My Friend Leonard (11 page)

 

I
meet a man underneath the train tracks he calls himself a ragamuffin, the Ragamuffin King. He says he wanders the world looking for rags, beautiful rags, magnificent rags. I bow to him, the Ragamuffin King. I go to coffee with Mickey. I am the only straight man in the coffee shop. Mickey introduces me to his friends as his hetero buddy James. Mickey has a new boyfriend. An attorney who says he loves him, loves his paintings, wants him to do whatever he wants, just be happy. And he is, Mickey is happy.

I meet a man at a bar while I'm waiting for my friends. He says he's forty-five, he looks like he's twenty-five I ask him if he has a secret he says never get angry and be as immature as you can for as long as you can get away with it. A man sitting next to him laughs and says that's bullshit, the great secret is eat food and drink beer till you drop.

I see an old friend. He and I used to drink together, do drugs together, deal drugs together. He cleaned up for a girl, a girl he lives with now, a girl he loves, a girl he wants to marry. We laugh about old times, good times, bad times, he got out before they got really bad. We go to a punk show at an old abandoned bowling alley. The band plays on one of the neglected lanes, they're young and loud and they can't play their instruments and the songs are awful and they look like they're having a great time. We move into the pit, the fray, the moving circle of young angry men in black jackets and combat boots throwing elbows, high-stepping and slamming into each other. We get hit, we fall, get knocked around a bit. It's fun every now and then, getting knocked around a bit.

I meet a third man he's an old man he trips in the street he falls and I help him up, walk him to the curb. He shakes my hand says keep the faith, young man. I ask him what that means, he says keep running and don't let them catch you.

 

I
sleep during the day. I still dream about drinking and drugs. Sometimes I wake to a hang-over, sometimes I wake to a trickle of blood from my nose, sometimes I wake scared and shaking.

I read, go to museums and visit Lilly in the afternoon. Sometimes I read to her, sometimes I talk to her, sometimes I just sit and remember the times, remember the times, remember the times.

I go out at night. Go to bars with my friends. I drink cola, smoke cigarettes, shoot pool, talk, sometimes don't talk, just sit and watch. I start to laugh more and more easily, start to feel more comfortable.

When the bars close, I walk, walk randomly through the empty city, walk among the buildings, through parks, along the lake. I sit on benches, the wind and cold hurt me, numb me, I stop feeling. There is peace in pain so overwhelming that it shuts down all feeling. It is the only peace I know.

I go back to my apartment.

Sleep.

Dream.

 

I
t's morning the phone rings. A man a voice I don't know tells me to meet him at a local diner.

I walk to the diner, sit in a booth, drink coffee, wait. A man walks into the diner he's in his late-twenties, clean-shaven, dark hair, well-dressed, but not flashy, a gold watch. He stops in front of my booth, speaks.

Your name James?

Yeah.

He sits down across from me.

You got a good memory?

Yeah.

You better.

Why?

This is how it's gonna work.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small pager, pushes it across the table.

Keep the pager on you at all times. You'll get a page, call the number. Always use a payphone, don't use the same one more than twice. When you call, you'll speak to someone who will give you instructions. Never write those instructions down, keep absolutely no record of them. If you fuck them up, it'll be your problem, so make sure you've got them before you hang up. When you do hang up, memorize the number on the pager, delete the number, follow the instructions. If you're driving, drive three miles over the speed limit, never faster, never slower. Always check the car to make sure all of the lights are working. If you get pulled over, don't say a fucking word. Ask for a lawyer and wait, tell the lawyer to get in touch with your friend Leonard. If the job goes well, and if you don't fuck up, when the job is done, call the original number to confirm. If you ever get a page that says 911, immediately stop whatever you're doing. Take
whatever you're moving and put it in a safe place that is not your home. If it's a car, put it in a secure lot. If you get a page that says 411, stop whatever you're doing and wait for further instructions. Any questions?

No.

Do you want me to repeat what I just told you?

No.

Have a nice day.

The man stands and leaves. I order more coffee, some eggs, bacon and toast. I smoke a cigarette, read the paper, wait for the food. It arrives, I start eating, the pager goes off, two loud piercing beeps, two more, two more. I stand pick up the pager, walk to a payphone in the back of the diner. I drop in my coins, dial the number, there's a male voice after one ring.

Hello.

I got paged.

First timer.

Yeah.

You got a pen?

No, no pen.

Good. Good memory?

Yeah.

You better.

Voice gives me an address in a nearby suburb. Tells me to knock on the door, I will be handed a suitcase. Put the suitcase in the trunk of a white car sitting in the driveway, the keys are under the driver's side floormat. I am given a second address, which is in Milwaukee. Drive the car to the Milwaukee address, remove the suitcase from the trunk. Knock on the door, ask for a man named Paul, give him the suitcase, don't give it to anyone else, Paul is waiting for it. Drive the car back to the suburban Chicago address, leave it in the driveway, keys under the mat. Call to confirm. I have the voice repeat both addresses. He asks me if I need them again, I tell him no, I got it. He says good, hangs up on me. I hang up, return to my booth, finish my breakfast, leave.

I take a commuter train north into the moneyed suburbs of Chicago. It's late morning, the train is almost empty. I'm nervous. My heart is racing,
hands slightly shaking. I stare out the window, try to take deep breaths, try to stay calm. The few other passengers I see all look like FBI agents, middle-aged men in dark suits, and they all appear to be glancing at me, watching me. I tell myself that's bullshit, that I'm being paranoid, that nobody here gives a shit why I'm on this train, but I don't feel any better. Arrest scenarios roll through my mind I can see the cuffs, feel them on my skin, hear the cop reciting Miranda, smell the back of the car, feel a slight breeze as the door slams shut. I can imagine sitting with a lawyer, discussing my case, debating the merits of a plea agreement, trying to figure out ways to bring my sentence down. I can remember being processed, putting my few meager belongings into an envelope, changing into a jumpsuit, donning shackles, rambling down concrete and steel halls. My cell awaits me. I'm fucking nervous.

The train arrives at my stop, I get off, there are a couple of cabs waiting, I get inside one of them, give the cabbie the street name, he drives. We move through quiet neighborhoods full of large houses with wide lawns, manicured bushes, alarm system signs, foreign cars in the driveway.

I have him drop me on a corner. I start looking at the tastefully mounted numbers on porches and doors. I find my way to a large stone house with a white car in the driveway. I walk to the door, knock, wait, my heart is pounding. The door opens it's a middle-age man wearing silk pajamas. He does have a suitcase. He speaks.

Can I help you?

I'm here to pick something up.

What?

I wasn't told what.

You sure you got the right address?

My hands start shaking.

Yeah I'm sure.

I start to panic.

I don't think you do.

Panic.

This is the address I was given.

Panic.

By who?

I'm not at liberty to say.

This sounds awfully strange. You come to my door to pick something up, but you don't know what it is, and you won't tell me who sent you?

I'm just following directions.

Do you want me to call the police?

No sir.

They come quick in this town.

There's no need to call the police, sir. I must have made a mistake. I'll leave.

I turn, start walking away, can't run too obvious, I've got to get out of here now, how the fuck did I fuck this up, I've got to get out of here now now now.

Kid.

I stop turn around.

I'm just fucking with you. I heard you were new and thought I'd have some fun.

I smile, not because I think it's funny, if I could I'd hit this motherfucker, but because I'm relieved, and the smile is a nervous reaction. I walk back to the door. The man reaches behind and sets a battered brown suitcase in front of me.

You scared the shit out of me.

I couldn't tell.

You did.

You handled yourself well, stayed cool, no panic. If this ever happens for real, do exactly the same thing.

I hope it never happens.

Don't fuck up and it won't.

I pick up the suitcase.

Have a nice day.

You too.

I turn, walk toward the car. The suitcase is heavy, heavier than I expected, fifty pounds, maybe sixty. I hear the man shut the door behind me, I open the driver's door of the car, reach under the mat for the keys, find them. I put the suitcase in the trunk, get behind the wheel. As I pull out of the driveway I see the man is standing at one of his windows. He's smiling, waving at me.

I know the highway is to the west I start driving west. I take the map out of the glove compartment, look at it. Interstate 94 takes me straight up, if I keep going where I'm going I'll run into it. I set down the map, light a cigarette, settle in for the ride.

The ride is easy, boring. I smoke cigarettes, listen to the radio, occasionally sing along to a cheesy love song or a heavy metal power ballad or one of the many classic rock anthems. I try to find a station that plays punk, so I can yell and scream and shout obscenities, but I can't find one. Every fifteen minutes or so, I shout obscenities anyway.

I see Milwaukee in the distance. It's a small city, an old city, one that hasn't experienced any form of renewal. When I was a kid I used to watch a TV show about two women who worked in a beer factory in Milwaukee, aside from that I don't know shit about it.

I pull off the highway, look for a gas station. I pull in, ask for directions get them, start driving again, find the address, it is another beautiful neighborhood huge houses sitting along the coast of Lake Michigan. I pull into a long driveway. A row of hedges runs along one side of it, a yard the size of a football field runs along the other side. A massive stone house sits at the end, it looks like it belongs in England, Ireland or Scotland, not Milwaukee. I stop in front of it, get out of the car, get the suitcase, carry it to the front door. I knock and wait. I hear someone behind the door, the door cracks open, I hear a voice.

I'm Paul.

I cannot see a person.

Leave the case and get out of here.

I set the suitcase on the step. Paul tosses an envelope out, it lands at my feet. I pick it up, look inside it's filled with cash, I leave. The drive back to Chicago is simple, just smoke and listen to tunes and swear. I put the car back in the driveway, take the train back to the city. On the way back to my apartment, I stop at a payphone, call the original number on the pager, confirm delivery.

 

I
'm shooting pool for money. Playing against a guy named Tony I've played him before I lose to him every single time. I'm in good shape this time, shooting at the eight ball, he's got three to go.

I'm in a bar called The Local Option. There's a front room, a back room. A bar runs along one wall of the front room, the pool table is in the back room. My friends are here. They're getting drunk.

As I wait for my shot, I hear my pager go off. I tell Tony I have to make a call, ask him if he'll wait for me, he laughs, takes the money off the rail, where it's supposed to sit until someone wins. I speak.

I'm getting that back next game.

He laughs.

We'll see.

I leave the bar. Walk down the street, look for a phone. I find one outside a dry cleaner, it's quiet I can hear. I look at the pager dial the number it's not a number I recognize. I wait, Leonard answers.

Ha-ha!

What's up Leonard?

What's up? What's up? My son successfully completed his first mission.

That's what the fuck is up.

I laugh.

How'd it go? Tell me how it went.

It was easy. I picked up the case, drove it to Milwaukee and dropped it off, went home.

That's it?

That's it.

I heard they were gonna have some fun with you. Shake you up a bit.

Yeah, that happened. The guy who gave me the case fucked with me, pretended I was in the wrong place.

Leonard laughs.

I bet you shit.

Sort of.

You meet Paul?

No.

Good. You're never supposed to actually meet anyone. That way if something happens, you can't testify against them.

I thought you said nothing would ever happen.

It won't, it won't. I'm just saying if. If, my son, never happens.

I hope so.

And forget you ever met that old fucker in his pajamas.

How'd you know he was in his pajamas?

He never leaves his house, and he always wears pajamas. That's how I know.

He's been forgotten.

Any idea what was in the case?

Nope. And I don't want to know.

Take a guess.

No.

Come on.

No.

What do you think it weighed?

I don't know.

Guess.

Fifty, sixty pounds.

Fifty.

Okay.

You know a million dollars in cash in twenty-dollar bills weighs twenty-one pounds?

I did not know that.

And a common suitcase weighs about six.

I didn't know that either.

You learn something new every day.

Thank you for that bit of knowledge, Leonard.

You get your money?

Paul threw me the envelope. I wasn't sure it was mine because there was so much.

Helluva lot better than seven fucking bucks an hour.

I laugh. The envelope had five thousand dollars in it.

Yeah, much better.

You did good, my son. You did good. I'm proud of you.

Thank you, Leonard.

You're doing okay otherwise?

Yeah. I was shooting pool in a bar when you paged.

Well go back, have fun. Say hello to your friends if you're with them.

They'll be happy to hear it.

I'll come visit again soon, my son.

I'll look forward to it.

Keep up the good work.

I laugh.

Thanks.

I hang up, head back to the bar, lose three more times to Tony. I wander for a few hours, spend a few hours with Lilly. I tell her about my new job. I know she wouldn't approve, she'd say you're moving too close to your old life, you gotta leave that shit behind. I tell her I know there are dangers, but I feel strong, each day I feel stronger, each day I don't drink or use I am stronger. I tell her it would be different if she was around. I tell her she made her decisions, and now I'm on my own, and I will make my decisions.