Nightmare in New York

fingers. Sam always hated to come in and find Freddie on the goddam telephone, Jesus he hated just sitting there watching and listening and wondering when his turn would come.

'Well I guess I just can't figure it,' Freddie was saying. 'Were they all hypnotized? You mean he just walks in there and passes himself off as a made cop and starts giving orders and they all just snapped shit?'

The first gaze rested on Sam the Bomber as the receiver rattled a longwinded response, then Freddie cut in on it. 'Stop,' he commanded in a thick voice. 'Don't tell me any more about it. I don't want to know. I don't want to hear such dumb… I just don't understand Feldman, and I don't want to. All these years and he — listen, we got telephones, right? You just pick up the little gadget and you tap out a number, right? And you get instant advice, right? I want to know why Feldman wasn't looking for some instant advice. You get me, Tommy?'

That would be Tommy Doctor, Sam was thinking. And he was wondering what the doctor had done to get on the carpet this way, Freddie didn't usually talk this way to his people. All that anger was usually buried in a quiet manner and a gentle tone, only you always knew it was there whenit was there — Freddie had a way of letting you know without getting himself all worked up on the outside. Sam just hoped that what the boss was saying to Tommy Doctor had nothing at all to do with Sam Chianti. And then Sam's heart lurched as the next words came — yeah, they sure had something to do with him.

'Now you listen to me, Tommy. I want Bolan, and I don't want no excuses, I want the man. You put the boys in cars, and you put them walking the streets. You put boys sitting on their asses in bars and cafes, and you put boys everywhere in this town. I want boys in subway stations, air terminals, bus and train depots. I want our cabs alerted, and I want every street worker, every union hall, every precinct station, every committee, every club, every joint, I want everybody in this town looking for Bolan.' Freddie's eyes were starting to bulge and he was running out of breath. A bad sign. 'And Tommy… don't you talk to me again until you're telling me that you've gotBolan. Have I made myself clear?'

The receiver made one or two faint sounds and Freddie said, 'Just don't forget it,' and he hung up and turned his undiluted attention to his lifelong friend, Sam the Bomber.

'I guess you got the most of that,' Fred told Sam.

Chianti nodded his head miserably and fingered a bandaid at his chin. 'Yes, and I understand exactly how you feel, Freddie.'

'You couldn't have the merest notion of how I feel, Sam,' the Capotold him. 'Bolan just knocked over my Harlem bank.'

Chianti sucked in his breath and his eyes began to grow. 'Well that… ! How the hell did he do that!'

Gambella raised both palms, then turned them over and let them fall to the desk. 'He just walks in, trades Feldman a marksman's medal for a bag worth twenty-five thou, and he just walks out.'

Sam the Bomber's eyes were flitting rapidly from Freddie's eyes to Freddie's hands, big manicured hams trying to claw something off the desk that wasn't there.

He said, 'Listen Freddie. You'n me have been friends for a long time, and I don't feel like I'm overstepping my place by mentioning that. The thing is, I wouldn't bullshit you. Not you, not ever. Everything I got in the world I owe you, and I realize that. Listen, this Bolan boy is pure poison. That boy is as dangerous as a bag of snakes with a rip in the side, and you know it the minute he comes up and looks at you. What I'm saying is this, don't hold it too tight against Feldman and those boys in Harlem. This Bolan has a way about him. Whatever he done to get that money, you can bet your ass he did it like a real pro. I mean, he — '

'I know what you mean, Sammy,' Gambella broke in with a tired sigh. He was looking at the adhesives on Chianti's hands and face. 'From the broken glass, eh?' he commented in a sympathetic tone.

Sam said, 'Yeah, and I got off lucky. Oh and I — what I really came in to tell you is this — we dumped the car and all in Brooklyn, and I guess I'm clean on that. We left it where they'd be found, so I guess they can get a decent burial. Jesus I'm glad I didn't have to explain all that to a bunch of unfriendly cops.' He touched the facial bandaids and added, 'So I come out with just a few scratches. I figure I got off lucky.'

'So did I,' Gambella replied heavily. 'He knocked me over for only twenty-five thou. He could have had a quarter mil just as easy, from what I hear. Had 'em all running around gathering it up for him. Even that dumbass guard out trying to steal a truck to haul it away with.'

Sam shook his head and said, 'Well I guess he just wanted to prove something. That's what I figured, over in the Bronx. He didn't come in after me. I guess he never meant to all the time.'

'Yeah, he proved something,' Gambella said thoughtfully. 'Look — I'm not afraid of this boy, Sammy, but I'm worried about him. I mean, he's a damn pest and I want him out of my hair. We have this big thing coming up, and I don't want this guy roaring around town and lousing it up. You know what I mean.'

'Yeah, I know,' Sam the Bomber replied. 'You're right, the guy is a damn pest. He needs to get swatted, and good. I'm not afraid of him, either. I just wish I could get a long enough look at him to swat him. I didn't even see him out there today. Just suddenly wham, and all hell is breaking loose.'

Sam shivered, then chuckled self-consciously. 'I was lying. I'm scared of this boy, Freddie. Listen, there's no bullshitting between old friends. This boy scares the pee outta me. But that don't mean I'm going to turn tail and run from him. I'll swat that boy, Freddie, if I get just half a chance.'

'I know you will, Sammy,' the boss told him in a quiet voice.

'Tommy Doctor is one damned good engineer. If anybody can run a find on Bolan, it's him.'

'College boys,' Gambella sneered derisively.

'Well college boys ain't like they use to be, Sam. They got a lotta starch in their ass nowadays.'

Gambella's eyes were focused on the window in a blank stare. Quietly, he said, 'You know, I wish Bolan had waited just two months. If he louses up this big thing we got going…'

He sighed and gave his friend a tired smile. 'You know it was no more'n a couple of weeks ago I voted to give Bolan this peace offer. I guess he spit on that. And now here he is in my town and raising hell here. I got to go to a special meeting tonight, over this very thing. The other four are nervouser than I am, and I guess with good reason. They got more tied up in it, I mean more at stake. Why didn't Bolan just wait a couple more months? Now he's come here looking for a war, and I guess we got to give him one. But I just wish…'

After a quiet moment, Chianri suggested, 'Maybe he's just passing through, Freddie. Maybe he wanted that twenty-five thou to just blow with.'

'Naw,' Gambella replied, sighing. 'He's starting out just like always. With that famous 1-2-3 of his. Just look at it, Sam. He hits you over in the Bronx at what? — one o'clock? — a quarter 'til? — then he pops up in Harlem at a little after two and knocks over my bank. So he'll be hitting again, pretty soon, just hold your breath and wait, it'll come. The number three punch, he may already be throwing it. I just wish I knew where.'

'Tommy Doctor will — '

'Bw//shit Tommy Doctor!' the Capoyelled.

Chianti jumped and stiffened in his chair. Boy, this was getting under Freddie's skin in the worst…

'Don't tell me no more Tommy Doctor!' Gambella said coldly, regaining outward control, but the street language filtering back told Sam that the surface calm only thinly covered a seething storm just below. 'Listen, Sam, what are friends for? Huh?'

Chianti fidgeted and puffed out his throat and said thickly, 'No greater love has a man but he will put it down for his friend, Freddie. And that's me, you know that.'

'Exactly,' the Caposaid.

'Well, uh…'

'Just don't tell me no more Tommy Doctors. You get out on those streets, Sam. You put it on the pavement for me and thee.'

Sam the Bomber came awkwardly out of the chair and stood there for a moment, his eyes flicking sickly from item to item on the Capo'sdesk. He muttered, 'I been off the streets a long time, Freddie.'

'Toolong,' the Caposaid.

'Uh, yeah, I guess so. I guess I'm pretty rusty. I guess I better go see what I can do about that.'

'I guess so, Sam.'

Chianti whirled away and went back across the spongy floor, knowing now why he hated to come in there, knowing the spongy floor was actually a bed of quicksand, not thick carpeting; quicksand that drags a guy down to his choking, floundering doom, just like some friendshipscould.