– Let me in. Please let me in.
The guy from the top floor is coming down the stairs.
– UPS?
Timmy is trying to hold the door closed against me, his skinny arms shaking.
– Help. Help.
He wants it to be a scream, but he’s so scared that it just wheezes out with no force at all.
– Please, Tim. I need help.
– Help. Help.
The guy from the intercom is getting close.
– Hey! U! P! S!
Tim’s face is red with strain. I put my weight into it and shove him back into his apartment. I’m through the door and closing it behind me and he’s trying to run away, but it’s a studio and there’s no fucking place to go. I lock the door and look out the peephole and see the back of a guy in boxers and a T-shirt standing on the landing and looking down the stairwell. I turn back to the room. Tim is scrambling up the ladder to his loft bed. I can see the wire to the phone leading up there. I grab the wire and give it a yank and the phone flies off the loft to the floor and lands on a bunch of dirty clothes. Tim makes a scared sound, looks at me and climbs the rest of the way up onto the bed. I can see him up there, huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth and making a quiet keening sound.
I take Bud’s bag from my shoulder and put it on the floor. I walk across the room to the ladder and climb it until my head sticks up over the edge. Tim pushes himself farther back against the wall and grabs a pillow and points it at me as if it were a weapon.
– Don’t you hurtme. Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me.
I want to leave. I want to leave him alone and out of all this, but I can’t.
– Tim.
– No.
– Tim!
– Oh, God.
– Tim! I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. I. I. I.
Slowly I climb the rest of the way onto the bed and crawl over to him. I take the pillow out of his shaking hands and put it in his lap and put my head on it and wrap my arms around his waist.
– Oh, Jesus, Tim. I. I. I.
After a while he climbs down, gets a pint bottle ofTullamore Dew from a shelf and drinks it.
The truth is,Tim’s connections to the underworld aren’t much more extensive than mine. But he knows a guy and makes a call. We’re gonna have to go out to Brooklyn, to Williamsburg and that’s got me a little nervous. I’ve been burning up a lot of luck walking the streets. Tim tells me not to worry, makes a call to another guy he knows.
We sit in his apartment waiting and Tim alternates sips of his Dew with huge bong rips. He offers me both. I pass. As it is, I’m getting pretty baked just sitting here breathing the secondhand smoke. His phone rings once. He puts the bong aside and drags a Levi’s jacket from the laundry pile. I collect Bud, get him in the bag and head for the door. Tim stops me before I can open it.
– So check it out. Both these guys I called aresupercool, but they expect to be paid.
– No problem.
– Sure, but just check it out.The guy out front? Getting him up on a Sunday, that costs extra, so he’s gonna want a couple hundred.
– No problem.
– Yeah, but check it out.The other guy? His stuff usually runs a couple grand. Now, with the rush job and the hazardous nature of the duty, that could go up to five or six.
– No problem.
– CuzI have a relationship with these guys.
I reach inside my jacket and pull out the bundle of hundreds I took from the big bag. I peel off ten and hand them to Tim.
– I’ll get you more.
Tim looks at the cash in his hand and the cash in my hand and nods.
– No problem.
Outside, a Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows is parked at the curb. We climb in the back. The driver is Puerto Rican, not too tall, big square shoulders, perfectly groomed hair, wearing a nice suit. He’s got Barry White on the CD player: “I’m Gonna Love You Just a Little More, Baby.” Tim pulls the door closed and the guy turns in the seat and puts out his hand. Tim gives him some skin and points a thumb at me.
– Mario, this is Billy. He’s learning the trade.
Mario offers his hand and I give him skin. He smiles.
– Good to know you, Billy. You guys got a joint?
Timmy smiles and whips out a bone and passes it to Mario, who twirls it under his nose and sniffs it like a cigar. He nods and smiles.
– Sweet. Where to, guys?
Timmy leans back in his seat.
– Williamsburg.Metropolitan, off Graham.
– You got it.
Mario puts the Lincoln in drive and pulls away. He pushes in the dashboard lighter and slips on a pair of huge blue-tinted sunglasses. The lighter pops out. He uses it to spark the joint and takes a massive hit. He grins and exhales the smoke between his clenched teeth.
– Sweet.Super sweet.
He offers the joint to us and Tim shakes his head.
– No, man, enjoy. But can we get some privacy back here?
– You got it.
Mario touches a button on the dash and a polarized glass screen rolls up between us.
Tim tells me more about the guy we’re going to see and I watch the streets reel past as Mario drives us to the bridge, over the river, into Brooklyn and to a small yellow duplex in the heart of Williamsburg. Tim points at the front door.
– Check it out. There’s two doors and neither one is marked. Push the bell for the one on the right and he’ll let you into the hall. There’s an intercom in the hall and when he asks you who you are, tell him you’re Billy.Right?
– Sure.
– So, you sure I can’t wait or come get you later?
– No, but you can do me a favor.
– Sure.
– Stay away from home for the next twenty-four or so.
Tim scratches his nose and rubs his eyes.
– Sure. Why?
– Check it out, Timmy. The cops got to be looking up all the regulars from the bar, so they’ll be calling sooner or later.
– No problem. I know how to talk to cops.
– Sure, but some other guys might call, too.
– Oh.
– Yeah. So just go hang out somewhere. Don’t go home at all today.
– What about tomorrow?
I drape the strap of Bud’s bag over my shoulder and put my hand on the door latch.
– Tomorrow they won’t be around.
– Cool.
– Yeah. Cool.
