Night Work (21 page)

    "So you're willing to risk everything we've worked for because some kid you don't even know - that you'll probably never see again for the rest of your life - might have been smoking Strong's pole?" Vincent wandered closer to the mouth of the alley. "For Christ's sake, use your fucking head."

    Frank lit another cigarette. It suddenly felt as if the walls had closed in tighter around him. "Maybe I don't know what I'm doing anymore," he said softly.

    "We've worked so hard," Vincent told him. "We've pulled off something really special here. A year and a half ago we were nobody, and now we're on the verge of becoming a major power. The only reason we've been so successful is because we have each other. You've seen how this business is. Everybody's just waiting around to cut somebody else's throat the first chance they get - you can't trust anybody. But you and I have never had to worry about that because there's no room between us. We look out for each other, we watch each other's backs."

    Frank nodded. "I know, I know."

    "You're like a brother to me," Vincent said. "But let me make one thing crystal fucking clear to you. If you think for one second that I ever plan to go back to selling cars and running errands for Michael, then you're out of your goddamn mind. Don't you understand that I'd do everything in my power to prevent that from ever happening? Can you even imagine working in some piece of shit store again now that you've seen how to really live?"

    "No," Frank admitted.

    "With all the moves we've got planned, a year from now we'll be set for the rest of our lives. We'll have so much money we won't know what to do with it. But it'll only happen if we're there for each other. If you're gonna crumble on me - if you can't handle the life anymore - I need to know that, and I need to know it now. I can't do this alone."

    Frank looked at him. "Of course I can handle it."

    "Why do you think people in this business only hang out with other people in this business?" Vincent asked, his tone softening somewhat. "It's because we're different than the marks. We've figured something out they never will. To an outsider a lot of what goes on seems fucked up beyond belief, but if you only move in a circle where all those things are commonplace, a lot of the bad shit starts to seem normal. Nobody's ever there to point out how crazy things are, you follow me? That's the power of the business. It's what I love about it - it's what we all love about it. You've got to learn not to fight it so hard. Accept it. Use it. Trust me, the deeper we get into this life, the more powerful we'll get, and the easier it'll be to write off things like this crap today as just another night at the office. And you know what? That's all it'll be."

    Frank was still absorbing what Vincent had said when he saw Benny appear at the end of the alley. His chest was heaving with each labored breath and his face was flushed. "Things are going nuts. The cops already busted a few people but the crowd's out of control. You better either get back in that locker room or take the money and run, fellas."

    "Bring one of the cars around," Vincent told him, then turned back to Frank. "Look, go on back to the hotel and relax. I'll straighten things out here and do my best to smooth this over with Strong. I'll meet you and the rest of the boys at the hotel and we'll have an end-of-tour bash that'll leave us so fucked up it'll be like none of this shit ever happened. In a couple days you'll be home with the wife, and we don't hit the road again until the middle of September. That's six weeks. Plenty of time to get your head together."

    "Yeah," Frank said, offering his hand. "I'm sorry."

    Vincent took Frank's hand as if to shake it, then pulled him close and hugged him. "Nothing can hurt us as long as we're there for each other," he whispered in Frank's ear. "Are you there for me?"

    "Yes," Frank whispered back. "Yes."

    

    

    By two o'clock the party in Frank and Vincent's room had died down. Charlie, Al Sawyer, and Larry O'Leary were the only ones still there, and since all the liquor on hand had been consumed it was nearly a wrap.

    Vincent had been fiddling with a small black box on top of the television that promised a wide selection of movies with the touch of a button. "I can't get this fucking thing to work. I don't ever wanna come to Indiana again. Five thousand fans and not one good-looking whore that wanted to put out in the bunch."

    "What're they offering for movies?" Charlie asked.

    "I'm trying to punch up Disco Sluts. Looks good."

    "Oh yeah, that's a classic," Al laughed.

    "Orson Welles directed that, didn't he?" Charlie wandered over to where Frank was sitting. "How you doing, killer?"

    Frank swallowed what was left of his vodka and smirked. "Go fuck yourself."

    Charlie sat down next to him. "I know this isn't the best time to bring this up," he said in a hushed voice, "but have there been any developments on that other business?"

    "You mean the thing we have to take care of in Philly?"

    Charlie nodded.

    "I thought you didn't want to know anything."

    "No specifics."

    "There's no word yet," Frank told him. "I'll see what I can find out and let you know at the party next week."

    Charlie's eyes brightened. "We can expect you then?"

    "Expect us. Sandy's coming, too."

    "Great, look forward to meeting her." Charlie stood up and gave Frank a pat on the shoulder and a conspiratorial wink. "Well, gentlemen, I've had enough of all of you for one night. I'm going to bed."

    Once he'd gone, Vincent continued struggling with the box while Al and Larry joined Frank at a small table in the corner of the room. "I'm sorry about tonight," Al said meekly.

    Frank waved at him. "Wasn't your fault."

    "Strong told me he was going to do at least twenty minutes."

    "Don't sweat it."

    Al shook his head. "When the Hangman didn't kick out I couldn't believe it. I kept waiting but the bastard never moved. Maybe I should've held the count a few more seconds."

    No longer wishing to discuss it, Frank turned to Larry, who was sporting a fresh bandage over the latest gash on his forehead. "How you holding up?"

    "I'm fine," he said quietly. Soft spoken when he was sober, Larry became nearly inaudible when drunk.

    "It's none of my business," Al yawned, "and I probably wouldn't even say anything if I wasn't shit-faced, but you better be careful about how often you juice, kid. If you get tagged as a bleeder the fans will expect it every time, and a pretty-boy like you - no offense - can't afford to have his face covered in scar tissue. It'll ruin your whole gimmick."

    "Hey, Al?" Vincent interjected from across the room.

    "Yeah?"

    "Shut the fuck up."

    Al laughed, and Larry smiled, his eyes searching Frank's. "I'm just a min. I only do what I'm told."

    There was a sudden knock at the door. Vincent approached it cautiously. "Who is it?"

    A slurred and muffled voice answered, "It's me, man."

    Vincent opened the door. David Delvecchio stood before him wearing only a pair of filthy jeans. "It's after two, what's wrong?"

    "I'm a couple doors down from you guys," he said. Standing had become a challenge for him, and he rubbed at the track marks in the bend of his arm. "You got me rooming with The Mongolian Crusher and he just clogged the shitter, dude. I gotta hang a dump something fierce, boss. Can I use your bathroom?"

    Vincent slammed the door in his face and the others burst into laughter.

    Al struggled to his feet. "On that note, I'm going to call it a night."

    As Al left Frank turned to Larry. "I think I'll grab a quick shower and hit the rack myself."

    "I don't blame you." Larry touched Frank's forearm, his hand lingering there. "I'm tired too, but… I could stay if you want."

    Frank laughed then nervously lit a cigarette as he realized the offer had not been an attempt at humor. "Hey, I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't flattered, but - "

    "I understand." Larry smiled, stood up, and shook Frank's hand. "No hard feelings. Thanks for the work, boss."

    Frank nodded. "See ya on the road."

    As the door closed behind Larry, Vincent turned from the TV and grinned at Frank. "Did I hear what I think I just heard?"

    "What can I tell ya? The kid's got good taste."

    Vincent scratched himself. "I wonder why the bastard never hits on me."

    "Don't be jealous. He knows you're straight."

    "He knows the same thing about you."

    "True, but my magnetism knows no sexual preference."

    Vincent chuckled. "You are kinda cute."

    "You don't want to take a shower with me, too, do you?"

    "Who doesn't?" Vincent gave one of the buttons on the box another try then sat at the foot of his bed. "Fuck it."

    Frank leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table. "If we take off early enough we can be halfway through Pennsylvania by tomorrow night and home by Monday."

    "Sounds good."

    Frank cleared his throat. "Charlie was asking me about the Turano situation earlier."

    "What'd you tell him?"

    "That I didn't know anything yet."

    Vincent staggered to the bathroom and urinated with the door open. "I figured we could talk about it on the ride home."

    "I'd just as soon discuss it now."

    "I had Michael check him out," Vincent said with reluctance. He returned from the bathroom and sat at the table, across from Frank. "The rumors are true. Turano's got connections. He's got a reputation for running his mouth and he's been ranting and raving about how he's going to put us in our place. The problem is, if we make a move to scare him and it backfires - which it probably will with our fucking luck - Turano will come after us with everything he's got. Now, that ain't more than we got, in some circles it's less, but just the same, he'll come after us, Frank."

    "Then trying to intimidate him is out."

    "If you're a betting man it is." Vincent yawned. "From everything I've been able to find out, if Turano had himself a little… accident… his federation would fold like a house of cards in a matter of months."

    "But even with Turano out of the way," Frank said, "we'd still have to worry about the other two."

    "His brother Marvin has always shied away from the muscle end of things, and his cousin Joey Loomis is stunadz, a real fucking chooch - couldn't find his way out of a bathroom without a blinking light over the door, this guy."

    "There's no other way?"

    Vincent cracked his knuckles and stared at the table. "Not unless you want to wait around for Turano to come after us."

    "Michael can't protect us?"

    "He and Fratenzza can't afford to start a major riff here. Turano knows people in Philly," Vincent told him. "As far as they're concerned this is small time crap. But as long as we do everything according to the code we should be all right."

    "According to the code?"

    "The code of la familia."

    "Who are you, Mario Puzo now?"

    "You know how all that greaseball crap works, Frank. If we were to go to our connections and arrange for Turano to be hit, it'd have to be cleared with the boys in Philadelphia - the same way any moves Turano makes against us have to be cleared through Fratenzza and Michael. Remember, Philly ain't their turf."

    Frank rubbed his tired eyes. "Is there any chance they could side with Turano?"

    "Not if we move now," Vincent told him. "Guys like Mike and the boys in Philly usually cut the best deal they can to keep the peace and then deal with whoever's left standing - it's just the way they do business - but I'm Mike's brother, his blood, and that counts for everything with all the ginzos. Besides, in another few years when Fratenzza's out of the way everybody in Philadelphia will be dealing directly with Michael anyway, so at this point, it isn't good business for them to side with Turano."

    "So… how would it happen?"

    Vincent shrugged. "You and I'd never know the particulars. It's better that way. My guess is Michael will put somebody like Vic DeNicco on it. The boys in Philly will know it's coming and they'll look the other way while the shit goes down. Vic will whack him out somewhere safe, toss him in a trunk and bring him to a chophouse. They'll skin him, cut him up, and scatter the pieces."

    "Jesus Christ."

    "You wanted to know."

    Frank wondered if John Turano had a wife, or children. "What did you tell Michael?"

    "I told him I had to talk with you. You're the boss."

    "Couldn't we just have somebody lean on him? Maybe convince him to back off?"

    Vincent laughed eerily. "That shit only works in the movies. These are serious men, Frank. They don't fucking play games."

    Frank lit a cigarette, blew a smoke ring across the room. "When would they move on him?"

    "Right after the first of the year," Vincent sighed as if bored. "Turano will be expecting us to hit back a lot sooner than that. When we don't, he'll be real comfortable, which makes him vulnerable. Now what do you want me to tell Michael?"

    Frank looked into Vincent's glassy eyes, curious if his own looked the same. "Tell Michael I have no objection."

    Several minutes past before either man moved or spoke another word. Vincent left the table first, went to his bed and pulled back the covers.

    "Vin?"

    He looked back over his shoulder at Frank. "Yeah?"

    "I'm sorry about that shit with Nick Strong tonight."