Odd Jobs (15 page)

“Shit, you were doing the job they told you to do. That’s how they train you, to follow orders.”

“Yeah well, I should have been more than a Marine, more than a CIA agent. I should have been a person, a human being,” Sev says. “Look, you were really fucked up with your stunt tonight. But you were better than me. You were gonna face down the man and take your medicine. I’m ragging on you, but that’s what I should have done back then. Instead I’ve been looking over my shoulder and working this shit job. Everyone else involved in that little ‘training mission’ is worm food. Curtis and a few other friends helped me get by. Whenever I think things are getting normal, something always snaps me back to reality. I know if I went out and got a wife and some kids, somewhere along the way they would be paying for my mistakes.”

It’s too bad Sev felt he couldn’t have a family. He’d be pretty damn good at it. “Sev, you stuck your neck out for me today. You got other people to do the same. I really appreciate it. No one does that shit for me. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sev says. “The important thing is for you to be consistent with Bino and that guy Vic when you talk to Balducci. Just tell him some cop roughed you up and dropped you somewhere in Queens. He told you to tell the man ‘no more fights until they get their money.’ Then tell Balducci you asked the cop what man he was talking about. Then tell him that the cop punched you again and called you a wiseass. That’s going to tie out with Bino. You got it?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Sev told me to stay low, that I’d be done in a week or two anyway. We’d bought some time, but we hadn’t solved the problem yet. “Balducci is going to be nuts for a while figuring out which cops are out of control.”

I can’t believe that Balducci has control of the whole police force, but Sev says he does. The big guys in the force get money and everyone else is just plain scared shitless. He says it’s been that way pretty much forever. “The cops aren’t bad guys. Most of the time they do their job. They just know at certain times they got to look the other way. They got no choice; it’s not just about losing their job. And it’s not just the cops. They got cops, politicians, newspapers and every other angle to insulate themselves.”

“C’mon, didn’t this stuff stop years ago? Didn’t Giuliani chase the Mafia out of New York City?”

“Fuck, that shit is tame compared to this crap, kid. Forget The Sopranos. Balducci used to be part of that wise guy crap, but he was one of the few guys who could merge into this new corporation. Give him credit; he managed to reinvent himself. And this isn’t an Italian thing. They take all races and religions, just as long as you don’t got a heart or soul.”

“Anybody try to do something about this recently?” I ask.

“Yeah, plenty. Georgie Skolinsky was the most recent. But that shit happens all the time. They consider it a ‘minor irregularity.’ When they took Georgie’s head off, business just went on as usual.”

I ask him when the last time was that anyone came close to getting in their way.

Sev lets out a long sigh. “Ten years ago there was one
r
eal good shot at bringing down this whole thing. Some major guys from the Corporation were about to get nailed. There was a pretty determined detective and a real hotshot district attorney who had these guys dead-to-right. They had it all: taped conversations, photos and unknown hidden witnesses.

“Then some info got leaked to them and they started scrambling like motha-fuckers. They tortured the fuck out of the detective to make him sing. The word I got was that they used a blowtorch on different parts of his body until they got what they wanted. But I wasn’t there so what the fuck do I know? Anyway, they found out who the hidden witnesses were and I’m sure they don’t exist anymore.”

“What about the hotshot DA?”

Sev cocks his head and says, “They already had the situation under control and were just looking to set an example by that time. You know, get the word out that nobody should try this shit. Balducci sends Zog and Bino out to set that example.”

“Bino whacks people?” I ask, stunned by the idea.

“Not really. Remember, this was about 10 years ago, so Bino was just kinda getting started around here. They sent him out to ride shotgun and assist Zog. Of course, Zog didn’t need anyone to assist him. The guy jacks off to doing this shit. It was really just a final way to suck Bino into the point of no return. You can’t walk away after you’re an accessory to a high-profile killing, right?”

“That’s where I was heading, wasn’t it?”

“No doubt. Those stars were lining up. Anyway, Zog and Bino make their statement. Right there in broad daylight, they drive over the DA when the guy was crossing the street. It
was right in the middle of town. But here’s the thing: the guy was walking with his daughter. She had to be like 5 years old.”

For a moment, I go blind. My vision just disappears. In
my mind’s eye I see Karen, the doll, lying on a chair in the barbershop. Then I can see again, and Karen is gone. Shit, no, my mind is screaming. My stomach is in knots and my head gets foggy. My knees are losing tension and Sev has no idea what’s happening. He just continues, completely unaware that he is telling me my story. I gain just enough composure to say, “Long Island.” I look at Sev and say it again. “Long Island. It happened in Manhasset on Long Island, right?”

Sev looks at me in an inquisitive way. “Yeah, it did, but it’s pretty weird you would know. Taking out a prosecutor would normally make TV and front pages, yet this thing just got whispers. How do you know about it?”

I’m losing it. The knots in my stomach are now waves of nausea and I can’t control them. For the second time in my Kosher World career, I am blowing chunks. This time with no warning or, as I’m sure Sev is thinking, without any rhyme or reason. Whatever the case, the contents of my stomach echo on impact in this huge abandoned warehouse. My throat is burning from stomach acid.

Sev knew I didn’t have a father but I guess I never told him how he died. No reason my sister would come up in conversation either. I’d like to tell him now but I got to think this through.

Sev is looking at me real weird and I can’t blame him. When I’m able to speak, I say, “That guy Curtis really tagged me in my gut. My stomach’s been fucked up since he got me.”

Sev tilts his head and looks at me. Sev’s no dope, and he knows it’s not likely someone will heave an hour or so after getting hit. But what the fuck, I did heave, so let him come up with a better explanation. The only thing I know is I gotta get out of here; my head is really screwed up right now.

CHAPTER 12

The day after what should have been my last fight I was summoned into Balducci’s office. My story tied out with Bino, Vic Catino and the rest of them, but it’s hard looking at Balducci now. When I speak to Balducci I make sure to sound real nervous. I have no desire to look like a golden boy to him anymore. It’s a little late for this now, but I want him to start getting worried about bringing me into the group. I bitch to Balducci that I thought I was getting arrested, I don’t want a rap sheet, it’s so fucked up, blah, blah, blah. Let him start doubting I have the heart for his little club.

I don’t think it much matters though. I’m not on Balducci’s radar screen right now. It was just like Sev said: Balducci is having convulsions over who broke up the fights. Right now he thinks it’s a new group of cops with their hands out for kickbacks. When he realizes it’s not the cops he’s gonna really lose it. Anyone who could strike as quickly and effectively as Curtis will be a real threat.

I decide to bag my last week at Kosher World even though I really need the cash. There’s no way I can deal with these guys now. I was counting on winning a lot of money at my last fight to get me through my last year of college, and I’d bet big on myself to win. Now I’ve won nothing and I have to figure out how to get my big bet back. But all that isn’t even on my short list. Now that I know who was driving that car, number one on that list is a house in Queens.

For the fifth morning in a row I drive to 42 Prescott Lane in Howard Beach, Queens, park and wait. And wait. The first day I was here, Zog came out with some skanky-looking bimbo. The two of them practically left a slug trail on the streets. The third day Zog was alone, but there were people on the streets around him.

It’s 10 a.m. and raining and I’m still waiting. I touch the deadly contents of my jacket pocket and remind myself that I have to be cool. I can’t screw this up. I don’t want to draw attention to my car so I keep the windshield wipers off despite the drizzle. Then I notice that Zog’s door seems to be opening. Someone with a light blue warm-up suit, rotund figure and scraggly beard comes out. I can’t make out the face yet, but there’s no doubt who it is. This is perfect. He’s alone and there’s no one around. The rain is keeping everyone inside.

I quietly exit the car and approach Zog as he walks from his house. He is deep in thought, probably about drowning a puppy or something. I get closer and closer but he still doesn’t see me. When Zog does finally catch me in his peripheral vision, he jolts a bit from the surprise.

“Hey,” I say to him.

Zog stops in his tracks and doesn’t respond. He looks at me but doesn’t answer my greeting. I can just imagine his vast brain running all sorts of scenarios and variations and trying to conclude what the fuck I am doing in front of his house. After letting him stew on the situation for a moment, I say, “We need to take a ride. Balducci sent me here to pick you up. He told me to get you because we know who screwed up the Industrial Road bouts. He knows what they are looking for, and Balducci has no intentions of playing ball. He wants the problem to disappear and he wants us to do it.”

Zog squints and says, “Mr. Ballduzzi never told me any of this.”

I tell him that Balducci is being real careful to cover his tracks and to put space between the troops and management. Things are moving fast, I say. Balducci depends on him. Trusts him. Zog opens up a toothy grin. “My car’s down the block,” I say. Let’s go.”

“Why do we take your car? Why not mine?”

I tell him that I could give a flying fuck whose car we take, but I know that Balducci is steaming today. No one’s doing anything right, he says. We’re supposed to meet him at Hunts Point, and he doesn’t think Zog can find the place. I say that this has to go down today without any fuckups. “You want to start changing his plan, fine with me. But I’m telling him you wanted to change the plans.”

Zog hesitates and then says to me, “You drive.”

A short time later we’re on the Long Island Expressway and Zog pulls out his cell phone and starts dialing. Shit, I can’t have him talking to anyone. I didn’t think about a phone. Fortunately for me, Zog is one of the 12 percent of the world population who is left-handed. When he puts the phone up to his left ear, I grab the phone out of his hand and throw it out of my window, smashing it to pieces. “Balducci told me, make sure no one knows where we are going.”

Zog is obviously surprised by my move, but what can he do? He’s so flustered that he can hardly get any words out. It’s hard enough to deal with his Russian hip-hop accent when he’s calm, let alone when he gets heated up. “Fuck you. I call who I want. Dawg, you going to buy me a new phone or we have serious problem.”

“Listen up,” I snap back. “Before you start getting emotional over a damn phone, just think about if you’re supposed to be using a phone now. And don’t fucking cry to me about a broken phone. It wasn’t too long ago you had me wrapped up in cellophane, counting my last few breaths. I had to get over that, so you can get over a damn phone.”

“Next time, just tell me to turn phone off,” he mumbles.

My heart is pounding right now. Something can go wrong at any minute. It’s not like this is a science. I am about to do something so nuts that I’m almost hoping something happens and stops me. I don’t even know what to concentrate on.

Zog interrupts my attempt to concentrate. He looks at me earnestly and says, “Sorry I wrap you up in the cellophane and stop your breathing.”

I look at Zog and say in an equally sincere tone, “Sorry I threw your phone out of the window.”

Zog nods in approval and says, “It is okay. Now we are even.”