Keeplock (28 page)

But of course I didn’t do anything like that. My life was on the line, too. I turned back to the table and handed Morasso the towel. “Put this on your mouth,” I said. “You wanna look nice for tomorrow.”

A half hour later we were in Eddie’s office, running through the details. It was maybe the tenth time we’d done it in the last three days, and halfway through, I realized this was Eddie’s way of dealing with the tension. The meeting didn’t last very long, because we all knew our lines.

Eddie asked me to stay after the others left. He asked me what had happened to Morasso’s mouth and I explained it. Then we spent an hour trying on blond wigs, dark glasses, and false beards. Eddie had researched the matter himself and knew, in theory at least, how to apply the phony hair. Still, no matter how we arranged our disguises, we looked like refugees from a bad movie.

“Perfect,” Eddie announced.

“Perfect? You gotta be kidding me.”

“All right, cuz, so it’s not
perfect
. But it’ll get us up on the platform and it’ll keep us from bein’ identified later on.”

“What about Tony?”

“What about him?”

“No disguise?”

“Tony’s gotta look ugly, cuz. That’s the whole fuckin’ point. I don’t see how it’s gonna matter. Where he’s goin’, he don’t have to worry about witnesses. What you and Avi did before was good. Now he knows that you got a gun and I got a gun and Avi got a gun, but
he
only got his dick to shoot with. Even a fuckin’ bug like Morasso could figure it out from there.”

Eddie dismissed me a few minutes later and I wandered through the upstairs apartment looking for something to do. Avi was busy cleaning his weapon of choice, a .30-06 Winchester Model 70. Parker was in the garage, fitting out the van with a two-way radio. Morasso was in his room, nursing his wounds and his grievances. I decided to go to my own room and get comfortable.

Annie was making up my bed when I walked into the room. She turned to me and smiled.

“You really put it to Tony,” she said. “What a shot. He’s lucky he’s got his head.”

“Yeah? I guess somebody up there likes him.”

She sat on the bed and patted the mattress. “Nice and firm,” she announced, emphasizing the last word.

“Ya know, Annie, one day Eddie’s gonna figure it out. He’s gonna figure it out and he’s gonna kill you.”

“Never.” She shook her head firmly. “Eddie loves me. Besides, he already knows. I tell him about it in bed. It gets him hot.” She leaned back against the wall, put her heels on the edge of the mattress, and let her knees fall apart. “Speakin’ of hot …”

“Forget it, Annie. I’m not interested.”

“That girlfriend must be something else. Looks like she got it
all
. Too bad. By the way, if you and her should ever feel like doin’ a threesome, make sure to let me know.”

I took her by the arm and led her to the door. I was tempted to swat her on the ass, but I was afraid my hand would get stuck. As I closed the door, I heard her laugh. Somehow it didn’t bother me. There was a small bureau against the wall. I dragged it in front of the door, put the 9mm under the pillow, and fell asleep.

I’
M IN CHARGE OF
erecting a massive structure. Not a single building or even a complex of buildings, but an entire city. The city is composed of transparent boxes, twelve fluorescent white lines against an inky-black sky.

Nothing goes right. I jump from one crisis to another, repairing and rearranging. Doing whatever’s necessary to keep the project going.

There are no other workers to be seen, but still the structure grows. I know I should be anxious, because the city will crumble if I make a mistake, but I feel calm, almost peaceful.

Suddenly I realize that I’m falling behind. The structure is too elaborate and I can’t cover the whole project by myself. I lose a wing then a tower, then entire neighborhoods.

These disasters fuel my determination. I introduce new designs, reinforce foundations, convinced there’s some way to get it right; some arrangement that will support the weight of the project.

Though I don’t slacken my efforts for a minute, a depressing thought enters my consciousness. I don’t know what I’m making. I can’t summon up an image of the finished structure. There’s no way I can be the master builder. I’m an ordinary worker, maybe even a slave.

Nevertheless, I continue to work at top speed. I never stop to consider the possibility of another approach. I don’t have time for that. If I slow down, disaster is sure to follow.

I woke to a knock on the door. Parker’s voice followed, announcing that dinner was almost ready. I looked over at the clock. It was six-thirty.

“All right, John. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“I’d like to talk to you.”

I glanced down at my crotch. I had a firm erection, one of those nocturnal jobs that won’t go down. “Let me get my pants on.” The request must have seemed odd, considering that we’d come from a world without privacy. Where, as often as not, the most intimate acts—dressing, showering, shitting—were performed in the company of others.

Whatever Parker thought, he waited patiently while I dressed. I tried to move the bureau away from door as quietly as possible, but it scraped and squeaked despite its being empty and made of glued sawdust.

“Did I wake you up?” Parker asked as he stepped into the room.

I took a quick look down the hall. It was empty and the other doors were shut. “It doesn’t matter.” I closed the door. “Actually, I feel pretty good. If I had a cup of coffee, I’d feel even better.”

Parker’s face lit up. “I’ll get it. Give you a chance to wash your face.”

I closed the door behind him, then took the 9mm from under the pillow, and shoved it behind my belt. I hadn’t been lying to Parker. Despite the dream, I felt refreshed and alert. I went into the bathroom, took a leak, then washed my face, combed my hair, and brushed my teeth. Halfway through the last operation, I heard the bedroom door open. The piece was in my hand before I made a decision to pull it.

“It’s only me,” Parker called.

I didn’t bother to tell him how close he’d come to being shot. Instead, I resolved, awake or asleep, to keep the door blocked.

“You oughta knock, John,” I announced, coming into the living room.

“Sorry, Pete. I didn’t think.”

I took the coffee and drained half of it. “It don’t pay to be an absentminded professor if you’re in the crime business.” I must have expected some sort of an answer, because I took the time to finish the mug. “What’s up, John? Whatta you need?”

He pointed at the gun at my waist. I wasn’t making any attempt to hide it.

“That’s a weapon.”

“Damn, you scientists don’t miss a thing.”

He blushed, then grinned. Parker was very easygoing. Add that to the fact that he had no conscience and you come up with a very rare combination—the amiable psychopath.

“All right, wise guy, here’s what’s bothering me. You, Eddie, and Avi are all armed. We’re not going to do the job for another twenty-four hours. Is there something I don’t know?”

“There’s lots of things you don’t know. But they have nothing to do with this specific situation. You’re very intelligent, John, and you’ve got balls, too. What you
don’t
have is experience. When you’re confined to a house with four violent criminals, anything can happen. Why do you think they call us criminals? Because we’re good at social cooperation? There’s a lot of strain here. It pays to watch your back.”

He grimaced. “I see your point and I’d agree with you except for one thing. Eddie told us no guns. I remember feeling relieved because of Tony Morasso. I also remember assuming that Eddie’s gun rule was to last until we were actually doing the job. Now, all of a sudden, I find that I’m the only one
without
a gun.”

“You and Tony.”

“Tony doesn’t count.”

I waved him into a chair. “I have a gun because I took one and put it in my pocket. You wanna know about Eddie and Avi, ask
them
. But I have a question for you: if you did have a piece, what would you do with it? You already told me you never handled a gun in your life.”

“That’s another reason why I was happy with the no-gun rule.”

“Your problem is that you started too high up. You should’ve done a few burglaries first, maybe a couple of gas stations. You need to get a feel for treachery. Now you’re in the shit and you don’t have a shovel.”

But Parker did know something about
prison
. What we were doing was negotiating. He needed protection and I was the one most likely to supply it. Not that he could come right out and ask me to do it as a favor. You don’t ask for favors in prison. You don’t accept them, even if they’re offered, because if you do, you become obligated to the giver. Sooner or later the favor must be returned and there’s no way of knowing exactly what repayment will entail.

“You think shit’ll happen,” he asked quietly.

“Shit
always
happens, but if someone has plans for you, I haven’t heard ’em.”

He hesitated, shifting in his chair. I could see the words forming in his mind.

“Why don’t you just come out with it, John? Say what you gotta say.”

“I need someone to watch my back.”

Protection, the most common of prison rackets. The going rate varies with the resources of the particular inmate seeking the service, but a carton of cigarettes a week is usually enough to keep even the richest convict safe from attack.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Five percent of my take.”

I have to give Parker credit. He didn’t waste his time trying to bind me with emotional ties. Of course, the irony of his coming for protection to the very man who intended to betray him wasn’t lost on me either.

“The price is right, John, only you should understand what I can and can’t do for you. First, you’ve got nothing to worry about until after the job is done—Eddie needs you to jam the radio—but even if he has something else in mind, I’ll be up on the platform and that doesn’t do you much good. So what we’re looking at is the period between the end of the job and the final split in the Bronx. You wanna pay five percent for that? We could be talkin’ about ten grand.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want.” His voice was steady, as hard, in its own way, as Avi’s. “If Eddie wants my end for himself, he’ll take me out in the Bronx. You keep my ass in one piece until I get to the airport and I won’t have any problem parting with five percent. No matter how much it comes to.”

Our high finance brought to a satisfactory conclusion, we got up and headed for the dinner table. Annie had fried up a dozen tough, greasy pork chops, but nobody complained about the meat or the burned string beans. We were still chewing on the first mouthfuls when Eddie dragged a sawed-off, double barreled, 12 gauge shotgun out of a box and laid it on the table next to Morasso. Even lying on its side, it was vicious enough to command our total attention.

“You like that, Tony?” Eddie asked. “That’s yours.”

The shotgun was so old it was impossible to tell the make. Morasso picked it up and began to fondle the dual triggers. His eyes were glowing.

“Man, you could do some shit with this,” he hissed. His fingers found the release and he broke it open. It was unloaded.

“You get two shells when we’re at the site,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. Morasso started to protest, but Eddie slammed his fist on the table. “Don’t say a fuckin’ word. I had enough bullshit from you already. You do the job the way I tell ya.”

“All right, Eddie. Whatever ya want.” Morasso was cradling the shotgun in his arms.

“That ain’t a fuckin’ baby.” Eddie shook his head in disgust. “It’s not gonna suck ya tit. Why don’t you tell us what you’re supposed to do with it.”

Morasso grinned like a proud schoolboy. He’d been taking a lot of abuse for the last two weeks, but tomorrow he’d be the star of the show. “Okay, here goes: the two security guards come outta the cab of the truck and walk up to the platform. You and Pete step out in front of them and I come outta the van behind ’em. We take their pieces, then I drag one of them back to the truck.”

“Which one?”

“Yeah, I almost fuckin’ forgot. First I take a look at the guard who’s still locked in the back of the truck. If he’s a nigger, I pick another nigger. If he’s white, I pick a white guy. If there’s no match, I pick one at random.
Then
I drag his ass to the truck and put him up against the window in the back. I make sure the one inside can see my face and the shotgun. Then I tell the one inside to open the fuckin’ door or I’ll blow his buddy’s brains all over the parking lot.”

“What happens if he doesn’t open the door?”

“I whack the first guard and grab the next one.”

“How long do you wait?”

“I wait until you tell me to shoot.”

“If you gotta whack the first guard, what do ya have to be careful
not
to do?”

“I don’t get it.”

“You gotta be careful not to pull both triggers at the same time. The shotgun only holds two shells, right? If you pull both triggers, ya got nothin’ left. See how the trigger on the right is in front of the one on the left?”

“Of course, whatta ya think, I’m stupid?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon, Eddie.”

“If you pull the first one just right, you can fire one barrel without firing the other. I want ya to practice. Tomorra morning you could show us all how good you are.”

We spent the next few minutes trying to make slices of pork small enough to swallow. All of us except for Tony. He kept dry-firing the shotgun, pulling one trigger, then the other. I’d never seen him happier.

E
DDIE MADE US GO
through every detail, outlasting even the pork chops in his zeal. I didn’t mind reciting dutifully when my turn came. It figured to be a long night, anyway. Avi delivered his lessons with military precision. Parker rambled on enthusiastically, describing the devilish concoction he’d created for Chapman Security’s central dispatcher.

“What I did,” he explained, “was record ten minutes of computer transmission, a message I sent out and had the Chapman computer send back. The message is, ‘We’re robbing your truck!’ Of course it doesn’t sound like that when the computer receives it. The computer hears a series of high-pitched squeals and squeaks, like a power saw going through plywood. I’m gonna broadcast it at four times normal power and keep it coming until the job is done and we’re ready to take off.”