Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn (10 page)

“Ow!”

Wiping the blade off on Joe’s pants, Tommy folded it up and put it back in his pocket.

“Where’s da back daw to dis place?” Fast Eddie asked.

“It’s out here to the left. Just don’t stab me no more.”

Eddie stepped away from him. Clean dat shit up and wrap da wound wit turly paper. You’re comin’ wid us.”

5:30 P.M. 514 West 48
th
Street Manhattan

Mickey Spillane’s apartment—a real dive of a hellhole in a dump of a neighborhood. It wasn’t always this way, though. Back during the day of the Dutch, the Great Kills, a confluence of three streams, joined close to here near what is now 10
^th
Avenue and 40
^th
Street. A small hamlet developed where carriages were built adjacent to the farm of Andreas Hopper. His land stretched from 6
^th
avenue to the East river and from 48
^th
to 59
^th
.

Beginning in 1849, the New York to Poughkeepsie Steam Railroad transformed the area into tanneries and warehouses. Then came the potato famine and the subsequent waves of Irish immigrants. Their families sprawled themselves all along the Hudson River in shanty towns. Gangs took over and prospered and with the ensuing congestion, tenements rose up in Hell’s Kitchen. During the prohibition that followed, the gangs readily fattened their wallets.

Owney Madden and his Gopher Gang took over after the prohibition, relying instead, on gambling, loan sharking, union shake-downs, prostitution and other lucrative ventures. But he was gone from the Kitchen now, and Mickey Spillane owns all of it, despite the mafia’s control of the rest of the city. This is Spillane’s exclusive stronghold and he aggressively protects it. Even the best of the mafia’s henchmen know to keep their distance.

“Go on upsteahs, Barnes.”

Barnes took a deep breath, but his heart was racing like a taxi late for an arriving VIP flight at Idlewild. He felt so lousy he wanted to puke.

He entered the apartment and meekly waved. “Hi boss. You know what, I’m really sorry about the loan. It’s all a misunderstanding, you know? You see…I was only in Brooklyn to, eh…well, you know, I had to go to a funeral, and then I was offered a job, and then one thing lead to another, my mother got sick, and then, you know, I got mugged in the subway and got my ass kicked in pretty bad, had a few teeth knocked out and after that I got hit by a bus and had to walk with crutches and…”

“Shut the fuck up Barnes, will ya?” said Mickey Spillane. “I don’t wanna hear any more of your bullshit. And stop bleedin’ all over my floor. By the way, how come you smell like shit?”

“Long story, Boss,” said Fast Eddie.

“Somebody get’m a rag. Did any of you tell Barnes what I wannid him to do?”

“Yeah, sure Boss, I tol’m. He already knows,” Fast Eddie said.

“Good! Good! Then you know…right Barnes?”

“Yeah, sure, Boss…no problem…Sally Boy, right?”

“That’s right…tonight at seven o fuckin’ clock. Right after he eats his spaghetti ‘n’ meatballs. I want that guy dead! Big Jimmy, give this whimp a Luger with two in the chamber.”

From an overstuffed chair in the corner, Big Jimmy, “The Geek” Maguire, who originally hailed from Akron, Ohio, grunted as he got all 6’ foot 6’ and 350 pounds of himself to his feet to empty his Luger, leaving two bullets in the gun.

Mickey Spillane shook a finger slowly at Joe. “Take this gun and no funny business or the boys’ll put some holes in ya where you’re not supposed to have holes.”

Jimmy the Geek slapped the gun into Joe’s hand, sunk back into his easy chair, lit a cigar and farted, “Sorry Boss, too much cabbage.”

By now, Joe was sweating his own set of bullets.

“After this, we’re even right? I don’t owe you a thing, right?”

“If you’re talkin’ ‘bout the 10,000, I’ll think about it.”

“But Mickey, you said all I have to do is bump off Sally Boy in Little Italy?”

“Who said that wuz all?” Mickey Spillane feigned looking behind himself. He checked underneath his desk and then looked around the room. “I neva said nuttin’ like that. Was it you, Big Jimmy?”

Maguire frowned. His voice, fully basso and resonant, shook the floor boards like a jack hammer. “I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Did you, Fast Eddie?”

“Nope! I ain’t said nuttin’ like dat, needa.”

“What about you Tommy? Yo, Tommy, wake up!”

Tommy opened his eyes and rubbed them. “Huh! What!”

“Nah! Neva mind.”

“Ya see, Barnes, you ain’t heard it from none of us, but I’ll tells ya what…if it goes off wid ouda a hitch, I might just maybe give you a free ride.”

“What…what exactly do you mean by a free ride, Mickey?”

“Now, waddya tink It means, lunkhead. A free ride! A…free…ef’en, fuckin’ ride. That’s all! What! You also gotta know where the ride’s goin’?”

“Yeah, you’ll see,” said Tommy.

“What’s he mean by, I’ll see?” Joe asked, with a worried look.

“Why can’t you shet your mout’, Tommy. You’re gonna scare the bajeezes out of the guy. Big Jimmy, escort this…this Barnes to the backroom until six.”

Joe stopped in the hallway, looked back at Spillane and with a forced smile, gently asked, “Can somebody order a pizza, Mickey? I’m a little hungry?”

“Eh…yeah, sure…why not. Call Angelo’s and order a coupla pizzas. And get some sodas. And yo…hey Barnes!”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Wash dem shitty underwares of yaws and take a freakin’ shower. You smell like my Aunt Tilly’s asshole.”

Fast Eddie laughed at that. “What was ya doin’ down dere smellin’ your Aunt Tilly’s butt hole, for?”

“You see me laughin’, Eddie!”

“Sorry, Boss.”

7:12 P.M.

The ride downtown went slow, due to heavy traffic. A few blocks into Grand Street, Jimmy the Geek turned the fire engine red, ‘59 cat eyes, Impala, in toward the curb and parked in front of a hydrant. He stepped out, slammed the door and circled around to the other side.

“Get the fuck out!”

Barnes had been shaking the whole way down Broadway. It’s not that he didn’t want to kill anybody. He had done that plenty of times. It was the stress of getting caught out in the open, and the last thing he wanted was another stint in the slammer—and a life sentence at that.

It’s still light out and a lot of people are around. He felt under his jacket for the Luger and left it where it was, stuffed behind his belt. Limping ahead, he put his hands in his pockets and kept his head down.

“Remember, Barnes, I’ll be right behind you,” said the Geek.

As they continued toward the restaurant, Tommy got out and clipped a couple of bogus Jersey plates over the New York ones. He slid behind the steering wheel with Fast Eddie taking the back seat right behind him.

Tommy waited for the last of a string of cars to ride past and roll on ahead before muscling the steering wheel left. The red beast edged away from the curb and crept slowly behind Jimmy, who was on the sidewalk following Barnes. They were nearing the cross street of Mulberry and would soon cross over to Carmine’s restaurant on the far corner.

Inside the Chevy, Tommy said, “Wit’ alla dese people around, the coppers are gonna get the goods on Barnes.”

“Yeah,” said Fast Eddie, “dey’ll figga it’s him, but when dey get ’m in da back room, chicken snitch is gonna spill all a da beans ‘bout what he knows aboud us.”

“He’ll squeal like da pig he is, dat’s for sure.”

Sally Boy was where he always was after seven, sitting at a table by the front window, pushing the last of a pile of spaghetti onto a fork with a stubby forefinger. Next to that, a fat cannoli sat on a flowered cake dish alongside a cup of cappuccino mixed with a double shot of anisette.

Blam! Blam!

People everywhere ran up and down the street in panic. Some took refuge in doorways while others ducked behind cars.

Fast Eddie shouted at the driver. “Step on it Tommy. Get up there an’ pick ‘em up.”

Jimmy the Geek jumped into the front seat, rocking the car like a capsizing row boat.

“Blam! Blam! Blam!

Shots returned from deep inside the restaurant, with Joe slamming the front door wide open and running for his life across the sidewalk.

Tommy lunged the car forward another few yards and jammed on the brakes in front of Barnes.

“Get in, fuck head!” Eddie yelled out, while holding the back door wide open.

Barnes jumped in with the door banging shut behind him from the forward momentum of Tommy flooring the gas guzzling 348 for all it was worth.

“Give me the gun, Barnes,” ordered Big Jimmy, reaching over the back seat.

Eddie shouted to Tommy. “Shoot down toid avenew and takes Houston straight to da East Riva, den jumps on da highway!”

“Which way do I go from there?” said Tommy.”

“Which way? Da way we’s always goes! Uptown, bwittle bwain! Jeesh!”

The four settled in and after turning onto Houston, they stopped for a light at Avenue B. Fast Eddie, pointing to a gas station across the street, said, “Hey, ya knows what? We gotta make room for, er, ah…whats’s name?”

“Who,” Tommy asked? We ain’t gotta go get nobody.”

“Big Jimmy nudged Tommy in the leg with his foot while winking his right eye a couple of times. “Yeah…you know!” Wink, wink. “Ol’ Smiley Smitty? You remember him?” He faced the back seat and subtly returned Fast Eddie’s slow head nod.

“Smitty who?” Tommy asked, still dumbfounded.”

Eddie hit the back of Tommy’s seat and snapped, “Jeesh, don’t you know anyting, Tommy? …Smit! Ol’ Smiley Smit Wesson? Now do you rememba?”

“Oh…oh yeah, dat Smiley Smit‘,” I remember. Yeah, we gotta pick’m up for the last show, in…er…ah…”

The Geek smirked and loudly bassooned, “Central Park, pimple brain! Where did you think we were going? Pull behind the gas station over there and shut the lights off so I can sit in the back with our dear ol’ pal, Joe Barnes.”

“Yeah, soze we’s can empty the front seat for Smiley Smitty, right, Big Jimmy?” Tommy winked back at the Geek with his right eye—the wrong eye—luckily, Barnes hadn’t noticed.”

“Get out there and change the plate, Turd Ball,” Jimmy ordered. “And keep your mouth shut for the rest of the trip.”

Deep in thought, Joe had paid them, nor anything else they were saying any mind. He hadn’t heard a thing.

I could have been back there finishing up with that spic bitch by now. I could have had her and bumped her off. Instead, I’m stuck with these three arguing low lifes who aren’t even worthy of licking the dirt from under my shoes.

As soon as I get to Brooklyn, I ain’t waitin’ for a good tip no more. I gotta bet the whole thing right away, before these loonies realize I still have the money. The next horse I pick with decent odds, I’m gonna bet the whole thing. All of it. Whatever I get, I get. Then I’m takin’ the winnings and high tailing it back to Hicksville. Screw these guys. They ain’t never gonna see the likes of me again. If I could, I’d first put a bullet in Fast Eddie’s nickel sized brain, that fuckin’ idiot. He had to go and find me, that piece of sh…”

Tommy got out, unclipped the Jersey plates, opened the trunk and threw them inside. As soon as he got behind the wheel, Jimmy the Geek was already in the rear seat with Barnes squeezed in the middle.

Up the FDR they went, nice and easy so as not to draw any attention. Off at 72
^nd
, they crossed 5
^th
Avenue and drove into Central Park where they took the park drive north to the boathouse. It was closed this time of day and vacant. Already, it was nearly dark out and the park the last place anybody would want to be.

“What are we doing here?” Joe asked, with a lump in his throat.

“Don’t you rememba? We gotta wait for ol’ Smiley Smitty, that’s all,” Tommy said, with a giggle. “Yup…he’ll get here when it gets a little darka, right, Big Jimmy?”

“Idiot!” Jimmy mumbled. He leaned against the door, his fat face turned amicably toward Joe as he laid his heavy arm across his shoulders. While he talked, he kept patting him on the back. “You did a nice job back there, Barnes. Ain’t that right, boys?”

“That’s right…real good job,” said Tommy.

“I couldena done it betta myself,” Fast Eddie agreed. “Do ya tink dat Smitty guy’s gonna’ show up pretty soon?”

Jimmy looked at his watch—7:48. “Yeah, real soon! So Barnes…what do we do with you now, I mean…you being all paid up and all?”

“Me? Do with me? What do you mean?”

Outwardly, Barnes appeared as calm as a Times Square hooker counting a good days take. Inside, the fear searing through him felt like rotten peperoni belching up his esophagus. He’d been in situations like this before, except that in those situations he was on the giving end.

“Well, I kinda thought you might be up for a pro-motion?”

“Really? Oh hell…I can do anything.”

“I can vouch for dat anyting stuff,” said Fast Eddie. “He’ll definitely do anyting.”

“Yeah, I can, too,” said Tommy, with a snicker.

“Gee! I wonder what kind of job we can give to the Barnes here to show our ‘preciation,” said the Geek.

“We could put’m in da warehouse,” said Tommy. “You know…put ’m in charge of the chains and cement blocks, tee hee.”

“Hey! Fuck you, Tommy,” Joe barked. “What the hell is he talkin’ about?”

“No! Fuck you, Barnes!” said Jimmy, taking his arm off his shoulder. “In fact, I think I see old Smitty Wesson coming this way right now.”

“Wh…where? I don’t see nobody,” Joe nervously replied.

“Oh, sure! He’s right here!”

The Geek leaned over the front seat and opened the glove box. He grabbed a nickel plated revolver laying inside and sat back with it—a Smith & Wesson 38, 1956 Model 10 with an optional six inch barrel. Attached to it, was a blue-steel silencer.

“Mr. Barnes, I want you to meet Mr. Smith and Wesson.”

“Say, what gives? What the hell are you planning to do with that?” Barnes shouted in panic.

Jimmy Maguire didn’t give him the courtesy of an answer. Instead, he spun the chamber around a few times with slow methodical movements to recheck that it was fully loaded. He then wrenched the silencer tight. “Take this slab of chicken crap behind the boathouse!”