Funny Boys (25 page)

“Ya done bad, Gagie,” Pep said.

“Double-crossing mamzer,” Gagie whined hysterically.

“Look who’s talkin,” Pep said, standing over the writhing Gagie. “Ya thought ya was gonna do me, right, Gagie? Diden bodder you.”

“Was Abie who said …” Gagie began, but Reles came forward, swung the shovel over his head and banged him on the other knee. Gagie squealed in agony. Reles laughed.

“Me do Pep. He’s like my brudder, schmuck. But dis is cause ya was a bad boy, Gagie. Woist is ta steal from ya buddies.”

“No … I diden …” Gagie squealed.

“Lemmee, Kid,” Pep said, reaching for the shovel.

“Be my guest,” Reles replied with a chuckle.

Pep took the shovel and smashed it down on one of Gagie’s feet. Again Gagie screamed. Mutzie gagged.

“I can’t.…” she whispered.

“You gotta, Mutzie,” Mickey said. “And you gotta remember everything. Everything.” He spoke directly into her ear. Not that
it mattered. Gagie was squealing in agony, filling the night with his screams.

“He gotta hava lesson,” Pep said. “Right, Kid?”

“Givem a lesson on da udder one.”

Pep lifted the shovel and smashed Gagie’s other foot. He screamed in pain, then began to whimper.

“My wife and kids,” he cried. “I nevah …”

“Hey Gagie,” Abie said. “We take care a dem. Not to worry. We ain’t animals. Right, Pep?”

“Yeah. We take care a dem. Man’s family comes foist.”

“My kid needs a fadder,” Gagie pleaded. “So I made a mistake. Hey, we been friends fawevah. We did jobs togedda.”

“Ain’t friendship, Gagie. Jes business. Ya put ya fingahs in da till. We gotta set an example. Nothin poisonal. Right, Pep?”

“Shit no, Gagie. Nothin poisonal.”

“I diden mean nothin,” Gagie pleaded. “I give it all back. I swear on my mudder. Every shekel plus interest. Double if ya want.”

“Ya shoulda tought a this befaw ya fucked us, Gagie,” Pep said calmly as he leaned against the shovel. He lit a cigarette. Mutzie could see his face in the match’s glow. It was unsmiling and menacing and she trembled at the sight. He took a deep drag then turned toward the car.

“You wanna show me now what a big man y’are, Irish?” He lifted the shovel. “Counta you today, I nealy broke my ass. I still hoit. Fuckin hooer that fat courva.”

“Blame him? I tawt da broad tripped ya,” Abie said.

“Wouldna bin dere it wasen for dat putz in da car. Was supposed to keep an eye out for that lousy quiff. Anyway it felt good to work dat fat cunt ovah. Evah see blue tits?”

“Oh no,” Mickey whispered. “Not Marsha.”

“Who?” Mutzie said.

“She helped us. Damn bastards. Just keep looking, Mutz. We got more reasons now.”

“You fucked up a good waitress,” Reles continued. “Ya feget we gotta piece a da place. Ya don do too good faw business worryin ovah this chickenshit. You and yaw goils, Pep. Get us all in hot water. Business foist, Pep. Ya tink too much wid yaw shmekel.”

“Nobody fucks wid Pep,” Pep muttered. Gagie, all but ignored, lay in voluble agony, groaning at their feet.

“Schmuck let ’em get away,” Pep said. He looked toward Irish. “I ain’t finished wid ya, Irish, putz.”

“Dat’s udder business, Pep. You and them knishes always getcha inta trouble. Top of it, Gorlick’s also lost a good tumler. Who cared he got inta huh pants?”

Mutzie listened with disbelief. She looked toward Mickey who shook his head.

“No pussy don insult Pittsburgh Phil,” Pep said. “Makes me look bad.” He shouted toward Irish again. “Little putz is gonna findem, right, putz?”

“Fuck da quiff. Fine da tumler. My kid tinks he’s funny. So does Albert.”

“Well he ain’t,” Pep said.

“I seen ya laughin,” Abie taunted.

“A minute I’ll give ya dis shovel up yaw ass,” Pep said, sounding as if he meant it. Again he turned toward Irish. “Come on, putz, show me yaw stuff. Wanna be a big man?” He turned to Reles. “I tink dis kid’s a pussy.”

Irish moved closer, to where they stood over Gagie.

“Come on kid,” Abie taunted. “Ya only gotta hit ’em, not fuck ’em.” He laughed his hyena’s laugh.

Obviously scared, Irish came forward grinning, his face like a cutout pumpkin. Pep threw him the shovel.

“Jes swat him anywheres, kid. Make ya feel good.” He looked down at the writhing Gagie. “We gotta make an example, Gagie. Don’t we, Abie?”

“How else we gonna keep da boys in line? Shit, Gagie, we trusted ya.”

“Faw once do sumpin right, kid,” Pep taunted.

With some effort Irish lifted the shovel and raised it over his shoulder.

“Doesn’t hoit,” Reles laughed. “Unless ya miss an hit ya own shin.” He roared again.

Mickey clutched Mutzie around the shoulders.

Irish hesitated, his face contorted. They could see the reflection of perspiration on his forehead.

“Putz’s shittin bricks,” Reles said chuckling.

Irish stood as if he had turned to stone. He licked his lips and they could see the whites of his eyes dancing in his head.

“Putz got no cojones,” Pep said. “Maybe we do him like Gagie.”

“Got da foist time shits,” Reles said. “Feel a little wet in ya underweah, putz?”

Still Irish held the shovel on his shoulder while Gagie whimpered below him, pleading.

“I make it good. Gimme a break.” he cried.

“Do him, putz,” Pep shouted.

Irish started to lift the shovel, brought it almost over his head, then lay it back on his shoulder. She saw his face, anguished now, a twitch pronounced in his jaw, lips trembling, tears glistening on his cheeks. All the bravado and swagger had disappeared. He was a scared wretch, too frightened to rebel,
and either too compassionate or cowardly to strike the blow. Although it had seemed impossible just moments ago, Mutzie felt sorry for him. His mean streak had limits. It was all sham and fakery. The poor bastard was not a killer.

Suddenly Pep kneed Irish’s crotch, then quickly moved his knee away.

“Putz really pissed himself,” he hissed, “rooned my pants.”

He grabbed the shovel from Irish and lifted it over his head. Irish, made a meager and futile gesture put his arms over his face—less, it seemed, to protect himself than to hide his sobs. Unfortunately his shoulders gave away his sad condition.

But Reles reached up to stay Pep’s forearm, his grip apparently like a clamp of iron.

“No freebees, Pep. We ain’t gettin paid faw da kid. He ain’t business.”

Pep slowly lowered the shovel, but his anger wasn’t spent. He kicked Irish in the shins. Irish yelped and fell to his knees. Pep, fuming, looked down, pushed Irish’s hands from his face, and pointed a finger at his nose.

“No good fuck …” he began, then turned suddenly, lifted the shovel and brought it down on Gagie’s shoulder. The crunching sound of bones breaking made Mutzie throw up into the pine needles.

“Look,” Mickey hissed, lifting her head by grabbing her hair.

“Please, Mickey,” she pleaded.

“We gotta …” Mickey began, then gagged himself. The sound he made was louder then expected and she quickly froze, watching the men now to see if they had heard. But they were too busy with their grisly work.

“Don kill me,” Gagie screamed in agony.

“See, putz,” Pep said, turning to Irish, who had managed
to stagger upright and was wiping away the tears with his sleeve.

Gagie’s squeals became louder.

“Sounds like a cage a monkeys,” Reles said.

“Ya makin too much fuckin noise, Gagie,” Pep said.

“Pop im, Pep,” Reles said, looking around. Mutzie froze. Kid Twist seemed to be peering directly at her. “Who knows who’s out dere. People got ears.”

“Don like da music, huh, Abie?” Pep said. Hurting Gagie seemed to have calmed him.

“Gets on my noives.”

“Fuck you den, Abie, I shut it awf.”

He lifted the shovel high over his head and brought it down full force on the still squealing Gagie. Again they heard the sound of crunching bone. Then Gagie was quiet, silenced forever.

“Tink he’s done?” Abie asked, bending over the inert body.

“Maybe we give him coupla shots fa good measha,” Pep said repeating his pulverizing of Gagie.

“Ya making a mess, Pep,” Abie said. He turned to Irish. “Ya go get da slot.”

Irish hesitated, his head down, watching Gagie’s pummeled corpse with disbelief.

“Putz don listen,” Pep said. He raised his foot and kicked Irish in the backside. It seemed to be more playful than mean, as if Pep had fully satisfied his sadistic bent and was now tranquil. Almost. Beyond her disgust, Mutzie was furious with herself for ever getting involved with such a vicious animal. She wished she had the guts and the strength to rush up and strangle him. The impulse startled her. Given the opportunity, could she have done it? Or opt out, like Irish?

Irish limped back to the car, opened the trunk and pulled out what looked like a slot machine, which he wrestled out of the trunk and manhandled over to where Gagie lay.

“Now go get da rope,” Abie ordered.

Irish went back to the trunk, took out a length of rope and brought it back to where the men stood over the battered corpse.

“Now what ya do is tie dis piece a shit ta da machine,” Pep said.

“I like dat touch, Pep,” Abie said. “Weight him wid a slot. Wait’ll Albert heahs. He’ll getta laugh, right, Pep?”

“Woith it, jes ta see his face,” Pep said, watching Irish tie the body to the slot machine.

“Not like dat, putz,” Pep said, pushing him away. Pep bent down, fiddled with the rope and pulled a knot together. “Like dat. Ya wanna be in dis business kid, ya gotta know knots.”

“Gotta know a lotta tings,” Abie said. “Like not pissing ya pants. Dis is business. Dey ain’t people. Dey is shitbags. Ya loin dat ya can do anybody. It’s like a mental ting. Feget dere poisons. What ya see dere is a shitbag.” He tapped his forehead. “Ya say ta yusself, I ain’t gonna kill a man. I’m gonna kill a shitbag is awl. Like in a waw. Da udder army is shitbags. Nobody cries faw a shitbag.”

“Anybody kin kill a shitbag.” Pep said.

“Dat’s our business, killin shitbags,” Reles pointed out.

“Dollahs faw killin shitbags.” Pep turned to Irish. “Dollahs, putz. Which ya ain’t gonna see faw dis job. Ya ain’t entitled.”

“Ya coulden do it cause ya tought dat Gagie dere was a real poison,” Reles said. “Me, I coulden kill a real poisen edder. Only shitbags. Business is all. Catch my drift, putz?”

Irish shrugged and nodded. “Next time …” he mumbled, clearing his throat. “You’ll see. Jes gimmee anudder chance.”

“We give im dat, right, Pep?” Reles said.

“I give im da sweat offen my balls,” Pep said.

“Aw, comon, Pep. Anudder chance. I got a liddle woozy is awl. One maw. I kin do it.” He raised his arm in a swearing gesture. “May I drop dead,” Irish pleaded.

“Drop dead?” Pep said with a chuckling gurgle. “Who’s gonna pay faw you scumbag. You ain’t worth even a fin.”

“Aw, Pep.…” Irish whined.

“Ya don’t do nothin right, putzvatig. After dis job ya find them two you lost. Heah me. Ya ain’t comin back ta Gorlick’s less you bring ’em back wid you. Heah me good. Uddawise we give ya yaw balls for breakfast.”

“I find dem, Pep. You watch.”

“Nuff a dis crap. Let’s put dis shitbag away,” Reles said. He stood up straight and walked to the edge of the precipice.

“Maybe toity feeta wawta,” Pep said. “We got some udda shitbags down dere to keep im company.” He looked at the body on the ground. “Won’t be lonely down dere, Gagie,” Pep said.

Grunting hard, the three men pushed the body to the edge of the precipice then tipped it over. After a moment of silence they heard a splash, then nothing. Pep went back to the spot where he had dropped the shovel then flung it into the water as well.

“Gagie was a good boychick,” Reles said.

“Till he went bad, became a shitbag,” Pep laughed. He turned toward Irish. “Ya wanna not become a shitbag, putz. Ya find dem two … udderwise youse a shitbag, capish?”

“I’ll find ’em, Pep. You watch …” Irish began.

“Ya know yaw a nudnick wid dat, Pep,” Reles said. “Cantcha just feget it.”

“I ain’t finished wid dose two,” Pep said. “Not wid him needer.” He stuck a finger in Irish’s chest.

“An ya know what we do wid shitbags. Abie here knows I ain’t kiddin. You find ’em.” He moved his head in the direction of the lake. “Plenny room down dere.”

“Waste a energy,” Abie said. “A piece a ass ya can always git.” Reles shook his head. “Schmuck don feget nothin. How many times I gotta say it.” He raised his voice. “Ain’t in the business plan. Wese pros.”

“I gotta score ta settle.”

“Score shmore, Pep. We gotta nuff on our plate widout dat.”

“I get my mitts on em, dey go on Pep’s plate like a toikey. Evah see what dey do to a toikey on Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, I seen it,” Abie howled. “Only it ain’t Thanksgiving.”

“I cut it up good. I give ya da last part ovah da fence, Abie. Hers not his.”

“Ovah and ovah. Ya give me a pain in my kishkes, Pep.”

Pep grunted and pushed Irish forward, toward the car.

“Come on, putz. Weah outa heah. Ya drop us at Gorlick’s and ya ain’t gonna come back till ya bring ’em back alive like Frank Buck.”

Irish limped swiftly to the car and restarted the motor. Pep and Reles got in and Irish maneuvered the car toward the road. Again the light washed over them and they lowered their heads.

Soon the car was heading back toward the main road. Slowly the sound faded and disappeared and it was silent again. They hadn’t noticed the gathering of clouds that covered the starry night. It grew colder as they lay on the mound of pine needles, huddled together and speechless.

Mickey was the first to speak.

“I think we got Pep’s attention.”

She started to agree, but before the words could come, she vomited.