Hard Candy

'Sure.'

'You working on anything?'

'Lots of things, man. This a social call?'

'Maybe a trade. You know the shelter by the meat market?'

'Sure.'

'Two o'clock coming. On the far corner?'

'Sure.'

83

THE CADILLAC SEDAN stopped on the east side of the short bridge. The old man stepped out of the back. His driver opened the door, stood outside, watching. The pack watched him. I leaned against the stone wall, Max between me and the west side entrance. Traffic rumbled underneath us- tail end of the rush hour.

I let him come to me.

'Who's this?' he snarled, tilting his head at Max.

'What d'you want, Julio?'

'I want to know who this is.'

'Fuck you.'

'Burke, don't play with me. You got a pass. One time. You know why. Nobody gets two.'

'Save it for the Godfather movies, old man. You don't need to know who this is. You had any brains, you'd already know.'

'Why's he here?'

'To memorize your face, okay? So don't threaten me.'

Max stood as stony as the wall, eyes slitted on Julio. Camera lenses. The old man's driver put his hand in his pocket, restless.

'Tell him to stay where he is, Julio. My brother wants to hurt somebody bad, and you'll do. That guido driving your car, he comes out with a piece and the Jews make him into chopped liver. Look for yourself.'

Julio waved his hand as if he'd just seen an old friend. His driver took out a cigarette, kept his hands in sight. The street was empty like it was four in the morning. Except for the pack. One of them walked over to the same pay phone I'd used. Picked up the receiver.

'We can't stay here long,' I told Julio.

He took a breath. 'Last night, he hit Torenelli's daughter.'

'What?'

'On Sutton Place. That was the don's daughter. She broke away from the family. Years ago. Married a citizen. Gives parties to raise money for the homeless, lives in a two-million-dollar co-op, okay?'

'So?'

He moved in close to me, prison-yard whisper cutting, hands shaking. 'The husband, he comes home, finds her on the bed. Staked out like a piece of beef, wrists and ankles wired to the corners. With her head chopped off. Off! He shoved the head between her legs, you understand? So her face was looking at the husband when he comes in the door.'

'Who?'

'Wesley. Who the fuck else? Who else would do that?'

'A freak.'

'Sure. A freak who can get past the security in that joint. A freak that don't leave a lousy fingerprint. Not a trace. It was a pro hit. The fucking detectives threw up just looking at it. The husband- he's in a rubber room.'

'What's this got to do with me?'

'It's Wesley's work. A fucking message, right? The don said he wasn't going to pay that maniac. He didn't do the job- he don't get paid. Wesley, he says he don't get paid, he's coming for all of us. Crazy motherfucker. He's a hitter. A contract man. He don't tell us, we tell him. Now he has to go. We can keep the sicko stuff outta the papers for only so long.'

The old man tried to fire up one of his twisted black cigars. He couldn't get it lit- it wasn't the wind. I cracked a wooden match in my palm, held the cup for him. He leaned close to take the flame. A sour smell came off him.

'This ain't the first one. He dropped one of the don's boys. One shot, right in the back of the neck. Calls up, says, 'One down.' Like he's going to pick us off one at a time.'

'Do whatever you want.'

'No, it don't play like that. You started this fucking mess, you clean it up, capisce?'

'I started it? Where d'you get that? You got things mixed up. Wesley just wants his money, right?'

'He was up front with us, we woulda done that, okay? That Mortay- we know Wesley didn't hit him. But there was another guy- one of Sally Lou's boys. Our inside man. To watch Mortay. We had it all wired. The way we got it, you had a meet with Mortay in a playground in Chelsea.' His deep-set eyes turned up to watch mine. Waited a beat, went on. 'Our guy was along for backup. And he gets dropped. From the rooftop. Sniper shot. Somebody working with a silencer and a night scope. That's the murder the cops want you for…that's what they busted you on, right?'

It wasn't McGowan or Morales who made that bust. They wouldn't have squawked to the other cops anyway. I felt the gears mesh. The city has a compost heap for a heart- why shouldn't gangsters drop a dime on it- maybe grow some dollars?

'I wasn't there,' I said quietly. 'The judge cut me loose.'

'Yeah, you wasn't there. Okay, I'm easy. But it was Wesley on that roof. Nobody else works like that…like a fucking hillbilly in the mountains. That puts you and that maniac together.'

I watched him, waiting.

'It's good enough for the don,' Julio said.

'Why don't you just pay Wesley the money?'

'Now you got it. That's exactly what we're gonna do, pal. And you're gonna deliver it.'

'No thanks. I don't do crossfires.'

'You gonna do this one. You don't, the don says to tell you you're on his list too.'

'Why? What difference does it make?'

'You think…after what that fuck did…you think the don's gonna be happy just seeing him dead? He gets his hands on Wesley, it's gonna take that animale a week to die.'

'I'm not meeting Wesley to hand over money- he'd waste the errand boy- you know that.'

An alligator's smile. 'I told them…Burke's too slick to play the chump. We don't care how it's done. We gotta have Wesley. Do whatever you gotta do. But quick.'

'I'll get back to you.'

'Don't even think about hiding. There's no place you can go in this town. One phone call and you're locked up again. You know what it costs to have a man hit in jail today?'

'You mean one more phone call, don't you?' I said, so close to his face I could see the pores. 'Goodbye, old man.'

The pack watched him walk to his car. Watched it drive away. Watched me use the pay phone again. Mama's voice was soft and clear. 'He called. Say, same time, same place. Tonight.'

Max and I walked back to the Plymouth. One of the young men in the pack caught my eye. I got the message. Don't. Come. Back.

I'd heard it before.

84