what the fuck is going on. And I think pretty soon, your credibility is going to be shit and you're gonna be needing that money to get lost with. So you better find a way to help me out before I decide to just keep it for myself.

-It will be difficult, but not impossible to get you in the clear.

-What will it take?

-Beyond the money, it will take just one more thing.

I close my eyes.

-What's that?

-We'll need a fall guy.

On the bed, Russ turns in his sleep and makes a little sighing noise.

-Yeah, I've got one of those.

Roman is so very happy to hear that Russ is back in town. We hack out the details. Roman gets the money. I get some semblance of my life. And the cat. Russ gets plugged into the frame that puts both me and Roman in the clear. I have questions.

-What if the rest of the cops don't buy it?

-They will. Miner has a criminal record, he is the subject of an existing investigation and he's already involved in this case up to his neck. Now listen: Unbeknownst to you, he left the key. When he came back to get the key, it had already been stolen from you by persons unknown. He did not believe your story and so began to hunt you across the city in order to get the key and, in the process, murdered your girl and instigated the slaughter at the bar.

-What happens when Russ denies it?

-He won't.

I think about the implications of those two words.

-I don't want him dead, Roman. I won't give him to you just to kill him.

-Not to worry, we need Miner alive to confess. And confess he will. He'll see that extended police custody allows him his best chance of survival. It will keep him in good stead with me and away from the brothers DuRante.

-The brothers DuRante?

-Ed and Paris, Ed and Paris DuRante.

Great names. I have to give it to these guys: they all have great names.

-And what about Ed and Paris, what happens to them?

-The brothers are the subject of a national manhunt, they will soon be forced to flee the area. And if they are ever found by the police, they will go down in the hail of bullets that is waiting for them.