Cold City (Repairman Jack - the Early Years Trilogy) (34 page)

Shit.  He was going to have to call her and put her off until his shoulder healed, and the orthopedist had told him that would take months. 
Months!

He went to his bedroom and eased himself down to sit on the bed.  The Percocets were kicking in.  Maybe a little nap if he could get comfortable.  He –

His closet door was open a crack.  He always closed it tight.  He hated open doors.  Groaning with the effort, he rose and looked inside.  The briefcase was where he’d left it.  No, wait.  He always placed it flush against the wall.  This was angled out a bit.

Concerned now, he bent and grabbed it with his good hand.  Light…

Oh, shit, it couldn’t be.  A closer look showed scratches and dents by the locks.  Someone had popped it open.  His hand was shaking as he worked the combinations.  The lid popped open and inside was – nothing.

“Fuck!” he shouted. 

It was only four hundred dollars, but that wasn’t the point.  Someone had broken in while he was in the hospital.  

But what if that wasn’t all they’d taken?  What if–?

He hobbled as fast as he could to the bathroom and grabbed the screwdriver he kept in the medicine cabinet.  His left hip screamed as he gingerly knelt on the floor.  A couple of twists of the screwdriver popped the molding free.  He snaked his fingers into the space where he’d left the banded stacks he’d liberated from Mrs. Schmidt last week–

–and found nothing.

No, wait.  Not possible.  He’d stuffed them in there himself.  Had they been pushed farther back?  Trouble was, he couldn’t feel anything but dust and plaster rubble.

No!

He struggled to his feet and limped to the kitchen for the flashlight he kept in the cabinet near the window.  Moving as fast as he could, he returned to the bathroom.  Ignoring the agony from his chest and his hip and just about every-goddamn-where else, he crouched and forced his head down to the floor so he was eye level with the molding space.  The flashlight beam picked up just that – space. 
Empty
space.

He’d been robbed!  Some cocksucking, motherfucking sonofabitch had snuck in here and ripped him off!  He didn’t know who’d broken in, didn’t know how they knew where he hid the money or how they even knew he kept cash here, but he knew who was behind it.

2

Julio’s head kept shaking back and forth, like some sort of flesh-and-blood metronome.

“No, meng.  Can’t do it. Can’t do it.”

“Why the hell not?” Jack said.

The scene was kind of a replay of last night.  Jack and Julio in The Spot’s tiny kitchen, a stack of cash on the counter between them, but the subject was different.

Jack had been wondering what to do with all his cash, then it hit him: Harry’s interest in The Spot was going up for sale, so why not lend Julio a down payment so he could make an offer?

The head kept shaking. “No, meng.  Can’t do it. Can’t do it.”

“You sound like a broken record.”

Broken record…Jack idly wondered how long that expression would last – or at least be comprehensible.  Tapes and CDs had largely replaced vinyl, and they didn’t skip.

Julio shrugged.  At least he’d stopped shaking his head.  “It is what it is.

“But why not?  Look, I’m not offering you a handout.  I’m talking about a
loan
.  I lend you the money for a while, you pay me back when you can.”

The head began shaking back and forth again.  “We known each other since when?  Last month?  I can’t take money from you.”

“You’re not
taking
.  You’re
borrowing
.  Big difference.  And I’ve known you long enough to know you’ll pay me back.”

“You want to be a partner with me, maybe we can work something out.  But–”

“No-no.”  Jack waved his hands in the space between them.  Him?  A business owner?  Talk about scary. That occupied a spot on his to-do list somewhere below getting syphilis.  “No partnership.  I like this place. I like you–”

Julio’s turn to wave his hands.  He added a step back.  “Hey, meng.  I like you too, but–” 

“You didn’t let me finish.   I like the way you pour a beer, I like the way you run the place.  You’ve got a real feel for it.  Give you free rein and this place will be turning a profit in no time.  That’s when you can start paying me back.”

Back to the shaking head.  “No.”

“Julio, for Christ’s sake, I’ve got nothing else to do with the money!”

“Buy youself a car.  Buy youself–”

“Hey, Julio!”  Lou had stuck his head between the two drapes that served as a divider.  He spoke in a hushed tone.  “Y’got company.”

“Who?”

“
El hijo de puta
.  He’s all banged up and royally pissed.”

“I’ll stay back here,” Jack whispered to the two of them.  “I don’t want him to see me.  He might remember me from his bar.”

They nodded and Julio followed Lou through the curtains.

“There he is!” a new voice said, dripping belligerence. “There’s the man I want to see!”

Jack turned off the light in the kitchen and moved to the curtains.  He peeked through the slit between them and spotted Zalesky standing near the bar, leaning on a cane.  He wore sweatpants and an oversized Islanders jacket.  His left arm was in some sort of sling-brace under the jacket.  He looked like he’d been hit by a truck.

“What’s a matter with your leg?” Julio said, pointing to the cane.  “Your dog bite you?  I hope he’s okay, you know.  I hope he don’t die of poison.”

Lou and Barney cracked up at this.  Zalesky reddened.

“Listen, you little–”

“Or you finally pick on someone your own size – that it?”

Zalesky looked like he wanted to take a swing at him with the cane.  He had considerable advantage in height and weight, but he had only one arm to work with.  Too bad he wasn’t in better shape.  Maybe he’d start something.  Which might not be a bad thing under these circumstances: his ex brother-in-law comes in on a quiet Sunday morning and starts a fight and Julio kicks the crap out of him – all in front of witnesses.  No foul for defending yourself and your business.

But Jack figured Zalesky wouldn’t start anything even on a good day.  He was a con man.  The way Jack saw it, con men didn’t like to get physical.  That was why they were con men.  And even if Zalesky were in the mood for violence, he was in no shape for it – not even with Rosa.  Lucky for him he’d landed in a way that saved his face.  Not a mark on it.  But the rest of him had to be hurting like hell.  Jack had been hoping for major internal injuries that would lay him up for weeks, but no such luck.  The guy was up and about the next day.

What was the expression?  God looks out for drunks and shitheads.  Or something like that.

“Get out,” Julio said. 

“Gladly.  I wouldn’t take a drink from you if you had the last bottle on Earth.  Probably catch the AIDS from it.”

Lou and Barney made mocking sounds at the lame remark.

“Ooh, that cut,” Lou said.

Barney nodded.  “Cut deep.  Look at Julio.  He’s bleeding all over the floor.”

Julio’s expression didn’t change.  “Out.”

“Not before I’ve had my say.  I was robbed last night.”

Lou and Barney clapped and cheered.

Zalesky ignored them.  “I know you were behind it.”

“He was with us all night!” Barney said.

Zalesky smiled.  “You can trot out all the lushes you can find, won’t matter.  You didn’t do it yourself, I’m sure – you wouldn’t know how – but you put someone up to it.  No doubt about that.  And I know why.  I know this place is on the skids and you’ve gotta be wondering about whether you’re gonna have a job soon.  So you think you can build a little cushion by ripping me off?”

“You crazy,” Julio said.

“No!”  He jabbed a finger at Julio.  “
You’re
crazy if you think I’m gonna take that kinda shit lying down!  You been unhappy with the way things’ve been going down?  Wait!  You just wait, motherfucker!  You ain’t seen shit!”

He turned and started limping toward the door.

“I don’t know about you, Barney,” Lou said, “but I think I see shit right now.  And damn if it ain’t got feet.”

Barney laughed.

Zalesky turned at the door and pointed at Julio.  “You
will
be sorry.  Sorrier than you ever thought you could be.”

Then the door was swinging closed behind him.

Jack waited until he’d passed from sight, then stepped out of the kitchen. 

“You catch that big dramatic move?  He’s probably seen it a zillion times in movies.”

Julio turned to him, his expression grim.  “He means it.”

Jack nodded.  He’d sensed that too.  “Yeah.  He does.” 

“That guy gotta go.”

“Yeah.  He does.”

Julio stepped behind the bar and produced the Louisville Slugger.  He slapped it against his palm.  “Time for this?”

“Don’t give up on me yet.”

“What you gonna do?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Al least he hoped he would.  The bat was looking better and better.

3

“You’ve gone meshugge, is that it?” Abe said, munching on one of the powdered-sugar donuts Jack had brought for an afternoon snack.  “You want to invest in a bar?”

“No, I want to invest in Julio.  He’s a hard worker, he’s a straight shooter, and he’s got a feel for the business.  I think he can make a go of the place.”

“And he won’t take your money?”

“Not a cent.”

Abe’s eyes narrowed.  “You sure he’s not conning you?”

“Julio?  Sure I’m sure.  Why would you say that?”

“It’s an old grifter trick: Such a great investment opportunity I’ve got, but sorry, you can’t get in.”  He held up his hands in a stop gesture.  “No, really, it’s not for you.  I’m only taking in friends or people recommended by friends.  You, I haven’t known long enough, so, sorry.  Take your money somewhere else.”  Abe lowered his hands and reached for another donut.  “And so what’s the result?”

From what Jack knew of human nature, the answer was obvious: “The mark wants in more than ever.”

“Exactly.  He begs, he pleads, he searches out friends of the grifter and pleads with them to put in a good word.  Finally, the grifter relents, but only if the mark contributes more than he originally intended.  It’s such a good deal, such a sure thing, and the mark is so glad to be allowed in, that he begs, borrows, and maybe even steals to meet the investment threshold.”

Jack shook his head as Abe bit down on the donut, sprinkling himself with powdered sugar.  “That’s not Julio.”

“You’re so sure?  Twenty-two years old not even and already you’re a Freud on character?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“He gets you to like him – like an old friend he welcomes you – and his two shills you’ve told me about who are always there sell you a story about the bar being sold and him out on the street, and all of a sudden it’s Jack to the rescue.”

Jack had to admit that, on the surface, it might look that way, but…

“Anyone ever tell you what a cheery guy you are?”

“Cheery is not my nature.  I’ve seen it happen too often.  Don’t think that just because you’re not a little old yenta living alone in Brooklyn you can’t be scammed.  It’s happened to wiser heads than yours.”

The mention of a little old yenta brought Zalesky to mind.  An idea had been perking since Jack had left The Spot earlier.

“On that subject, do you know any hit men?”

Abe choked briefly on his donut, then swallowed.  He grabbed his neck.  “Call a doctor.  Whiplash I’ve got from the change of subject.”

“Okay, doesn’t have to be a hit man, per se.  Any sort of enforcer or guy who specializes in strong-arm stuff.”

“You’ve got someone you want hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t do this yourself?”

“It’s got to come from somewhere else.  Can’t have any connection to Julio, and I’m connected to Julio.”

“Julio-Julio-Julio…your life he’s taking over.”

“He’s like the second friend I’ve made in the city.  I want to help him out.”

Abe frowned.  “Second?  Who was the first?”

“Well…you?  At least
I
consider you a friend.”

Abe looked uncomfortable.  “Yes, well, what makes you think I know such people?”

“Considering your other line of merchandise, I just thought–”

“No thoughts, please – at least not that thought.  The mob has its own sources.  The likes of me they don’t need.  I sell to the little guy.”

“But you’ve been around awhile.  Everybody seems to know you, and so I assume you know who’s who and what’s what and who’s into what.”

“You could maybe be more specific?”

“Like if somebody gets knee-capped, you might hear who did it.  Somebody got a broken arm for being late on a payment, you might know the name of the breaker.  Am I out of line here?  If so, just let me know and I’ll shut up.”

“Out of line?  No.  But how much I can help you, we’ll see.  I hear things.  I’ll write down some names.”

“I need more than just names.  I need to know all you know about them or can find out about them.”

“And you’ll use this information how?”

“Not sure yet.  Won’t know till I see what I’ve got to work with.  In the meantime, can I use your phone?”

Abe pointed to the black rotary squatting on the far end of the counter.  “Help yourself.”

Jack pulled out a slip of paper with Cristin’s number and dialed it.  He had no way of knowing whether or not she’d returned his call.  If she had and one of his neighbors picked up, they hadn’t told Jack.  She answered on the second ring.

“This better be important,”
she said.

“Hey, Cristin, it’s Jack.”

“Is it now?  The guy who doesn’t exist?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I called that number you left but the guy who answered never heard of you.”

Crap.  “Sorry about that.  Some of my neighbors aren’t too bright.  Or spend most of their days whacked out.  Are we still on for tonight?”

“If you’re up for it, so am I.  I need a blast from the past.”

“Um, we just met, remember?”

She laughed. 
“Oh right.  Okay, I want to get to know my new friend.”