Hard Candy

Wesley was standing against the wall. By himself, like always. Dayton rolled up on him. I didn't hear what they said to each other. Dayton grabbed Wesley by the front of his shirt, pulled him close, slapped him hard across the face. Wesley slumped, hands away from his body. Dayton left him there, walking away with his boys.

One of the young Italian guys standing with us laughed. 'My man is about to be mondo dee-ceased,' nodding his head at Wesley. He said it the same way they say dee-fense at pro football games. The Prof flashed his hustler's smile.

'It won't play the way you say. For one to five, I say my man comes out alive.'

Within minutes, we'd booked twenty cartons of cigarettes against a hundred that Dayton wouldn't outlive Wesley.

It was a sucker bet. Dayton was a Dianabol freak. Snarfing the steroids the way other guys in the joint did Talwin, or Valium, or anything else the docs handed out to help you escape for a few hours. They made him massive- bigger than a human should be. When the hacks found him slumped over the pile of weights in the gym, there wasn't a mark on him. But his skin had a nice bluish tone to it. The guys who bet with us thought we got lucky behind an OD. The ones that stayed in prison long enough put it all together. By then, going up against Wesley was an out-bet.

101

MORALES braced me as I was coming out of Lily's joint. It had to happen- a pit bull would drop a bite sooner than Morales would walk away on the losing end. It would have been okay, but Max was with me. About four steps behind, in my shadow. Morales is about my height but he goes about two-twenty- none of it fat. He was a born head-cracker, not a gunman. That saved his life.

He snatched a handful of my jacket, shoved me face-first to the wall, running his rap, telling me if I was carrying I was going back to the joint…when he went dead-quiet. I looked back over my shoulder. Max had one hand on the cop's arm, the other at the back of his neck, bending him backward at an impossible angle. I spun off the wall, making a 'drop it' sign to Max. Morales slumped to the sidewalk. I jammed my thumb back in a hitchhiking gesture, twirling my hand, telling Max to disappear.

I knelt next to Morales. He was trying to catch his breath and draw his gun off his right hip with his left hand at the same time- the right arm hung limp and useless at his side.

'You want me to get it for you?' I asked him.

'Cocksucker!' Almost sobbing with the effort.

'Take it easy. You're okay.'

'You're not.'

'I already know that. Am I under arrest?'

People passed us on the sidewalk. Nobody stopped. I tried to help him to his feet. His eyes were somewhere between rage and pain. Rage won. He fired the elbow of his good arm at my chest. I stepped back and he chopped air. I left him there. Went back to the wall. Stood facing it. Waiting.

Heard him get to his feet, muscles tightening over my kidneys. Felt the barrel of his pistol jam me just where I expected it. Didn't hurt any less.

'Get in the car.'

I walked in front of him. His car was empty. He opened the passenger door. I got in. Watched him walk around to the driver's side. His gun was back in his holster.

'You're under arrest. Assault on a police officer. You have the right to…'

'Save it. Do what you have to do. You know I never touched you.'

'Not you. Your pals. Whoever they were. I never saw them. But you…you're gonna tell me who they are. Where to find them. Right?'

'I didn't see anything. I was facing the wall.'

'That's the way you want it?'

'I don't want any of this. It's you who want things. Things happened, they happen. Whatever you think, I didn't write the script.'

'I heard things about you,' he said. Lighting a cigarette with the dashboard lighter, not offering me one. 'From my partner. He said you were a man. That you could be trusted. We go in on a thing with you- and you Pearl Harbor us- leave us with our dicks in our hands.'

'You ever rap a guy in the head with your nightstick when you were in uniform?'

He didn't say anything- that was my answer.

'What if the guy had an eggshell skull? What if he died?'

'Never happen.'

'You mean it never happened. There's a difference, right? It could happen. And you wouldn't have meant it to come down like that. But the guy would be just as dead.'

'You saying that's what happened with you in the massage parlor?'

'I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just saying…you plan things…sometimes the wheels come off. You do the best you can with it. Survive.'

'We found out some things. Since everything blew up in Times Square. The guy we found in pieces in the construction site- there was a contract out on him.'

'I don't know…'

'Yeah, you don't know what I'm talking about, hit man. I didn't think that was your side of the street.'

'It's not.'

'There's a mob contract out on a guy. The guy gets dead. We know you did it. We're supposed to think it was personal?'

'Think what you want- that's what you been doing.'

'Give it another spin.'

'Not a chance. You keep playing me for something I'm not. You pulled my jacket- you know I'm not a soldier. I'm not a hired killer, and I'm not stupid.'

'We got you tied into that skell. The one that got iced in the playground.'

'That was the charge I was arrested on. So how come I'm on the street?'

'I look like a fucking pansy judge to you? You think I give a fuck about probable cause?'

'You say that to say what?'

'We weren't going to be pals, Burke. But you don't want me for an enemy.'

'Amen.'

'So give me something.'

I lit a smoke. Used my own matches. Watching the color drift back into his face. His right arm still hung limp.

'I'll give you something, Morales. I'll give you a couple of things. On the house. One, your source. The one who you say tied me into some homicide in a playground. And the one who told you about a contract on a guy you found in Times Square. They're the same man. The same family man. Two, you fucking know he's a liar.'

'So you say.'

'Save it for the first offenders, cop. You believed this guy, you'd take me down. Like you said, we're not pals. But I know you. You thought it was me, you sincerely thought I burned you and McGowan, you'd flake me with a piece instead of just selling me wolf tickets about carrying one.'

A smile twisted on his face. 'You sure?'

'Yeah.'

'Say you're right…just to be saying it, okay? What's in it for this guy who dropped a dime on you?'

I crossed my hands in front of my chest, one finger pointing at Morales, the other to my door. 'He did it. Not me.'

'Yeah. But we weren't looking at this guy. He wasn't a suspect.'