Odd Jobs (7 page)

“Hey, kid, $4,200, awesome take. You were such an underdog, the losing bets had to really shell it out. Really nice numbers.”

“I get this four grand?”

“Yep, I already took my cut for making book.”

The crowd is still hovering around the ring, giving me the impression there is at least one more fight. I guess I wasn’t the main attraction. I have to clean up and get my shit together. I glance around and see Sev looking at me. He’s actually smiling. I feel like Santa Claus; I’m the only fuckin’ guy that can make Sev smile.

I walk through the courtyard and into the factory. The Hotdog Room is cranking and full of people. I head to the bathroom and wash my face. I’m pretty bloody from getting scraped against the pavement, but nothing major. And that four grand goes a long way to making me feel better.

I clean my bleeding face with water and it really stings. I am so tired right now; I need a minute alone. I slump down on the tile floor next to the last of eight sinks and lean my back against the wall. There are some loud grunts coming from one of the bathroom stalls. I guess I’m not alone in here. The guy sounds like a giant animal stuck in a trap. He’s apparently in a bigger battle than I just fought against Butch Bombart. A pungent aroma fills the large room. I can’t imagine who could be making these sounds. Maybe someone seven feet tall. I’m too tired to get up and leave, though. After a few more minutes of bestial noises, the toilet flushes.

The door of the stall opens and out walks Rabbi Silver; he gives me a confused glance, zips his baggy black pants and shuffles out the door. You would think he might consider washing his hands before blessing the meat.

CHAPTER 4

On Monday the workers are treating me differently. Not only do I exist but I’m also back to my old routine, the one I had when
I
started.
I
spend the morning unloading sides of beef for transport to the butcher block.
I
now have breaks like everyone else and am even offered some coffee. How ‘bout that? Someone offered me coffee. I feel like I’m fuckin’ royalty.

Throughout the morning, guys are telling me what a good fight I had. I’m having the best morning since I began
working here. I would be happy to be left alone, but I can dig the celebrity treatment.

At lunch I go to the sandwich truck that is parked out
s
ide the Kosher World courtyard. The old guy inside the truck is drenched. While we work in the freezers all day, this poor slob has the opposite problem. He’s stuck in a silver metal truck in the midday sun. I order a ham and cheese on a roll with a soda. It’s hard to imagine what’s sweating more: this old guy or the ham I’m about to eat. I put down $10 but the old guy in the truck pushes it back. He puts my sandwich and soda in a bag, but before he hands it to me, he drops in a packet of cookies and gives me a nod. I am the man!

As I head to the lounge to eat my free meal, I’m thinking about one issue that needs to be addressed. Just then Felipe catches up to me. “Yo, nice fight. You really surprised everyone.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

There is a shortage of real estate at the long cafeteria tables in the lounge, just a few scattered seats here and there. Sev is seated in his usual spot toward the corner with his captains Sal and Frank. I spot Bino the ball-buster sitting dead center.

“Are you going to fight again?” Felipe asks. He asks loud enough so the others in the lounge can hear. A few of the guys turn to hear my answer.

“I dunno, I haven’t been thinking about it. Maybe. You gonna spar with me, help me train?”

Felipe laughs. “Not me, man. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Okay, Romeo, check this out. I got to take care of something and at the same time, maybe I can scare up a sparring partner.”

I walk toward the center and, interestingly enough, Felipe follows. I weave my way around the large cafeteria tables that occupy the room until we are standing directly in front of Bino. The jerk looks up and sees me standing there; he gives me a quizzical look and then goes back to his bright orange macaroni and cheese. It’s time to really start leveraging off all my recent good fortune.

“Hey asshole, you’re in my seat,” I say loudly and firmly.

Bino and some of the others look up, surprised by this unprovoked comment. The room is starting to quiet down a bit; I figure maybe half the guys know what’s going on. But for some reason, Bino looks perplexed.

“You ugly pale fuck, get out of my seat.” I stare at him intently, refusing to let myself blink. I just keep thinking about how that cocksucker has been giving me such a hard time, just for laughs.

Bino gives me a blank look. He has no idea what to do. The lounge is even quieter, and in his confusion Bino turns and looks at Sev. Sev is staring straight forward, trying to chew on his sandwich, obviously doing everything he can to hold back a smile at the same time. It’s not working, and Sev’s smile grows wider and wider. It’s getting pretty easy to get him to smile. Clearly, Bino ain’t getting any help from Sev.

With an open hand, I slap down hard into Bino’s plate of macaroni and cheese, sending the crap all over the guy. I know it’s more third grade than it is OK Corral, but fuck it. I’m gonna send a message that I can push back. Bino’s in a pretty bad spot. He should do something, but if he goes after me, he knows now that I’ll put the hurt on him.

Bino looks at himself wearing his lunch. He stands up and is trying to say something. The fucking guy is so embarrassed that his pale skin is turning red. Maybe I did him a favor here. Someone should screw around with him 24 hours a day; with the surge in blood flow to his face, he almost looks human. He finally blurts out, “Fuck you, man! Don’t think I can’t get you back.”

With that comment he storms out. The guys in the lounge egg him on, saying “Oooooooo” in unison.

When Bino is gone, practically the whole lounge is laughing. The guys who were sitting next to Bino scoot over a bit to make room for Felipe and me. I brush off some of the macaroni and cheese that landed on the long bench. I know the guys bitch about what an asshole Bino is. I have a hunch taking care of this will go a long way. Maybe it’s a stupid risk, but I think I just made life better. In any case, it feels real good.

I’ve just swallowed the first bite of my sandwich when Lily comes screaming into the lounge. She’s in a panic and wailing uncontrollably. Felipe turns to me and says, “Man, can she be dramatic.”

I can’t make out what she is trying to say but I’m sure it’s nothing good. Everyone is trying to go about their business rather than get involved with Lily. Finally Amy Horwitz from packaging tries to get her under control. Lily’s face is bright red and she’s breathing like a cow giving birth. I’ve never seen hysteria like this.

Finally Lily calms down enough to tell us what happened. She says she went to the women’s locker room to start her shift and opened up her locker. What she found was her boss Georgie and his hairy ears staring at her. The problem was, Georgie wasn’t all in one piece. His severed head was gazing at her from the top shelf. The rest of him was in her locker too. Apparently someone shot Georgie, hacked up his body, put him in garbage bags and stuffed him into Lily’s locker. They put his head in a clear plastic bag and left it on the top shelf of her locker for maximum effect.

It takes the police about 20 minutes to get here. They are taping off areas and questioning everyone. The police are amazed it took till noon to discover Georgie, as he’d been there overnight at least. The other women apparently smelled something rank in the locker room but just figured it was Lily being hygienically challenged. Kosher World is shut down for the day, but we all have to hang around in case the cops want to ask any questions.

The next day they get us working as soon as possible. Sev tells us, “Let the police do their job and you do yours.” It’s a surreal atmosphere. People are milling about like little kids at a party for adults. I stumble like a zombie to my spot in the Hotdog Room.

No one wants to talk about the murder. I’m getting the impression this didn’t come out of the blue. People are upset, but nobody’s shocked. No one will tell me anything, either. Just when I think Kosher World can’t get any weirder, it moves up a rung on the weird ladder. And while it was never really safe, it feels downright dangerous now.

So I just keep to myself and do my job, trying to pretend nothing awful has happened. People are doing their jobs and leaving me alone, so I can’t complain too much. Throughout the week some of the shifts are pretty thin as people go to Georgie’s funeral and pay their respects to his wife and two daughters. I am more relieved than ever as this week concludes.

CHAPTER 5

It’s only been a week since Georgie was killed and it’s already business as usual. Sort of. No one is talking about the murder, as if it didn’t
happen. I don’t get it; not only was Georgie a co-worker, but he was also one of the guys in charge. I know less than everyone else, but one thing is clear to me: it’s not smart to talk about Georgie now.

It’s time for me to leave, and I can’t wait to bounce. By the end of a day here, I need a nice hot tub and massage. But I’ll settle for pizza in Hempstead and watching my mother stare at the stupid shows on the Game Show Network. Then I’ll crash for the night and do it all over again.

I leave the courtyard and lock eyes with a man in a light blue warm-up suit. He’s a strange-looking guy, sunburned with a bushy, bright-blond beard, big gold chains and a huge gut.

No doubt he is looking at me. I walk past him, but even with my back toward him I can feel him looking at me. What the hell is he doing?

As I turn the corner on Chet Boulevard, I forget about the guy. I must have just missed the bus. There’s only one person at this usually crowded bus stop. Standing there by his lonesome is one of my all-time favorite people, Sev Reynard. I know Sev doesn’t live in Long Island, so there’s no reason for him to be waiting for the Grand Central Express. Maybe I missed some corned beef scraps when I was cleaning up a room.

I walk
up
to the bus stop and without saying a word I stand behind Sev. We both stand there, weighed down by that awkward silence that is always found in elevators, at chance meetings with old girlfriends and in the company of factory bosses who torture grunts. We just stand there. The first person that talks loses.

“Hey, Kevin. You in a hurry or you got a few minutes to talk?”

I look at Sev for a moment and say, “I’m not in any hurry. What’s up?”

“There’s a bar two blocks away. You up for a drink?”

“Sure, but I never saw a bar out here.”

Sev motions with his eyes to the left. The outdoor light drains some of the contrast from his white eyes and dark black skin but he’s still got a commanding look. Sev starts walking past Chet Boulevard. and I follow without talking. We go south on Roogie Avenue. Sev says, “It’s in an alley next to Moonbeam Cheese. You won’t see it unless you know about it.”

But there it is, a simple red brick building with a neon Budweiser sign and, I have to admit, a pretty good logo painted on the glass. The logo is a huge blue train, but the front of the train has an angry human face. A cloud of green smoke billows from the irate mouth and in the smoke are the words “LOCOMOTIVE BREATH.”

From the inside, it looks just like the Blarney Stone I was at a couple of weeks ago. The only difference here is the rock star posters covering the walls. There’s Led Zeppelin, Grateful Dead, Eric Clapton and a bunch of others I can’t make out.

“There’s the guy that owns the place, Harv Hatch. We call him ‘H’.”

I turn around and see H standing behind the bar and pouring some pretzels into a bowl. He’s wearing a shirt with a Confederate flag and the name Lynrd Skynrd. H stands about six feet tall with a scrawny frame and concave chest that looks way out of proportion because of his bowling ball gut that protrudes above a large metal belt buckle. He has a scraggly beard that can’t cover all the places it’s supposed to on his face. His long, dirty-blond hair actually is dirty and doesn’t cover his head much anymore, either.