Cogan's Trade (11 page)

Trattman said: “You guys know me. Why’re you guys doing something like this? I thought, you’re doing all right, Steve, for Christ sake. Why’re you doing this?”

“A guy, some guys asked me to talk to you,” Steve said. “I said I’d talk to you. You know, Markie, talk? Didn’t you used to have me and Barry around in case you wanted us to talk to somebody?”

“Sure,” Trattman said. “That’s why I can’t understand this, why you guys’re doing this to me.”

“Because,” Steve said, “for the same reason, we used to do things when you wanted us to. Only this time, we’re doing it for somebody else.”

Steve took the left at Hammond Street and turned right off Hammond into the parking lot behind the Chestnut Hill shopping center on Route 9. He stopped the LTD in the shadows behind R. H. Steams’.

Steve got out of the car and unlatched the seatback on the driver’s side.

Trattman looked at Barry. Barry pointed the revolver at him. “Get outa the car, Markie,” he said.

Trattman said: “Please, you guys, lemme talk this over, all right?”

Steve said: “Now, Markie.”

Trattman said: “I didn’t do nothing.”

Barry moved the revolver closer to Trattman’s face. “
Markie
,” he said. “There’s things worse’n talking, you know? Right now all we’re supposed to do is talk to you, and that’s really all we wanna do. You’re liable to get everybody all pissed off, you keep acting like this.”

Trattman hesitated. Steve reached into the car and grabbed the left shoulder of Trattman’s coat. He pulled. Trattman’s upper torso shifted in Steve’s direction. Steve said: “Markie, you really got to cut this out, all right? You know what can happen to a guy that doesn’t wanna do what people tell him. Now don’t give us a lot of shit, okay? We’re just a couple of guys that’ve got to talk to you and we’re gonna talk to you and you’re gonna talk to us, and that’s all there is to it. Unless you don’t wanna talk or something. Then it’s different, you know? You know how things are. Now come outa the fuckin’ car before I start to get mad.”

Trattman pulled himself forward and got out of the LTD. Barry got out quickly behind him. Barry handed the revolver to Steve.

Trattman stood next to the car, his arms and hands close to his sides. He faced Steve. “I didn’t do anything, you guys. I dunno what this’s all about, and if I did something then I would, wouldn’t I? And I really don’t. You guys, you guys’ve gotta believe me.”

“Move around the backa the car, Markie,” Steve said.

Trattman raised his hands slightly, palms up.

“
Move
, Markie, you fuckin’ little prick,” Steve said. “You tryin’ to make me shoot you, for Christ sake?”

Trattman moved sideways to the left rear panel of the LTD. He stood with his arms tight against his sides. Steve stood three feet away from him, pointing the revolver. Barry walked around behind Steve and stood at his right.

“Honest to God,” Trattman said, “Steve, may my mother get cancer, I had nothing to do with it. Honest to God, Steve. You, can’t you tell them that? I know how it looks. I know. But honest to God, Steve, I didn’t.”

“He didn’t do it,” Barry said. “That what you were gonna ask him, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“That’s what we’re supposed to talk to you about, Markie,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “this thing, you didn’t have nothing to do with it?”

“Steve,” Trattman said.

“What thing was that, Markie?” Steve said.

“Steve,” Trattman said. His voice broke. “Steve, did I ever lie to you? I never told you anything, did I?”

“Now?” Barry said.

“Uh huh,” Steve said.

Barry took two strides toward Trattman, closing his right hand and swinging the fist back in the motion of a softball pitcher. Trattman jerked his hands up toward his face. Barry swung his fist forward and punched Trattman in the groin as Trattman’s torso began to move backward over the trunk of the LTD. When the fist connected, Trattman’s torso stopped and began to move forward quickly. His hands dropped from his face. His mouth gaped. His eyes stared. He exhaled and moaned simultaneously. He clapped his hands to his groin. He doubled over.

Barry took a short stride backward. He stepped forward on his left foot and brought his right knee up fast. It caught Trattman on the mouth. There was a cracking sound. Trattman’s head snapped up. His body, still in a crouch, sagged off to the left.

Barry grabbed the lapels of Trattman’s coat and pulled him up. He leaned Trattman against the car. Trattman kept his head down. He cried. He spit blood and pink material from his mouth. He raised his head. He had closed his eyes. His nose and mouth were pulpy and covered with blood. Some blood and pink material were on his coat.

“What’s this thing you didn’t have nothing to do with, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman moved his head once to the left and once to the right. He extended his tongue, then retracted it, tracing the tip of it along his lips. He lowered his head and spat blood and pink material on the pavement of the parking lot.

“He don’t answer,” Barry said.

“Must be there’s nobody home or something,” Steve said.

“Maybe I better knock again,” Barry said. “Make sure.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“
No
,” Trattman said, uttering it in a high voice as “Mo.”

“Shut up, you fuck,” Barry said. He hit Trattman very hard, twice, in the pit of the stomach. Trattman started to double over with the impact of the first punch. The second brought a rush of air from his mouth. Steve and Barry stepped back two paces, quickly. Trattman fell forward on the pavement and vomited half-digested steak and salad, and blood. He lay on his chest, his head resting on its left side. He breathed noisily.

“Whaddaya think, Steve,” Barry said, “you think he’s through?”

“Better give him another minute or so,” Steve said. “He might have some more in him.”

Trattman, his eyes closed, expelled more vomit, blood and pink material from his mouth. It ran down his cheek to the pavement.

“Give him a try now,” Steve said.

Barry stepped forward. He picked Trattman up by the collar of his coat, at the nape of the neck. He leaned Trattman against the side of the LTD. Trattman’s head lolled off to the left. His eyes remained closed.

“Who’re the kids, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman retched and bled from the mouth and nose. He raised his right hand feebly toward his face. He touched his face lightly with the tips of his fingers. Slowly he shook his head.

“Can’t hear you, Markie,” Steve said. “Who’re the kids, Markie?”

Trattman explored the pulpy flesh around his mouth. He sighed. Tears came from his closed eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I,” he said, “they … I didn’t …”

“He still says he don’t know nothing,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “how about that?”

“Think he doesn’t?” Barry said.

“Jesus,” Steve said, “maybe he doesn’t, after all.”

“You can’t tell about guys, though,” Barry said.

“I know it,” Steve said. “I heard about a guy once, somebody asked him if he knew a couple guys and he said he didn’t. But you know what? He did.”

“Better ask him again?” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

Trattman screamed softly through his bloody lips.

“Pick a place,” Steve said, “you don’t get all covered with stuff.”

Trattman moaned. His head lolled to the right. He got his eyes open as Barry stepped forward again. He saw Barry’s right hand, closed in a fist, swing back across Barry’s chest until the fist passed over Barry’s left shoulder. He closed his eyes quickly and moved, jerkily, to his own left. Barry brought his fist back in a flat arc. The heel of his hand hit Trattman at the right hinge of his jaw. His head snapped fast to the left as the bone broke. His torso stretched upward and to the left, then sagged down. The back of his head hit the edge on the left rear fender of the LTD. When he hit the pavement he was lying on his left side, face up. His eyelids fluttered open, then closed. He gagged softly on something wet in his throat.

Steve walked up to Trattman and bent over him. “Markie,” he said softly, “you sure?”

Trattman moaned. His head shifted on the pavement.

“About the kids,” Steve said. “It’s the kids, Markie, we’re supposed to talk to you about. You sure you don’t know who those kids are? You really sure?”

Trattman moved his head slightly.

“Because I got to be sure,” Steve said. “I really got to be, Markie, that’s all there is to it. You make me stay here all night, me and Barry, making sure, I’m not gonna like it. And it’s gonna be an awful long night for you, Markie.”

Trattman vomited suddenly, a small amount of pink material and blood. Some of it spattered Steve’s shoes and the wide cuffs of his pants.

“You bastard,” Steve said. He stepped back quickly. He stepped forward quickly and kicked Trattman on the left side of the rib cage, near the belt. Ribs cracked. Holding his foot at an angle, Steve wiped his shoe on the skirt of Trattman’s coat. Trattman gasped and moaned and sighed. “You cocksucker,” Steve said. He stepped back again.

“Whaddaya think, Steve?” Barry said.

“Get inna car,” Steve said. “Strikes me right, I’ll back over the prick.”

As the LTD began to move, the taillights illuminated Trattman in red. Then he lay in the mist and darkness, breathing loudly and moaning from time to time. Then he passed out.

The LTD left the parking lot at the Hammond Pond Parkway exit.

On Route 9, eastbound, Barry said: “I hurt my fuckin’ hand again. I always do.”

“Kiss it and make it better,” Steve said. “It’ll be all right. That fuckin’ Cogan, though. I’m gonna make him pay for these clothes that that cocksucker ruined.”

“Think we oughta get the car washed?” Barry said.

“I’m gonna,” Steve said. “Just be onna safe side. I’m gonna leave you off, and you take the gun, okay? There’s a place in Watertown, it’s open all night. I’ll go there.”

“And then,” Barry said, “then where’re you gonna go?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Steve said. “Why, you wanna come?”

“I’m not gonna be able to sleep,” Barry said. “I always have to calm down some.”

“Tell Ginny you don’t want no beer,” Steve said. “Have her give you some warm milk and stuff.”

“Fuck you,” Barry said. “Whaddaya think, though, about the guy? Think he knows?”

“I don’t think,” Steve said. “Who the fuck wants to think about him? He’s just a shit.”

“Well,” Barry said, “I mean, I worked him over pretty good.”

“Probably,” Steve said, “he probably knows.”

“He stood up pretty good, then,” Barry said. “If he does, I mean.”

“He’s gotta stand up pretty good,” Steve said. “He knows what’s gonna happen to him, he doesn’t. He knows.”

F
RANKIE PARKED
the dark green GTO convertible in front of Amato’s Driving School and got out. He wore tan flared corduroy jeans over Dingo boots, a white turtleneck and a doubleknit gray blazer. He locked the car and went inside.

“Well,” Amato said, “you still got a good ways to go, but you look a little better, anyway. And the hair’s a lot better. You got too much of that spray on it there, though.”

“I don’t spray it,” Frankie said. “I ain’t no fuckin’ queer. That’s gel on it. The guy that cut it gave me the stuff.”

“Find another guy, the next time,” Amato said. “Also got yourself something to drive around in, I see.”

“I was never that hot for trolleys,” Frankie said.

“What’d it go for?” Amato said.

“Eighteen hundred,” Frankie said. “Plus the fuckin’ sales tax, of course. It’s in pretty good shape.”

“Things’re a little better,” Amato said.

“Things’re a lot better,” Frankie said. “I was out last night, me this girl, I had a place to take her and a car to take her to the place in. I got that thing? I had a little beef with the guy down to Probation, there. Can’t understand it, I got to have my license back so soon. So I hadda tell my brother-in-law, I went back to get my stuff. ‘By the way, anybody asks you, you loaned me the money, all right?’ So he looks at it. Dean’s all right. I’m not asking no questions,’ he says, ‘nothing like that at all. But I think you’re doing better’n me, all of a sudden.’ Yeah, it’s really great. I was down the Probation
and the guy looks at me and he says: ‘Nice clothes.’ I said: ‘Look, the last time I come in, you’re giving me the hardeyes, I look like a bum. I figured you’re gonna violate me for it, for Christ sake. So now I beat up on my family and get some dough and I finally look like something that didn’t come in on a truckload of chickens, and now you’re pissed about that.’ Yeah, it’s great.”

“Where’re you living?” Amato said.

“Place in Norwood,” Frankie said. “Just a studio thing, the furniture was all in it. It’s right on Route 1, though. But what the fuck if it’s noisy, you know? The noise’s all outside.”

“The fuck’d you go all the way out there for,” Amato said. “I would’ve thought, guy like you’d stay around Boston some place. I would.”

“Well,” Frankie said, “it’s a little cheaper, you know? And, I know too many guys around right in town. My brother-in-law, for example, I hadda place in Boston, the first thing you know he’d want to be coming over all the time and using the place, and then Sandy’d get all pissed off at me and everything. And, I just thought about it and I figured, it’s gonna be more of a hassle living there’n it’s gonna be of a hassle to live some place else. The guy down Probation, he got all stirred up about that, too. ‘How come you’re in Norwood? What’re you doing there?’ So I told him, guy I know’s gonna give me a job there, how’s that? Taking care of the building, and I get something off of my rent and everything and I can still get another job and stay out of trouble.”