People all about laughed at this sally. I tried to grin along but my face had gone tight. Hit?
“Forty too much?”
Trazz went tsss-tsss some more, said, “Forty twenny-eight short, Busman.” More hearty laughs. A jocular company.
Trazz swayed away, pivoting on his right hip. Quiet and speed together, for all his deformity.
“See, Lovejoy? N’York’s way.” Busman rose from his chair, darkening the known world, nodded me along with him. We walked the screen-studded walls. “We see the goods come, charge a percennage. Only small, nuthin’ spectacular.”
“What’s a smurf, Busman?” I had to look upwards almost at right angles.
Folk nearby chuckled. A girl snorted in disbelief, hurriedly composed herself when Busman idly looked round.
“Smurf is a mule, Lovejoy. Carries the bag, see? Drugs, money fo’ washing in these clean white streets of ours, guns, anythin’ the man wants, see? Six cents on the dollar.”
“Who’s this man, then?”
He laughed so much he almost fell down, literally sagging helplessly. I had to try and prop the bloody nerk up. Nobody came to help, even though I cried out when my spine buckled, because they were all rolling in the aisles too. I got him to a chair at a screen showing the panel of long-distance arrivals and lent him my hankie so he could snort and wipe his eyes. What the hell had I said?
“The man’s who-evuh, Lovejoy,” he said. “Poh-lice hack businesses, right? Then they
“Not just one person?”
“You catchin’ own, man!”
He strolled up deeper into the room. It was extensive. At the inner end a row of American pool tables. Trazz was there, allocating jobs to a small crowd of men, all sizes and shapes. We went through a doorway, along a corridor and into a comfortable living room. A woman about Trazz’s size came up smiling, got introduced.
“How d’you do, Lorrie?” I greeted. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Busman loved that. “We gotta gentleman here, no mistake. He sprunged me last week, that big society mouthpiece. Give him a drink.”
We rested in deep leather armchairs. I was given some hooch that made my eyes water. Lorrie was thrilled, seeing my gasp as evidence of sensitivity.
Busman enjoyed himself telling her how I’d got myself almost dissected by the maelstrom in the concourse. I worked out that we were somewhere deep below West 42nd Street, the bus station heaving and churning away way above our heads. I didn’t like the sensation. I looked round. No antiques, which was a disappointment.
“Is this all a part of…?”
“Sure is,” Busman said. ”They don’t call for the rent, is all.” He laughed. Lorrie laughed.
“Do they know this goes on?”
“Sure do, Lovejoy.” He explained to Lorrie, “He don’t know frum nuthin’ Lorrie. Like a chile, so say everythin’ two times but start over part way in, see? Tell him it. I gotta check Trazz not too vicious this time.” He went into an inner room which had more screens projecting from its walls.
She was fascinated, started to explain, repeating it slower as if I was gormless.
“You really don’t understand,” she marvelled. “I think it’s kinda sweet, y’know? Like…” She dug for a word. “Like innocent, y’know?”
Narked, I said I was following all right. She said hey sure, and went on telling me how Busman’s world worked. Cash defaulters had to be punished. Sarpi’s drug carriers arriving from the south today would be attacked, their merchandise seized. It was an illegal Customs and Excise.
“Why don’t the police stop it?” I said at one point, which called for more repetition, slower still, Lorrie painstakingly mouthing the words as if I’d gone deaf.
“Police got their own hack, see? Smurfers take care of them, like airlines, like property developers, building trades. Like merger capital, see? Like bullion mark-ups that happen of a sudden for no reason. Like movies that bomb, like million-dollar shows go turkey, a politician gets himself elected —”
“Elected?” I’d heard Yanks had universal suffrage.
“Sure. One’s elected, the others not paid enough, see?”
“The man?” I guessed shrewdly.
She was delighted. “You got it, Lovejoy! It’s
I said, “Lorrie, I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and patience. I’m grateful.”
“Think nothing of it, Lovejoy,” she said shyly. ”It’s our pleasure.”
We talked of homes for a while, me saying about my cottage in England and trying hard to remember the price of groceries and all that so she could be outraged at differences higher or lower. Busman returned, downing a couple of whiskies more and saying that Trazz was putting too savage and that he’d have to go. He was proud that Lorrie had finally explained the way life worked. “She bright,” he said. I concurred. She was ten times brighter than me.
“Honey, Lovejoy in that shitty Benidormo,” she complained elegantly. “You not do something?”
