The Weight (12 page)

“Don’t be a clown, kiddo. A Chevy’s always been a Chevy; a Ford’s always been a Ford. But this baby never saw an assembly line; it was hand-built. Not just top-of-the-line, top of them
all
.”

“I’m not surprised it lasted this long—feels like we’re in a damn tank.”

“A tank with plenty of pep. Not that you want to go racing around in a car like this. That would be … Well, it would just be wrong.”

“I don’t get it. The whole car thing, I don’t get any of that.”

“It’s not the car; it’s what it means. Me, I wanted one of these from the minute I first saw one, a couple of years after the war. A car like this, it sets you apart.”

“From who?”

“From
everyone
. I don’t care if you’re a young
shvartser
in Harlem or an
alter kocker
in Miami, your idea of heaven is still a Cadillac. But next to
this
beauty, a Caddy’s a piece of shit. Back when we were kicking the crap out of the krauts, this was the best car on the planet.”

“You were in that?”

“You think I’m, what, a Zen Buddhist? Back then, a Jewish boy, he couldn’t walk the streets unless he was home on leave. Better be in uniform, too. Otherwise, the old ladies, they’d spit on you. And the young ones—forget it.

“Don’t get me wrong, that was one job I couldn’t
wait
to get in on. Look at me now, you wouldn’t believe it, but back then I was a lion. The only thing I ever worried about was getting sent to the Pacific Theater.”

“That was extra bad?”

“It was all bad, kid. But how was I gonna get to kill any Nazis over there?”

“You wanted to kill them?”

“I wanted to kill
all
of them. I just wish the assholes who ran the government had dropped that big one on Berlin, too.”

“The atom bomb, right? You mean, they only had the one?”

Solly slapped himself on his forehead. “Who am I talking to? We had
lots
of them, Sugar. You think we only hit Japan one time?”

“Well, if they had so many—”

“They weren’t gonna drop nukes on white people, kid. Simple as that. I don’t know how it was out west back then. But here, the Germans had their own part of town. First Avenue in the low nineties. They even called it ‘Germantown.’ Before the war, they had a lot of pull in this city, so you have to figure, they had it other places, too. But it still comes down to the same thing. You can’t tell a German from a Swede just by looking at them, but you can spot a Jap at a hundred yards.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Nah. It’s a lot more complicated than that. But let me ask
you
a question, okay? Tell the truth: you really give a rat’s ass about anything that happened way before you were born?”

“I guess not.”

I watched him drive, working the column shifter like one of those guys who can type with their eyes closed. It was all so smooth. Not just the ride, with the big car swallowing all the bumps in the road; Solly, he was smooth, too.

“Isn’t this thing a little—?”

“What? Distinctive? Sure it is! What, I’m gonna use it on a bank job? Besides, people need to see what
real
class is every once in a while.”

“It’s … really something.”

“Just like new,” Solly said. “Better, actually. Things like tires, they don’t make ’em like they used to … and that’s a
good
thing.”

Nearly five o’clock in the morning, and people were still staring at the car every time we stopped at a light. One time, it was a big black one like Solly’s, only it was one of those SUVs. It was painted a different kind of black from Solly’s. Even the windows were black.

Somebody stuck a cell phone out the window. It was on Solly’s side, so I slumped in the seat, looked down. The SUV was playing some noise, sounded like an elephant stampede. Same stuff they play over the speakers at Rikers. That was another good thing about being sent way Upstate.

Neon ribbons inside the SUV kept changing colors. The wheels were black, but the centers were gold; they kept spinning even with the wheels stopped.

“Solly …”

“I see him, kid. Just taking pictures with his cell phone. Every place I go with this car, they do that.”

“What about your license plate?”

“I should care?” Solly said. “This beauty, she’s as legit as it gets. Those kind”—tilting his head in the direction of the fancy black SUV—“they don’t know how to act.”

We just kept driving. A long loop around the city, like old men taking a stroll in the park. Solly stayed in the right-hand lane on First, timing it so we rolled through on green. Way downtown, he caught a yellow light. Solly eased the big car to a stop, being real careful.

Looking straight ahead, he asked me, “Is that place still open?”

I didn’t know what place he meant, but as I turned to look out my window, a flash went off. By the time I got done blinking, Solly had the green and we took off.

“I saw it,” he said, like he knew what I was thinking. “Just one
of those ‘artiste’ dipshits running around with a camera. Probably wants to catch the sun coming up over the East River or something like that.”

“You sure?”

“How’m I gonna be ‘sure,’ Sugar? I’m saying, those kind, they’re all over the city now. Besides, this guy, he had a girl with him. Probably his fucking ‘assistant.’ Like an assistant you fuck, get it?”

“Yeah.”

“Get over yourself, kid. Who’d want a picture of
you
? Some CIA surveillance team? Come on.”

We just kept driving. When we got near Canal, Solly pulled to the curb.

“In the back, there’s a suitcase. See it? Everything you need’s in there.”

“I’m not—”

“Get out, walk back the way we came. A little over two blocks. Then turn left. Maybe ten, twelve doors down, you’ll see a sign: ‘Voodoo Veils.’ It’s one of those art places. Above it, there’s a loft. This key”—he handed me a key attached to a little red tube by a short chain—“it opens the door
next
to that sign. You walk up two flights, you’re in your own place.”

“What about—?”

“It’s all in there,” Solly said. “Now get outta here before we start attracting attention. There’s a cell phone in the suitcase. Call me when you want to work.”

“Who owns the—?”

“Later,” he said.

I knew I wasn’t getting anything else out of Solly, so I grabbed the suitcase out of the back, stepped out, and closed the door. I did it soft, out of respect for the car. Then I started walking.

I only had a short distance to cover, but I was still glad it was already starting to get light out. I wasn’t worried about muggers—they stop working in the early morning, and I don’t look like a good target, anyway. But the cops, they do whatever they want.

If a prowl car called me over, I’d have to go. Show them ID. They wouldn’t like the suitcase. Ask me if I minded if they looked inside. I’d have to say I
did
mind. Then they’d say they saw a gun in my belt, or make up anything they felt like. Once they looked inside that suitcase, I’d be cooked.

But I made it okay.

The little door was painted in slanted black-and-white stripes. Looked more like a pole than a door, especially being so narrow and all.

The key Solly gave me worked. I stepped inside, closed the door behind me. The stairs didn’t have any lights. I stood there a second, getting my eyes used to the dark. I ran my hands over the key. The little red tube attached to it was metal—it felt cold in my hand.
Why would Solly give me—?
I twirled the little tube around a couple of times. It felt smooth except for a tiny little part near the far end. I ran my thumbnail around it, slow and careful. That part near the end was notched. I turned it and a little circle of light came out.

I hadn’t ever seen such a tiny flashlight, but it sure threw enough light for me to climb the stairs.
This’d be a good thing for a man to carry around
, I thought.

Two flights, like Solly said. There wasn’t any door—the whole floor was open space. I played the flash around. The beam was powerful, but real narrow, so it was slow work.

Finally, I found a lamp. At least, I thought it was a lamp—looked like an upside-down cone on a long piece of metal. I couldn’t see how to turn it on, but I found the wire and felt around. There was a big flat thing in the wire. I pushed on it and the light came on. I guessed you were supposed to step on that flat thing to turn on the lamp.

It didn’t throw much light, and all of it was pointed down. But it was enough for me to get a picture of the place.

There wasn’t much up there. Mostly empty space. A thick pad on the floor had a pillow, so I guessed it was supposed to be the bed. One of those refrigerator cubes, looked new. The sink looked like it had come with the building. In a corner, toilet and shower stall.

Kind of like a convict’s dream cell. But I didn’t see a TV or a radio, so I guess it really wasn’t, even with all that space.

I wanted to look around the place some more. I wanted to open the suitcase. Not just to count the money, to see what else Solly put in there.

But it was still too dark. And I was bone-tired.
Solly already knows where I am
, is what I was thinking.

Besides, if Solly was going to do something to me, it would only be to get the money. And if he wanted the money, he’d already had a dozen chances to take me out.

I know what to do when there’s rules. I just follow them. I guess I was supposed to wait for Solly to call. No. That’s wrong. He said to call him if I wanted to work. No, wait.
When
I wanted to work, is what he said.

Why would I want to work anytime soon? I had money. It was all in this suitcase, right?

My head hurt from all that. I flopped down on the pad, faceup, one hand on the suitcase. I don’t remember closing my eyes.

When I came around, I could see the whole place. A kind of dirty light came down over everything. I looked up. It was a skylight. One of those old ones, kind of looks like a tent if you’re on the roof. Probably came with the building, and hadn’t been cleaned since.

I used to be good at time. I mean, I could kind of feel what time it was. But the last five years changed that. Bells and sirens. Hacks running their clubs over the bars, like an iron piano that only played one song. Inside, it isn’t light that tells you what time it is. You might never see the sky at night. Or see it at all, depending on how tight they had you locked down.

Same thing for chow: In some parts of the place, they’d bring the food to you, shove it through a slot. Other parts, you had to be outside your cell for the count, then march down to eat. After a while, I couldn’t
feel
the time anymore.

I looked at my watch. It was the same one I had been wearing when they took me. Cheap plastic thing, with a rubber strap.
It had been good for the job I was on—no tick-tick, you could press a little button and it would light up. And it was always on the nose.

But it was blank now. I guess the battery had run dead. The prison’s supposed to give you back whatever you had on you when you checked in. It’d never be that much. Anything like a pistol or a knife, that’d be in some evidence bin. Personal stuff, you could sign and get someone to come and pick it up for you. Nobody in my line of work would ever do that.

But if you’re holding a pile of garbage when they take you down, the prison makes sure to keep it for you. It’s their last chance to remind you where you came from.

My watch was like that. If it had been a Rolex, it would have been lost somewhere along the line.

Lots of guys, they’d never stop bitching about all the jewelry that got taken off them. Gold chains, rings … stuff like that. You’d never know if they even had all that in the first place. You listen to them, you’d think they were all big-time. And if anyone
saw
you listening, they’d know you weren’t.

The only reason I took the watch, it was mine. I didn’t strap it on, just signed for it. They make you do that. My first night out, I put it on my wrist. Don’t know why I hadn’t just thrown it away.

When I got done with the toilet, I finally opened the suitcase. On top, new stuff, still in the wrapping. Three of everything: briefs, undershirts, pairs of socks. The bills were underneath, in those plastic bags you can seal up just by pushing the top pieces together. Thirty-six of them, all the same—two stacks of hundreds, side by side. Ten K in each one. Three hundred and sixty thou.