Caught Stealing

– Cool, very cool. Paris?

– Cool.

– Allright. Hank, stay down on the floor in case they got something set up at the tunnel entrance. Once we get into Jersey it should be cool. We’ll head south, got something set up at a county airport down by A.C. Gonna take a trip. Sound good?

– Yeah.Yeah, that all sounds great.

– All right, let’s roll.

Paris starts the Caddie. Ed leans back in his seat.

– You know, Hank, we’re prettyfuckin ’ sorry about the way we did your girl like that. Truth is,we went a little hard. Roman did such a good jobmessin ’ you up andgettin ’ you scared, we felt we had to send a strong message so you wouldn’t miss the point. Fact is, when you didn’t call us right away, I thought we might not have gone hard enough. Anyway, we’ll make it up. An’ we appreciate youtakin ’ it like a pro. It’s always best not to let a twist get in the way of friendship.Cherchez la femme.Women alwaysfuckin ’ up a good thing.

I take Bud by the scruff of his neck and pull him off to the side. This is a fucked angle to be shooting from and the first bullet takes Ed high in his right shoulder, instead of his ear like I wanted. It throws him into the corner of the seat and I work on Paris before he can get the car moving. I can only see a sliver of his head, so I throw four rounds through the back of the seat where his body should be. His head flies forward, the car lurches twice, and the volume on the music goes through the roof. Ed starts stomping his cowboy boots down on my thighs, trying to stick his heel in my balls, but I get my knees up in the way. The bullet in his shoulder has killed his right arm and he’s trying to get at the gun in his shoulder holster with his left. I shoot him in the right thigh and he stops kicking at me. I raise the gun and shoot him in the stomach. Raise it again.And in the chest.Again. And the last bullet takes off his hat. I scramble and pull myself up and look into the front seat. Paris is sprawled, half on the seat and half in thefootwell. It looks like all four bullets hit, but it’s hard to be sure because his chest is so ripped up. He’s opening and closing his mouth.

– Ed? I’m hurt. Ed?

He dies.Without me having to shoot him again.

I drop the gun on the seat, reach forward, grab the keys from the ignition and hit the stop button on theboombox. Bud has crawled into his bag to hide. I zip him up and pull on the door handle. It’s the one that doesn’t open from the inside. I don’t think I can get past Ed’s body, so I crawl into the front seat and out the passenger’s-side door.

The Caddie is at an angle, half in the street. The rain has stopped. The street is empty for now. Down the block, a car alarm is sounding. I walk around the car and open the trunk. I’m thinking about the suitcases Ed and Paris put in the car back at the apartment. I’m thinking about clothes without blood on them. But there it is, right on top.A big fucking bag, full of money.

I open a suitcase and grab a few things and stuff them in with Bud. He tries to jump out, but I push him back in and zip up. I close the trunk and walk away.

I get about five feet before I go back and take all the money. Then I run as fast as the four and a half mil will let me.

I’m walking up Seventh Avenue, out in the open. I hide behind a Dumpster and strip off the bloody Yankees jacket and pull on a black sweatshirt that hangs on me like a sheet.Must have been Paris ’s.

I have no idea where to go next and this bag is fucking heavy. At James J. Walker Park, I see a homeless guy with a shopping cart loaded with garbage bags full of bottles and cans, along with the rest of his life and belongings. He’s sitting on a wet bench, trying to light a wet cigarette butt with a wet match. I sit at the opposite end of the bench. He glances at me,then goes back to the smoke. I dig around in my pockets. I gave all my hundreds to Billy, but I’ve still got a bunch of twenties. I pull out five and hold them out to the guy. He looks at them,then he looks at me.

– Want to sell your home?

Hehaggles me up to one forty and I let him keep most of the stuff. I pile some crap around the duffel bag and pull on his old overcoat and head back up the avenue. Behind me, the bum finally gets his cig lit and sits there smoking it like he’s Nelson fucking Rockefeller. What was I thinking giving him twenties? I’ve got four and a half mil in this bag. Oh well, next time, old-timer.

I’m heading right into Greenwich Village. There are more people out now that the rain has stopped, but there is definitely a mood on the street. The city is afraid of me. I push my cart. Past Sheridan Square, I see the Riviera Sports Bar. It’s packed. I push my cart past and, on the 10th Street side, I see a little window level with the sidewalk.It’s set right on top of a heating grate and through it I can see clearly into the basement bar and all the TVs in there with baseball on them. It looks like the game has restarted atShea, and the Giants game is on as well.

I pull the cart over to the wall. I dig out a blanket, spread it on the grate and sit down with Bud’s bag on my lap. When I unzip the bag, he pushes away from me. I put my hand inside and tickle him between the eyes. He likes that. It takes a while, but he’s settling down. I reach under him for the bottle ofVics and swallow a couple. I don’t need to be sharp anymore.

Bud has some blood drying in his fur. I spit on the edge of Paris ’s huge sweatshirt and work at the blood. Through the window I watch both games.

The Braves and the Dodgers are taking it easy, resting their best players for the postseason, trying not to let anyone get injured. The Giants and Mets go all out, pitching their aces and fielding all their starters, even if they have to play hurt. I watch both games through the window right up to the last outs, long past the point where it is clear that both the Mets and Giants are being creamed and will be forced into a one-game playoff tomorrow to decide the wild card. They’ll play here in New York.My Giants in town. God, I’d like to see that game.

I stay on the grate with Bud. It’s pretty warm. When the bar closes, some of the guys toss me their spare quarters as they pass by on the way home. That’s pretty cool because I need to make some calls and I don’t have any small change. The bum had fragments of the SundayTimes in the cart and I’ve been thumbing through the travel section. Truth is,I’ve never been much of anywhere. It all looks good. I make my decision. There’s a pay phone right outside the bar. It works. I make the call and set it up. There’s another call I need to make, but I can’t now, I just can’t. I sit back on the grate.

Fucking Giants.Fucking Giants.Fucking Giants.

I don’t think I sleep, not really, but the sun comes up quickly. Time flies when you’re thinking about all the people you’ve killed. I get myself up and moving. I have things to do.

More headlines at the newsstands.

Daily News: SHOOTOUT!

The Post: WILD, WILD, WEST!

The New York Times: Four Dead in Late Night Gunfight

I end up back on 14th Street, the axis of my life.Krazy Fashions is right there off of Sixth Avenue. I slip a pack of fifties into my pocket, leave the cart on the street and go into the store, hauling the big money bag and the little cat bag.

Do they think I’m a criminal? I walk in off the street, stinking and beaten and start passing out fifties. Of course I’m a criminal. But they just don’t care and they sure as shit don’t think I’mthe criminal. I keep Bud zipped up in his bag and I get outstanding service. I buy a nice, light olive three-button two- piece Italian suit, a cream Yves Saint Laurent shirt, oxblood wing tips and a selection of underwear and socks. The staff tosses my old shit, gives me a robe to wear and does the alterations while I wait. I keep Bud in the bag and he keeps quiet. I borrow the phone and, about the time the suit is ready, my car pulls up outside. The Pakistani guy that owns the store carries my bag out for me and puts it in the trunk. I slip him a couple extra fifties and he tells me to come back soon.

I slide into the back of the Town Car. Mario holds out his hand and I give him skin. He’s listening to theSaturday Night Fever sound track: “If I Can’t HaveYou.”

– Newark International.

– Sweet.

He put us on the road and turns his head to look back at me.

– Got a joint on you, man?