Skin Games (6 page)

“No shit?  Those guys have had a hard-on for us for a long time.  You tell ‘em anything?”

“No way.  Of course not.”

“You sure, Shamrock?  Don’t bullshit me?”

“Nuh uh.”

“What they ask?”

“Who you were.  Did I work for Vinny.  You know, that kind of stuff.  They told me if I ratted they’d let me go.  But I wouldn’t say shit.  So you know, they sent me here and booked me.”

Scrubby nodded.  “I see.  Yeah, that makes sense.”  He slapped me on the back.  “You did good, Shamrock.  You did good.”

“Thanks.”

We sat around in the six-by-ten cell for a bit.  Scrubby did most of the talking.  He was always talking shit about jobs he’d done and women he’d screwed.  Most of it was bullshit, probably all of it, but he didn’t care whether I believed him or not.  I don’t think he even cared if I was listening.

The door opened and a uniformed cop said, “Let’s go fellas.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Both of you.  Come on.”

We looked at each other, then Scrubby led and I followed him through the door to the cell.  The cop walked a few steps ahead of us down a long corridor and then he opened the outer door.

“Let’s go,” he said while nodding us forward.

We walked through the door, and he closed it behind us, staying on the other side.  My mother was in an open room standing with her hands on her hips.  There was a heavyset man in a drab-gray windbreaker skulking just behind her.  She sort of half smiled and walked towards me.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I smiled.  “Fine.  I’m fine.”

 “Hey, Scrubby, aren’t you gonna introduce me properly to this pretty lady here,” the guy said.

Scrubby’s lips puckered as his usual sour-puss face returned.  “Sure thing, Bondo.  That’s Mrs. O’Donnell.  She’s sort of with Vinny Macho.  Right?”

My mother didn’t look at them.  She just said, “Yeah.  Right.”  She grabbed me by the arm like I was a two-year old and marched me out of the station.

I spent the next few days laying low, trying not to draw attention to myself.  Part of me was afraid and wanted to stay out of trouble.  But mostly it was the disappointed look in my mother’s eye that kept me indoors.

The doorbell rang late one evening, and I went to answer it.  Vinny Macho was standing at the door alone.  I wanted to run upstairs and hide, but instead I unlocked the door.

Vinny smiled as he walked in.  “Hey, kid,” he said in a friendly tone.

Still, I was wary.  “My mom’s upstairs.  I’ll go get her.”

“No, kid.  I’m here to see you.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

Now I felt sweat under my arms.  My fingers and toes were tingling.  My stomach started to growl and moan.

“You did good the other day, Sean.”

He called me Sean.  It was downright odd.

“I know what happened.  Those pigs tried to get to you.  Owens and Gambini.  They tried to get you to talk.”

I nodded.  “Yeah.”

“And you told them nothing, right?”

“Yeah.  I didn’t say shit, Vinny.”

“I know.”  He nodded and smiled, but this time I was sure the smile was sincere.  “I know, kid.  You did a good job.  That Gambini is the biggest fuckin’ scumbag there is.  He thinks he’s better than us.  A freakin’ Italian.  He’s a disgrace.”

“Don’t worry, Vinny.  I didn’t tell him nuthin’.”

“I know.”  Vinny reached in his pocket and pulled out a fat wad of bills.  He peeled off a few bills and handed them to me.  “Here’s the other two-fifty for the car.  You earned it.”

I took the money.

“You did good.  And when someone does good for me, I get them more work.  Understand?”

I nodded.

“Good.  You do want more work, don’t you?”

“Yeah.  I want more work.”

“Good.  Come down to the shop tomorrow, in the evening.  I’ve got something for you.”

“Okay.”

“After dinner, you come by.”

“Okay.”

And that was how it happened.  Do one job right and more come.  Simple.  I took to it like a natural.  I was a minor, so the case against me disappeared fast.  The Pelham Manor cops with their new, shiny suits couldn’t do shit.  I worked for Vinny, and the next couple of years were pretty smooth.    I helped out my mother, pitched in with the household bills.  She didn’t like it; she knew how I was earning and who was paying me.  Still, she didn’t turn down the money.  She really didn’t like it when I dropped out of high school midway through the eleventh grade, but we both knew I was never gonna be a rocket scientist.

So, the next years were spent changing oil and brakes during the day and ripping off Corollas at night.  When I was, oh, I guess nineteen, things changed.

Me and Jose were drinking at a bar on Hunts Point Avenue called The Whistler.  It was a tiny dump of a place, but it was just around the corner from Vinny’s shop, and we liked to go there after work to have a few drinks before going home and washing up for the evening.

Scrubby walked in.  “Look at you two grease monkeys”

“Hey, at least we have a job,” Jose said.

“What are you talking about?  I have a job.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Jose gulped down his beer and made off towards the door.  “G’night.  See you later.”

“Later, man,” I said.

Scrubby ordered a shot of Jack and turned to me.  “You want a shot, kid?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Just seltzer for you.  I know.”

“That’s right.”

“The only Irish kid I know who doesn’t drink.”

“Half Irish.”  Truth was I preferred seltzer.

“I got something.  Something good and I need some help on it.”

“Oh yeah?”

He inched close to me and whispered: “It’s a jewelry store.  The place is packed with goodies.  We’ll make out.”

“Yeah?  You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Vinny know about this?”

“You let me worry about that.  All you need to know is that I got the combination for the alarm system.  We walk in, shut it off, get the goods and get the fuck out of there.  Easy.”

“I see.”

“So, you in?”

“Okay.”

Later that night, Scrubby came and picked me up in his latest ride.  It was a Monte Carlo, but older, uglier and more rusted than the one he used to have.  The exhaust was twice as loud and three times as smoky.

I was sure he would wake the neighbors.

When he slowed in front of my house, I quickly walked up to the car.  The door handle felt loose as I jerked it open, then stepped inside.

“Are you sure about this car?” I asked.

“What?  What’s your problem?”

“It’s pretty fuckin’ loud.  The cops’ll hear us miles away.”

He rubbed his nose and nodded.  “Yeah.  You’re right.  We’ll park it a few blocks from the spot to be safe.”

I nodded.

“Good thinking, Shamrock.  I knew there was a reason I brought you along.”

“Hey, I try.”

The brakes let out a tiny squeal as Scrubby brought the Monte Carlo to a stop to parallel park along the side of a quiet side street just off the main drag of Tremont Avenue.  He reached into his backseat and came out with a dark gym bag.  He looked in, then zipped it up.

“You ready?”

“Yep.”

“Good.  Let’s go.”

Instead of heading toward Tremont Avenue, Scrubby went the other way, taking the long way around, through a residential block.  He looked both ways and then darted into the front yard of one of the small homes.

“Come on,” he said in a loud whisper.

I followed him as he stepped quickly, but we weren’t exactly running.  We stepped over the small bit of grass, then down a concrete path that ran along the side of the red-brick house.  We got to the backyard, which had one lone tree with a tire swing hanging from it.  There was a picket fence that ran about seven or eight feet high.

Scrubby tossed the gym bag over the fence, then said, “Let’s hop the fence.  Give me a hand.”

I cupped my hands and Scrubby stepped into it.  I boosted him upwards and he grabbed the top of the fence and shimmied up and over.

“Come on, Shamrock.  Hurry.”

I looked at the tree, then stepped up on the tire swing.  Standing straight up, my arms wrapped around the rope of the swing, I pumped to get up a little momentum.

“Come on, man,” Scrubby barked.

When the swing reached its high point, I jumped up and slammed into the wooden fence.  Somehow, I managed to grab it at the top.  My arms were scraping against splinters of wood.  I swung my leg up and over the wall, then hoisted the rest of my body along with it, dropping softly, feet first on the other side.

I wiped my arms, then my shirt and legs.

“Nice job, man,” Scrubby said.

I looked back and the fence looked bent from where I’d leaned on it.

We were standing in the alleyway of a storefront row.  There were dumpsters and trashcans from the Chinese restaurant that bordered the jewelry store.  Scrubby walked up to the back door of the store.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a key.  He slid it into the lock.

“How’d you get a key?” I asked.

He turned back and smiled, then clicked the lock and slowly opened the door.  “Let’s just say I have a friend on the inside.”

The door came open, and the alarm began to beep.  Scrubby pressed the buttons on a keypad that was just on the inside wall.  The beeping stopped.

“Sweet,” he said.  “Piece of cake.  Now let’s do this.”

I followed Scrubby inside and he opened his gym bag.  He handed me a small burlap sack.  Then he took out two hammers and handed me one.

“Okay.  You know what to do.  Start over there.”  He pointed to a row of display cases.

I walked over to the display and looked in.  There were shiny rings and earrings.  Some green, some blue, some red.  I pulled up the hammer and smashed it down.  I reached in and grabbed a smooth, covered plate that propped up the jewelry.  I turned the plate upside down over my sack and the stuff fell right in.

Scrubby was doing the same on the other side of the store.  We moved fast, clearing out the cases in just a minute or two.

“The real shit is in the office safe,” Scrubby said.

“What?  This isn’t the real shit?”

“This stuff isn’t bad, emeralds and rubies and shit.  But the diamonds are what we really want.  Those are locked up every night.”

“Can you get them?”

“Of course, Shamrock.  I got this.”

Scrubby walked to the back end of the store.  There was a small, three-step staircase that led to an office with a small two-way mirror that overlooked the store.  He stepped up and opened the door.

An alarm began to blare.

“Shit!” Scrubby shouted.

“What?  What is it?”

“It’s a separate alarm.”

“Don’t you have the code?”

Scrubby ran into the office and started pressing buttons on another keypad.  The ringing kept going.

“I think we better get out of here.”

“Shit!” Scrubby shouted.  “That asshole didn’t tell me there was a separate alarm.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Never mind that.  Let’s get out of here.”

We ran to the back of the store.  The alarm continued to ring.

“Fuck!” Scrubby shouted.  He tucked his sack of jewels into his beltline as we ran to the back alley.  Scrubby tossed his gym bag into a nearby dumpster then dropped his hammer.  I dropped my hammer and tucked my sack into my beltline.

“Come on, hoist me up,” Scrubby said as we reached the fence.  I hoisted him up and over the fence, and he ran off.

I looked back towards the storefront.  Through the window of the jewelry store, I could see straight through to the front window.  Two cop cars, the cherries atop their roofs flashing, pulled into the front parking lot of the storefront.

Instead of jumping the tall, wooden picket fence, I ran down the alleyway.  There was a waist-high chain-link fence on the side that separated two storefronts.  I hopped it and ran around the corner and onto the side street that separated Tremont Avenue from the residential block that ran parallel behind Tremont.  I ran towards the houses.

Behind me I heard a car.  I looked over my shoulder and saw the flashing lights.  I darted off the road and leaped up and over another chain-link fence and onto a small lawn that ran along the back of a house.  Quickly, I was to the other side of the property and again I jumped up and over a small fence.  I passed through three yards quickly while looking towards the road.  The cop car was running alongside me.  He turned on a spotlight and its light swung around quickly trying to locate me.

Suddenly, I heard a dog bark and before I had a chance to see where it was, it was on me.  I cried out as the big furry animal knocked me to the ground, and then his drool was in my face.  I rolled to my belly and felt his teeth bite into my shoulder blade.

The spotlight’s glare whirled through the yard.  I twisted to my side and saw a decent-sized tree between me and the roadway, blocking the light from coming through.  I could hear shuffling and then a car door slam.  I struggled to kick the dog off me, but he wouldn’t let me loose, his teeth now into my left calf.  I managed to shimmy towards his doghouse.  It was a well-built, wooden structure that must have kept the furry guy warm on the cold autumn nights.  I reached into my waistline and took out the sack with the jewels.  I flung it into the doghouse.

The dog was up at my shoulders and neck, but I was able to turn and get up on one knee, using my arms to fend him off.  Lights came on, and a door from the house opened.  Two cops ran along the side of the property just as the home owner came out of his house.

“Bucky!” he shouted.  “Down!”

The man ran over and grabbed Bucky by the collar and yanked him back.  The cops, guns drawn, came right up on me.

“Don’t fucking move!” one of them yelled.

I put my arms up defensively, now standing on my feet, my jacket and shirt in tatters.  “Okay,” I said.  “You got me.”

“Let’s go, kid,” the uniformed cop said as he roughly pulled me towards him and then slapped cuffs behind my back.

* *

Back in the stationhouse.  Same little room.  Same dinky table and three hard metal chairs.  And sure enough, I had to piss again.