Mask Market

“I heard it was twenty.”

“Twenty-five, man.”

“If it’s as fine as you say it is—”

“It’s finer. You’ll see.”

“When?”

“Tonight, maybe. If you check out. I’m nobody to fuck with, man. ’Long as you understand.”

The pathetic amateur gave me the address of a vacant lot behind a deserted tool-and-die plant in South Jamaica. That wasn’t the amateur part. Telling me about a midnight meet at four in the afternoon, that was.

By the time I pulled into the back lot behind the wheel of a gunmetal Mercedes four-door, Max was dialed into the molecular vibrations of the empty building as if he’d been part of the first concrete poured into the foundation. The Mole had dropped him off, driving one of those Con Ed trucks he seems to be able to “find” whenever he needs one. Probably the same place he had found the Mercedes.

I got out, dressed in a dark-gray suit, a white silk handkerchief in the breast pocket matching the white shirt I wore without a tie. I spotted the target, but acted as if I hadn’t. He was lounging in the shadows of the back wall, cleverly dressed all in black. I lit a cigarette and paced in tight little circles, glancing at my watch: 11:51.

He let me wait a few minutes. Not because he was a pro, but because making people do what he wanted made him feel more like himself.

He rolled up on me out of the darkness, like some movie ninja. I jumped back, fake-startled.

“You got something to show me?” he said, voice swollen with confidence now that he was sure he was dealing with exactly what he expected—a nervous man with a heavy fetish and a heavier wallet.

“Sure,” I said, keeping my voice soft.

“I got to search you first,” he said. “You know the routine.”

“What do you—?”

“Oh, fuck it, man! Just turn around, assume the position. I got a piece, see?” he said, holding up some little pearl-handled popcorn-pimp special. “You do anything stupid, and—pow!—that’s all they is for you. Way out here, nobody find your body for a month.”

“Listen,” I said, standing with my arms extended away from my sides, “just take it easy, okay?”

His pat-down was just like him—rough and stupid.

“All right, man. You can turn around.”

“Can I see her now?” I said, a little too eagerly.

“You know what I got to see first, right?”

“Sure, sure. I brought it.”

“You brought twenty-five K with you?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to…drag this out. You’re not going to rob me, are you?”

“I fucking should, dumb as you are, man. Show it to me.”

“It’s in the trunk. I put it in a briefcase, so you could—”

“Well, open it, motherfucker.”

“Sure. Just don’t—”

I unlocked the trunk. As it slid up, I stepped aside, and the nose of the Prof’s double-barreled sawed-off went jack-in-the-box on the pimp.

“Surprise!” the little man said.

“Hey, man. I—”

Max had him by then. The little pistol dropped from the pimp’s nerve-dead hand.

The Prof climbed out of the trunk, the sawed-off never wavering from the pimp’s midsection.

“I think we should talk now,” I said.

Inside the building, I used my pencil flash to illuminate a clear spot. Max crooked his left forearm around the pimp’s neck, grabbed his own right biceps, and curled his right hand over the top of the pimp’s head.

“All he has to do is squeeze now,” I said. “You understand?”

“Look, man—”

“Sssh,” I said, gently. “There’s nothing for you to be worried about. I kept my word, didn’t I?”

“I—”

“Ssssh,” I said again. “You know I’m not a cop now, right?”

“Yeah, man. I was—”

“But you, you do have the girl, right?”

“Nah, man. I was just trying to run a game, you know?”

“If that’s true, you’re a corpse,” I said, not raising my voice.

I brought my thumb and forefinger together. Max tightened the noose. The pimp’s eyelids fluttered. I moved my fingertips apart.

The pimp gasped a few times.

“Want to try again?” I asked him.

“It ain’t what you think, man. I swear! It was all her idea.”

“This ‘her’?” I said, showing him the photo with my flashlight.

“Yeah! She came up to me, man. This whole thing—”

“That’s enough,” I told him. “We don’t care how it happened. Some people put up a hundred grand for her. So we want her, and we want her right now. It’s worth the twenty-five we promised, you turn her up, okay?”

“She ain’t here,” he said.

“We know that,” I said, barely above a whisper. “That’s not the question you were asked.” I held up my thumb and forefinger again, letting him see the gesture.

“No, no, man! Listen, I prove it to you, okay? She’s at my woman’s house. Few minutes from here. But she ain’t tied up or nothing, she just sitting there, watching TV. How’s that?”

“That’s real good,” I said, soothingly. “Now let’s go pick up the package.”

“This place where your woman has the merchandise, is it an apartment or…?” I asked him. I was behind the wheel, the pimp seated next to me, Max behind him, the choke hold back in place.

“It’s a private house, man,” he said, a wire-thin twist of pride in his voice. “You know where Union Hall Street is? You just—”

“I know where it is,” I told him, keying the ignition.

“Hey, man, this ain’t the way to—”

“Just relax. Be very calm. You know the payphone down that way?” I said, pointing with my whole hand, so the sparkler on my finger would calm him. “A few blocks past the boulevard?”

“That one? Man, that one hasn’t worked for years. It’s all ripped out and—”

“It works now,” I promised him. “I’m going to pull up right next to it. We’re going to get out, all of us. What you’re going to do, you’re going to call your woman, understand? You’re going to tell her everything went down just like you planned. What you need her to do is bring the girl outside. Nice warm night, let them sit on the front stoop, so you can see them when we pull up. Soon as we’re sure it’s the right girl, we hand you this,” I said, making a gesture with my right hand. The Prof handed over a hard-sided attache case. “Look for yourself,” I told the piece of toxic waste sitting next to me.

He unsnapped the case on his lap. “Damn!” he whistled. “You for real, man.”

“This is just business, like I told you all along. Maybe a little different than you thought, but it’s the same payoff, right?”

“Right!” he said. “Look, man, you don’t need this noose around my neck, okay? I’m a businessman, just like you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said, making a sign. Max released his hold. “We’ll trust you that much. But hand the money back over; we’re not going to have you jump out and run.”

“I wouldn’t—” he started to say, then interrupted himself to hand over the attache case. I casually tossed it into the back seat, where the Prof caught it deftly.

“You ever get more like her?” I asked him.