Never Play Another Man's Game (3 page)

T
he phone rang at nine thirty. I was sitting in a folding chair in my apartment watching an all-news channel while I cleaned my Glock, both chair and
TV
were recent acquisitions from a downtown pawn shop. I looked at the cell and heard it chime a second time. My hand extended halfway to the phone and hung there. If Ruby had been speaking the truth, the only living relative I had was on the other end of the phone.

I had spent the day thinking about what she had said. She named the kid after his father. It was possible my uncle could have been the father of Ruby's child. Ruby was around often enough when I was younger. She ran with the same crowds and she kept the same hours. If my uncle was going to knock anyone up, it would have been someone like Ruby. I hadn't given her a reaction. Ruby was a world-class con and being around her put me on guard. I wasn't going to give her an inch and I suspected everything she said. She had held her best card close to the vest until the last second, and then she dropped it when she thought it would make the biggest impact. I wasn't dumb enough to think it was just happenstance. With someone like Ruby, there was only cold calculation at work. I went over our conversation again and again, picking at each word she used. She had dropped her bomb after I had agreed to plan the job for her kid. There had to be a benefit to telling me then. If she had told me right away, I would have discounted her revelation as manipulative bullshit. Thinking she was just trying to lure me into the job by appealing to my sense of family would have tainted the job. I would have walked away without looking back.

You're just like him.
She had said that more than once. Planting the seeds. Bringing him up, knowing that I would counter with the fact that my uncle was dead. She knew I had no one left and she wanted that fact to be fresh in my mind. She let the idea fester while she tried to convince me into taking the job. Had she been working me the whole time? Were the vague details and shitty plan just a feint before the real punch? Was there some con hiding just below the surface? I fucking hated grifters. Nothing was as it seemed, especially the price you would pay when someone came collecting.

I thought about disappearing, taking off and leaving Ruby to find some other pawn, but Ruby was right about one thing. Like all good con artists, Ruby put a sliver of truth in her pitch, and that stuck in my brain like a splinter. I had tried once to get away, to leave behind the life I grew up in. But the life found me and dragged me home. I had done too much wrong to too many of the wrong kind of people to ever get away clean. What I knew, what Ruby seemed to know too, was that being a regular person would never be for me. It felt like wearing a Halloween mask for too long. I began to itch under the fake skin. The itch kept spreading until it was all I could feel.

I was close to pulling the mask off myself before my old boss showed up and did it for me. Paolo Donati had used me as a fixer for years. He gave me a problem he had and I grinded it out, no questions asked. When his nephews vanished, and he thought his own people were the ones saying abracadabra, I was the only avenue he had left. The avenue turned out to be a dead end. I did the job I was forced to do, but I didn't go back to my old boss. I hated being regular, but I hated being blackmailed more. I did the job and then I settled things with my old boss.

I was done being on a leash — no more mobs, no more crooked cops putting me on a hook. The only problem was money. It wasn't just the house that went up in the fire — it was a life. It would take time and a lot of money to build up another cover as solid as the one I lost when the cops kicked down my door. I had reserves, but nowhere near the amount I needed. If I wanted to stay off someone else's payroll, I had to start earning on my own. I hated the fact that I needed the money. I had seen too many people go down because they were too desperate to say no to a job that had bad written all over it in permanent marker. I wanted to think I was better than those men, but was I compromised? Was my judgement so far off the mark that I wouldn't see the noose coming over my head? I shook my head — those kind of questions were for men with fat wallets and for stupid invincible kids who knew everything. I didn't have the luxury to turn down work — I needed the job. With the house Ruby put up, I could start turning back the clock and become what I was before the mob, before my uncle died — an independent operator. I smiled at the prospect of owing no one and depending on nothing but myself; it seemed natural. It seemed right. Ruby spoke the truth in the coffee shop: I was just like my uncle.

The phone rang a third time. My hand escaped whatever paralysis held it in limbo and swiped the phone off the milk crate I was using as a coffee table. I pressed talk and put the phone to my ear. There was a bit of distortion, but the loud music on the other end still managed to rush out of the speaker.

“Hello?” a voice said over the music.

“Who gave you this number?” I said.

“Is this . . .”

“No names,” I said. “Answer the question without using a name. Who gave you this number?”

“My mother. She said you were on board for this job.”

I let the words “on board” go. I wasn't on board with anything. My role was all theoretical. I would put my two cents in and the kid could take it or leave it.

“We on?”

“Sure, the truck leaves from —”

“Easy, Tiger, it was a yes or no question.”

“Man, are you paranoid. Do you have a tinfoil helmet on because you worry about the government stealing your thoughts?”

“No worries, just a habit of wanting to stay out of a cell and the ability to handle my affairs without the help of my mommy.”

“Hey, fuck you! You don't want in on my job, then get lost.”

“Sounds like mommy didn't update you on how things are going to work.”

“Stop calling her my mommy. She told me about you. Told me you were a pro, but let's get one thing straight. This is my job, asshole, and if you don't like it you can fuck off.”

I grinned and hung up the phone. The kid was worse than I thought he would be. I had hoped, being the kid of a pro like Ruby, he would have inherited a bit more savvy. Instead, he sounded as green as a kid on the way to his first stay in juvie.

Rick's mom had worked me. She wanted me on the job and she got what she was after. It didn't matter that taking the job felt like it was my own decision; I knew enough to realize that Ruby had pulled me into something with subtle manipulation and expert mind games even if I couldn't see all the strings at work. Getting the kid to call me was my way of pushing the game in a different direction. Ruby was playing doubles now and she was teamed with a shitty partner. I wanted to see how she wouldhandle therebound. I turned the news back up and got back to cleaning the gun. I had finished with the gun and was dozing in my chair when the phone rang again. I answered on the second ring and heard Ruby's voice.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“Don't be. The kid laid everything out for me. He told me if I wasn't on board, I could fuck off, so I fucked.”

“He's young and impetuous.”

“He's a fucking amateur who doesn't know enough to not use names over the phone. He's going to get himself arrested or dead.”

“That's why we need you. We have no one to help us. You're all we have.”

The obvious implication was that they were all I had, too. Ruby's manipulations were getting easier to spot. I didn't want a family business — I had that once and it didn't last, but I did want the house. If I was going to get the property, I had to do my part, and to do that I would also need a little help from Rick.

“You want my help, then explain the deal to your boy. If he goes for it, meet me in the parking lot outside where we met this morning. You drive so I'll know you weren't followed.”

“I can't come tomorrow. I have an appointment with my . . . hairdresser.”

Bald women don't get their hair done — Ruby meant her oncologist.

“Reschedule it. I want you there.”

“I can't.”

“Six a.m.,” I said and hung up the phone.

I
was in the mall parking lot at four thirty in the morning. The car I was sitting in was another “rental” from the airport. The black Volkswagen Passat was just old enough, and expensive enough, to go unnoticed in plain sight. Someone looking at the car would figure it belonged where it was because what crook would drive a nice safe sedan like that. I parked in the far corner of the lot near several other cars. The mall parking lot was a hub for car-pooling, making it easy to blend in.

I sat low in the seat and watched the lot. Other car-poolers showed up and left, mall cleaning staff rolled in, and at six, a red Malibu entered the lot. The car drove towards the entrance to the food court and did a wide circle around the lot. The Malibu passed the small pack of cars I was parked in, but it didn't stop. When I lifted my head above the dash, I saw that the Malibu had Ruby behind the wheel and a much taller man riding shotgun. Both were moving their heads left and right looking for my car. The Malibu did a second lap before choosing a space in the middle of the lot.

Thirty seconds passed and then my cell phone rang. I let it go and watched the lot. For fifteen minutes, I let the Malibu sit there. The cell phone kept ringing and I kept waiting. No other cars came into the lot and no one walked or jogged by. Satisfied Ruby and Rick came alone, I started the Volkswagen and drove to the space next to the Malibu. Ruby looked thin and tired. Instead of a wig, she wore a kerchief tied around her head. The man beside her leaned forward so that he could see me and I saw that he didn't look tired — he looked pissed.

Rick looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had thick black hair that he combed high on his head and a faint bit of stubble under his nose and on his chin. He got out of the car fast and circled around the VW's hood. He was a big man, easily six feet, and he looked like he had some size under his hooded jacket. He slammed his palm down on the hood of the car and yelled, “Get out, motherfucker!”

Ruby opened her door and got out of the car. She spoke quietly and I couldn't make out what she said. Rick swatted at the air like there was a bee near his face and shouted, “Get back in the car, Mom!”

Ruby said something else, this time louder; I caught a few of the words. Rick turned his head and started to say something back when my foot moved off the brake and mashed the accelerator. The Volkswagen covered the three feet of asphalt between Rick and the hood in a second and hit him just above the knees. Rick's body was bent at the waist and his chest collided with the hood of the car. This time I heard Ruby loud and clear when she screamed her son's name.

I yanked the emergency brake back and got out of the car just in time to see Rick slide off the hood. The impact was enough to bruise and scare — I doubted that I broke anything.

“My fuckin' leg.”

The early morning November air felt good on my face. The black watch cap I wore and the turned-up collar on my peacoat kept the cold from getting in anywhere else.

Ruby knelt beside her son. She was feeling his legs and asking him if he was alright.

“No, I'm not alright. This psycho hit me with his goddamn car.”

“Can you get up?”

“I think so, Ma, but it hurts real bad.”

“Then get in the car,” she said.

I said nothing while Rick got off the ground using the Passat's hood for support. He called me an asshole and then limped towards the Malibu.

“The other car,” Ruby said.

“What?”

“Get in his car. I'll sit in the back so you can stretch your legs.”

“Are you fucking serious? I'm really hurt.”

Ruby nodded and opened the passenger door. Rick limped back to the VW; this time, each step was followed by a sharp intake of breath just in case we didn't realize he was hurt. Rick got in without looking at me. When the door closed, Ruby said, “Was that really necessary?”

“You kept telling me how much I'm like my uncle. How would he have dealt with that?”

Ruby looked at the hood and then at the pavement. There was no blood or missing teeth anywhere.

“Maybe you're not so much like him.”

“Get in the car,” I said.

I opened the door and got behind the wheel. Ruby got in behind her kid and then slid over so that she was behind my seat because Rick had moved his seat as far back as it would go. He had pulled his pant legs up so he could inspect his knees. He did a lot of prodding and wincing.

“Comfortable?”

“Fuck you.”

“That's the spirit,” I said as I exited the parking lot. “Tell me where I'm going.”

“The truck starts on the Stoney Creek Mountain and does its regular route filling grocery store
ATM
s. The guys skip their lunch and then go to Walmarts all over the city to set up their bank machines for the weekend.”

“They do this every day?”

“They do stuff for banks and other businesses too, but Monday and Friday is always
ATM
s.”

“And Friday is the best day?”

“There's no guarantee on what they're carrying other days. The Friday route is for sure double the usual. My leg really hurts. I think I cracked something. Ma, do you have any Tylenol?”

Ruby said, “Let me check, baby.”

“Who's feeding you this?”

“None of your business, that's who.” Rick took some pills from his mom and said, “What no water?”

“Sorry.”

“You know I hate dry swallowing pills. They get stuck in my throat every time.”

“Sorry, honey.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Rick cock his head back to propel the pills down his throat. A second later, he said, “See? Great! The goddamn things are stuck. I told you this would happen, Ma. I told you.”

“Rick, how do you know about the trucks?”

“What did I say?”

“It's a friend he went to high school with. He does the mechanical work on all of the trucks.”

“Ma!”

“This guy know what Rick plans to do with the information he gave him?”

“Don't talk about me like I'm not here. My buddy was out for drinks with his co-workers in Hess Village. He bumped into me and some people I was partying with and we hung out for a while. He got super shitfaced and started talking business in the john. I heard him when I was in the stall taking a shit.”

I looked at Ruby in the rear-view mirror. “It just keeps getting better and better,” I said.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means I should have killed you with the car and put you out of your misery.”

“Ma-aa!” The word came out whiny like he was complaining I wouldn't share.

“I've seen the route, Wilson. It's better than it sounds.”

“Uh hunh.”

“It is, asshole,” Rick said. “You'll see.”

Rick guided me to the parking lot of a huge grocery store. The Market was part of a chain that had sprouted locations across southern Ontario over the last few years. I pulled into a spot that gave us a clear view of the main entrance. I cracked the windows and killed the engine.

“What the hell, man? It's freezing. Roll them up.”

I checked the lot and ignored the complaint.

“You hear me? Roll the windows up. Ma, tell him.”

“It keeps the glass from fogging up,” Ruby said.

Rick crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm just saying. It's cold. There's no need to freeze to death.”

“Maybe you should do less saying and more listening,” I said.

“Maybe you should remember who scored you this job.”

I turned my head so I could look at Rick. He was rubbing his knee and it took him a second to realize that I was staring at him.

“Right now your job is nothing more than a bit of drunken bathroom gossip. That little bit of knowledge is all you brought to the table. You can't call that a job. If it was a job, your mother wouldn't have found me. This thing will only become a job when I say it does, so sit there and shut up or I'll have your mother wash your mouth out.”

Rick started to muster a protest, but Ruby's hand touched his shoulder. “Don't, baby. We need his help.”

I chuckled to myself. The kid couldn't have been more of a pussy if he tried.

We had been in the parking lot almost an hour when The Market finally opened its doors for business. Rick did nothing but fidget and bitch the whole time. He whined about being cold, about being sore, and finally about having to pee. I made him use the bathroom in the Wendy's five hundred metres away from the grocery store. He put up a fight and I let his mother explain that going into the place you were casing was a bad idea. When he finally understood, he got out of the car with a lot of complaining. He limped towards the restaurant and I watched him go. The limp slowly dissolved as Rick got farther away from the car. By the time he got to the Wendy's, he was walking fine. When I turned my head towards Ruby, she said, “You don't have to say it.”

“But I'm going to.”

She sat back in the seat. “Fine.”

“Ruby, you know he can't do this job. He's not made for it. I could map the thing out from start to finish and he'd still fuck it up. He's probably already started. I'm betting he's already been hanging around the grocery store attracting all kinds of attention.”

“It's all my fault,” she said. “He never had a father growing up and I spoiled him.”

“You mean you ignored him while you gambled,” I said.

I saw her face in the rear-view and the reflection sneered back at me for the briefest of seconds. I had touched a nerve. Ruby's gambling had always been a problem. I could remember my uncle always knowing where to find her. She'd be playing cards in some back room or sitting in some bingo hall every time he needed her. She was always pissed when we showed up, because we were cooling her hot streak or we were bothering her when she was just about to turn things around.

“The kid's got your disease, but he's got a worse strain than you. He plays bigger stakes and he doesn't have your skills. He can rack up debt like a pro, but he can't earn enough to pay his debts. You could always cover your losses well enough, but you can't do double duty, especially when part of that is Rick's debt.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I'm saying the ship is sinking and it's time to get in a lifeboat.”

“I can't do that. He's my flesh and blood. I can't give up on him. You know what would happen?”

“Who's he owe?”

“Big River.” Ruby said the words quietly as though they were heavy on her tongue.

I whistled a low note. Rick liked to lose his money in Toronto poker games instead of bingo halls. The Big River triad planted their flag in Chinatown over a decade ago and wasted no time in assimilating the different local tongs that held on to small pockets of turf around the city. In a few years, Big River had organized a network that ran across the entire province. The triad started small, focussing on gambling and illegal imports, but as their influence grew so did their greed. The triad figured out sneaking in drugs and guns was about as easy as getting knockoff Prada bags past customs. And when they perfected their smuggling routes, people were the last innovation. Why bring in a purse you can sell once at a discount price, when you can bring in a person who will spend years working at sweatshop wages to pay for their freedom at a hugely inflated price? Better still, that same person would then pay the same thing over and over again to bring their relatives to Canada. The fine hand-stitching on a faux purse had nothing on the tight weave of a heartstring stretched across the ocean.

The triad had diversified, but they never gave up on what brought them to the dance. They took their gambling seriously and they took debts with even less humour. If Rick was in deep to Big River, the triad would hurt him, not enough to cripple, but bad enough for him to know they meant business. When he still didn't come up with the money, they'd make an example of him. It would be splashy and it would probably last a weekend.

“You might be better off skipping town.”

“I'm dying. I get treatments a couple times a week. I can't just pack up and go. If I did, I wouldn't have to pack much. Where would that leave Rick? He can't survive without me.”

“So your only option is to pull a job that will settle the bill.”

“You got it.”

“You know he won't learn his lesson. He'll just rack up another debt thinking he's badass enough to pay the tab with some more weekend gunplay.”

“You're not a parent, so you wouldn't understand. When you're a mom, you'll do anything for your kids. You'll pay any price to keep them safe. It doesn't matter if they'll do the same wrongs again, you'll always be there.”

I said nothing.

“I told you, you wouldn't understand,” she said.

I kept my mouth shut and pointed. The truck had just pulled into the lot.