Night Work (7 page)

    "Nada."

    "Michael's going to loan us that amount of cash without any points?"

    "What am I, some dickhead off the street?" Vincent laughed. "I'm familia, remember?"

    Frank lit a cigarette and forced himself to look at the situation objectively. "What's the catch, Vin? There has to be a catch."

    "Very minor. Michael will front us the money, but he has to arrange it by going through Fratenzza."

    Frank felt his heart drop to his feet. Michael Santangelo worked directly under Gino "The Ear" Fratenzza. He controlled the entire area, all the way to Providence, and was a man who demanded both respect and outright fear. Although Frank had seen him in the neighborhood countless times while growing up, he'd never actually met him. "Fratenzza, huh?"

    "Don't worry about it. I known him since I was a kid."

    "This is a heavy hitter you're talking about."

    "You know how he got the name 'The Ear', right?"

    "Yeah," Frank said, "in the old days when he was making his bones with the Biacchi Family he used to rip the hit's ears off with his bare hands."

    "Neighborhood gossip," Vincent told him. "A couple of months after Fratenzza took over the area he was playing a round of golf with Fat Vic DeNicco and Tommy Calhoun, that big barrel-chested mick who used to run the street booze and dope for him, remember?"

    Frank thought for a moment. "The one who got shot down by the docks when we were in high school?"

    "Yeah."

    "I remember him."

    "Michael was still working muscle for Fratenzza at the time so he was driving the golf cart. Anyway, they're playing and Fratenzza's bullshit because he's losing. Fat Vic has the good sense to let the bastard stay a few strokes out in front but Calhoun's actually trying to win. By the time they get to the fourteenth hole, Fratenzza is out of his mind pissed-off. This dumb potato-picker still hasn't figured out that he's not supposed to be trying so hard. And then, if things aren't bad enough, out of nowhere Michael sees Fratenzza's wife barreling toward them in a golf cart. You remember seeing his wife Louise around, right?"

    "Kind of a cheap-looking bleached blonde with a big gut?"

    "That's her," Vincent said with a grin. "Only back then she'd just retired from one of those topless Vegas shows. She had tits out to here and an ass that'd make you come in your pants just looking at it, but she had a big mouth on her, too. Michael says she was always making eyes at other guys and giving Fratenzza a hard time about every goddamn thing. He'd knock her around now and then but it didn't do any good. The bitch refused to wise up.

    "So with Calhoun trying to be Arnold-fucking-Palmer," he went on, "Fratenzza's already having a bad day. The last thing he needs is Louise in this golf cart. She drives right up onto the green, almost runs over Fat Vic's foot, and goes charging right at Fratenzza, screaming about how she found a note in one of his suits from some whore he'd been banging on the side. Michael doesn't know what the hell to do so he just sits there watching. Well, Fat Vic starts laughing and turns away, so Fratenzza won't see him and Calhoun lines up his putt and ignores the whole thing. Meanwhile, Louise is still screaming and yelling about what an asshole Fratenzza is and how she wants a divorce, when all of sudden he grabs her by the throat, throws her down on the ground, and with a penknife he keeps on his key chain proceeds to hack her fucking ear off."

    Frank felt his jaw slacken. "Holy shit."

    "Slices the motherfucker off - off - right there, throws it into his golf bag and tells the bitch if she ever talks to him that way again he'll cut the other one off. Michael's the one who ended up taking her to the hospital. After that, everybody called him 'The Ear', and you can bet his wife calmed right the fuck down and never raised her voice to him again."

    "What happened to her ear?"

    Vincent stared at him. "What do you mean?"

    "Her ear. What happened to her ear?"

    "The one he cut off?"

    "Yeah."

    "How the fuck should I know?"

    "But I've seen Louise Fratenzza around," Frank said. "She's got two ears, Vin."

    He waved at the air between them. "The right one's a fake."

    "A fake? How the hell you get a fake ear?"

    "I don't know, must be rubber or plastic or something. You know, like one of them Mr. Potato Head ears."

    Within seconds they had both begun to laugh. Lightly at first, then uproariously as the realization of what they had been discussing dawned on them.

    "What happened to her ear?" Vincent echoed. "It's a dealer at a blackjack table in Atlantic City, you twisted prick."

    Once they had regained control of themselves, Frank lit another cigarette and sat at the kitchen table. "Seriously though, I didn't think we'd have to deal with anybody but Michael."

    "Neither did I," Vincent admitted. "But the way Michael explained it, it's safer if everything goes through Fratenzza."

    "Guess it's all his fucking money anyway."

    "But this way if something goes wrong and we have trouble paying the money back, nobody can go to Michael and say: What the fuck did you do? This way he covers his ass by letting Fratenzza make the decision."

    "You sure he'll OK it?"

    Vincent nodded. "Of course. It's just a matter of going through the motions and showing 'The Ear' respect. You know all that grease ball shit guys Fratenzza's age still make everybody go through. All we do is pay our respects, and once the loan is repaid and we've made a few bucks of profit we pass a little along to Fratenzza as our way of thanking him for his help and support. Little tribute, as they say."

    "How much money we talking about?"

    "Couple thousand once we can afford it."

    "What about actual payments on the loan?"

    "Michael will give us as much time as we need as long as there's some sort of regular payments coming in. He's not out to break our balls."

    "We're scheduled to be in Rhode Island next week for Charlie Rain's show," Frank said. "I'd like to be able to tell him that we're up and running by then."

    "I can have a meeting with Fratenzza arranged within a day or two. Just say the word."

    Frank took a deep breath and looked up at Vincent. "Word."

    

    

    From the window in his bedroom Gus watched the sun as it set over the city, its natural beauty an inordinate contrast against the squalor of a manmade skyline. He could also see the emergence of those people it seemed dusk itself produced, night crawlers slithering up through soil under the safety of darkness.

    Three punks in their early teens had already gathered at the end of the block. Each wore oversized clothes, baseball caps and beepers. Each took turns approaching the cars that every five minutes or so slowed just enough to make a buy. Interesting, Gus thought, how almost all of those cars were makes and models one generally only saw passing through areas like this. Rich white boys and stressed-out yuppies gliding through the city, scoring their powders and pills from children. When Gus was young this had been a nice neighborhood, but those memories were so distant he often questioned their validity. At times, the line between a lie and the truth could be frustratingly indistinct.

    "I wanted to talk to you about this in person," Frank was saying through the telephone he had pressed to his ear just seconds before, "but I've got to stick close to home tonight. I promised Sandy a romantic dinner."

    "So, what are you saying?"

    Frank described in detail his discussion with Vincent and the planned meeting with Fratenzza. Gus listened intently and tried to remain calm.

    "It's no big deal. I'll take care of your end as an expense," Frank told him. "You'll be our sales manager and - "

    "You're working me."

    "No, listen - "

    Gus cradled the phone against his shoulder with the side of his face while he lit a cigarette. "I've been in sales my whole life, Frank, I know when I'm being worked. Just tell me what's going on. A few days ago I was a partner, now I'm an expense."

    "Try to understand. I know it's hard, but try. If I didn't agree to Vincent's terms then the deal was off. You know what that means? Gus and Frank sell stoves for the rest of their lives."

    "You didn't have to - "

    "I needed to cut the deal, Gus."

    "Why'd you have to sacrifice me in the process?"

    "You know I'd never fuck you over. It was the only chance we had to get this done. I thought you'd understand."

    Gus removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. A killer headache had settled behind his eyes. "I still don't see why it can't be a three-way split."

    "Because Vincent and these other guys don't know you, and they don't make moves with people they don't know, cabeesh? I could've easily cut you out completely, but I didn't."

    "Oh gee, thanks, man. Should I blow you now or you want to do it later?"

    "Look, once we're up and running and Vincent gets to know you better we'll all sit down and talk about making you a full partner, all right?"

    The line was quiet until Gus said, "I thought this was about you and me."

    "It is," Frank insisted. "But we need Vincent. You have my word that I'll make this up to you, but for now I need to make sure you're with me on this. In or out, Gus, what's it gonna be?"

    Gus blew a smoke ring toward the window. "I'm in."

    "Good," Frank said. "I know you're disappointed, but hang tight. This is going to be beautiful, man. Wait and see."

    "Okay, Frank."

    "You with me?"

    "I'm with you."

    He returned the phone to the base, took a deep hit of nicotine, and stared at the floor for what seemed a long time.

    "That sounded like bad news."

    Gus looked over his shoulder at the hooker sprawled out on his bed. He'd nearly forgotten she was still there. He let his eyes wander across her shoulder-length kinky brown hair, her dull eyes, bony shoulders; breasts too large for her small frame and sagging too low for a woman so young; a flat but flabby belly, and pale skinny legs spread wide and bent at the knee. "Or is it none of my business?"

    "Yes," Gus said mildly.

    "Yes, it was bad news, or yes, it's none of my business?"

    "Both."

    The woman adjusted herself so he could get a better look between her legs. "We gonna party, or what?"

    "You never told me your name."

    "You never asked."

    "I'm asking now."

    "April."

    "Is that your real name?"

    "It is tonight."

    He studied the glowing tip of his cigarette for a moment then pulled the shade closed over the window and switched on a small lamp. The thought of having sex with this woman both excited and repulsed him all at once. Things were always the same. "Been doing this long?"

    April cupped one of her breasts, pulled it to her mouth and licked the tip of her nipple. It stiffened, and she twisted it, working it between her thumb and forefinger. "Long enough."

    Gus let his pants drop to the floor. He stepped out of them, leaving his T-shirt on. As he sat on the edge of the bed he stroked her hair and leaned his face close to hers.

    "I don't kiss," she said, helping him out of his boxer shorts. "I told you before."

    "I'll pay extra."

    "It don't matter. I don't kiss."

    Gus put his head on her shoulder and fondled her breasts while she masturbated him. When he was ready, he sat up and straddled her, stabbing his erection between her legs. Within seconds, he pulled out, ejaculated across her stomach, and collapsed as if he'd been shot. "Get off," she gasped. "I can't breathe."

    He rolled off, pulled his underwear on and lit a cigarette. "Jesus, that was sweet."

    "Can I get up?" she asked. Gus nodded, tossed her a small towel. She wiped herself off and dressed quietly. "Be a doll and give me one of them cigarettes, will you? I'm all out."

    Gus shook one free from his pack and lit if before handing it to her. From a small desk on the far wall he produced a wad of bills, peeled off four tens, and held them out to her. April stuffed the money in her jeans, snatching it the way a cat pounces on a field mouse. "If you want to hook up again some time I can give you a phone number to call. Saves times and it's safer than cruising the streets."

    "Are you busy now?" Gus brushed sweat from his brow. "I mean… do you have plans for the rest of the evening?"

    She looked at him with disbelief. "You want to go again?"

    A siren blared in the distance, slowly faded. Gus returned to the window, raised the shade and watched the street. The kids on the corner remained, and in the public park across the street some sort of disturbance between a man and a woman spilled over to the next block as they argued while walking.

    He opened his bedroom door, listened to the sounds of a television game show blasting from the set in the living room.

    "Is that old man your father?"

    "Yeah." Gus shut the door. "We've lived together since my mother died."

    "Both my parents are still alive, I think."

    Gus forced a montage of memories from his mind. "Are you hungry?"

    She nodded.

    "Good. My treat. There's a diner over by the airport I like. You can get breakfast day or night."

    "I know the one, only I can't be off the street too long."

    Gus looked at her. "You got a pimp?"

    She shook her head. "I'm outlaw."