I yelped a few more times before the business of cleaning me up was over, but not as loudly as when I was coming to. As my head cleared and I remembered my predicament, the cave and the stalactite-dodging didn’t look half-bad. I recognized the thousand-year-old guy working on me as one of my father’s customers, a drinker from Peggy’s day shift.
“Dad,” I said, “am I all right? How did...”
My old man stopped me with a wave of his hand. He shook his head slowly but emphatically and glanced at Methuselah’s father, who was finishing taping my side. I shut up.
After I was scrubbed and bandaged, my father ran upstairs, and returned a few minutes later with clean clothes from my room. He helped me out of the mess I had on, and transferred all the shit in my pockets to the new jeans before giving them to me. Then he and the old guy walked me up the stairs and out the rear door of the building. Our super was sitting behind the wheel of his car in the alley. The three of us got in the backseat, me in the middle, and the super pulled away without uttering a word. We only went a couple of blocks and then he was pulling into another driveway, of what looked like a one-family house. As soon as we got out, the super took my rolled ball of bloodstained clothing and drove off. My father held my elbow and helped me up a short flight of stone steps and into a very dark front room.
“Jesus, Georgie,” my father said, “turn on a goddamn light.”
Georgie either didn’t hear what my old man had said or chose to ignore it. He locked the door behind us and led the way through the house and down a flight of stairs. When he did turn on a lamp, we were in a small den in the finished part of the basement. There was a sofa and a chair, a small writing desk, and about a million dusty old books on shelves lining the walls and in piles on the floor. There were two closed doors, and I knew that one of them had to lead to the rest of the basement. My father helped me onto the couch and then sat down on the other end. The old guy went back upstairs, leaving us alone.
My father was very patient, an attitude he affected when I fucked up royally that has always been successful in terrorizing me. He explained that the super had been bringing the trash cans in when he saw blood on the hallway wall. He checked the basement and found me, then ran upstairs to get my father. My old man got hold of Georgie who—no big surprise—was at Peggy’s, and they cleaned me up. The super brought his car down the alley, and they packed me off here until they could figure out what to do. That was his story. He smiled, then leaned back and lit a cigarette, waiting for mine.
I took a few shallow breaths, then tried a fairly deep one. I was conscious of the injury, but other than feeling sensitive and achy, the pain had pretty much subsided.
“How bad is this?” I asked.
“Nothing. You got lucky. I could see right away it didn’t even go in. That’s why I brought you straight to Georgie. Didn’t even put a hole in you—just more than grazed you. Just enough to take a little piece outta your side and make you bleed like a stuck pig.”
I felt confused. “I thought it was a lot worse than that.”
“Cause you were so scared? I guess you’re just a fag. You got shot an’ it scared you.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Well? From the top, huh?”
“Okay. From the top.” This was the difficult part. Lying to my old man was an art I’d never mastered. He had a fine-tuned bullshit detector, and I was hoping bells wouldn’t go off in the middle of my story. But at some point on the way home, I’d decided to keep the bag. I felt like I’d earned it, almost been killed for it. I was also considering that maybe I’d been set up as a dupe by Tony. Not to be ambushed, necessarily, but he must have known there was something dangerous about the run. I knew my father would never buy that theory, and he’d insist on running straight to Tony with everything, so I made it up as I went along, keeping as close to the truth as possible.
“You know this was my first run alone,” I said. “Lou showed me the route Tuesday. It was no problem; I knew where I had to go. I rode up and saw this guy Todd. He gave me the bag. We said a few words and I split. I took the road Lou had showed me back to Ninety-five, but just before the highway I get jumped. A bunch of blacks in an old green Lincoln cut me off at the last big intersection before the highway entrance. I couldn’t say whether they’d been following me, I don’t know. Tell you the truth, I wasn’t paying attention.” I stopped talking, surprised at how quickly I got winded.
“Take your time,” my father said. “Catch your breath.”
I nodded. “Anyway, the car noses me into the curb and two of ‘em jump out. They were young. One comes to my side and one comes to the passenger side. They both have guns. The one on my side says something like ‘give it up’ and the other one reaches for the bag. I made a grab for it without thinking—you know, reflex—and the one on my side popped me—bang—just like that. I lost it. I just looked at my side and the blood. The other one grabbed the bag and they jumped back in their car. I just sat there for a minute, then I realized that they weren’t pulling away. They were checking out whatever was in the bag while they were still parked, blocking me in. I got scared, Pop. What if it wasn’t what they were expecting? What if they got what they wanted, but were gonna do me anyway?” I paused again, and realized that I was scared. My father held out a hand, palm down, and patted the air a few times. I took his cue and continued more slowly.
“I was bleeding all over the fucking place and I thought maybe I was gonna die. So I put it in drive and plowed into them. I hit the front driver’s side around the wheel and the Town Car jumped pretty much right out of the way. Then I got on Ninety-five and came straight home. I was dizzy, it really hurt bad. I was afraid to try a hospital because I know what they do with gunshot cases.
“I can’t believe they just grazed me. You know I held my side all the way back. I thought I was holding my intestines in, that if I let go they’d come out all over the car and I’d die. I had to get to you, but I didn’t want to go upstairs until I knew there were no more surprises waiting for me. Pop, I don’t get it. Who did this?”
He closed his eyes and said nothing for a minute. “You sure it was spades in the car?” he asked.
“Dad, what do you think, it was chinks and I got confused? They were spades. Four or five of them.”
“There’s no reason for it to be anyone on this end. Tony already has the run. This guy Todd is from Africa, right?” I nodded. “What was in the bag?”
I looked at him. “How the hell do I know what was in the bag? Tony told me it wasn’t dope, but I figure the odds are decent he’s lying.”
My father looked surprised. “Why would Tony lie to you?”
“Why not? He saw that I didn’t like the idea that it was dope, right after what happened to Nicky and all.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ young,” he sighed. “I wish I was that young again. Nobody lies to you unless you’re worth lying to. Tony couldn’t give a fuck you take this job or not. If he says it wasn’t dope it’s because it wasn’t, and because he don’t mind letting you know it wasn’t. Try to think straight.”
“What made you think I’d know what was in the bag?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe Lou said something.”
“He didn’t.”
“Okay.”
Now he was lying. He knew damned well Lou never would have said a word. Which meant he was already thinking I’d looked.
“I better see some people,” he said. “Talk this through, you know. I gotta see Tony, maybe even the Old Man. Have a sit down. I want you outta sight.”
“I could go to Gina’s.”
“Brilliant. Everybody in creation knows you’re with her. You wanna stay with your uncle in Red Hook?”
“I’d rather get shot again.”
“Well, you think about it. Stay here for now; I’ll be back in a coupla hours. Georgie will look in on you. What’d you do with the car?”
“It’s in front of the house, at the pump.”
“Gimme the keys.”
“In my jacket.”
He fished the keys from my jacket pocket and walked to the door. “Don’t move around too much, and let Georgie take care of you till I come back. Make him give you soup or somethin’.”
“Okay.” He left.
It was cold in the den, so I slowly stood and carefully walked across the room to where my jacket was hanging on a hook, took it down, and on impulse checked the front flap pockets. Kathy Popovich’s number. I had half-remembered it was there. I went to the phone and tried it. Busy. I got back on the couch, draped my jacket over me for a blanket, and let myself drift off to sleep.
I was awakened by a sound that I thought was running water. It turned out to be Georgie pissing in the toilet with the door open. I was trying to sit up when he emerged from the small bathroom off the den.
“What time is it?”
“Quarter to ten,” he croaked. He looked shocked, like he wasn’t used to the sound of his own voice.
I was stiff as hell. Sleeping on a Flintstone-era couch will do that, I guessed. My side hurt again. The dressing still looked clean so I figured I hadn’t bled anymore.
“Quarter to ten at night?”
“Yeah.”
There was a half-empty bottle of Fleischman’s and an empty glass on the desk next to his chair, and a large paperback lay open, face down, by the phone. His eyes were a bit glassy, which was surprising. Georgie was one of those pensioners who virtually lived in the neighborhood bar, but he wasn’t a big drinker. He’d nurse four or five small glasses of beer over an eight-hour day, and usually leave with the other old-timers in the early evening, when the younger crowd rolled in. He had hung around well into the night and gotten trashed on occasion, but probably not more than twice in the months since I’d begun frequenting Peggy’s.
“Where’s my father? Did he call?”
“No.” Georgie shook his head emphatically. He seemed nervous as hell, and I wondered if that was the reason he was into the rye. He’d probably been rattled enough at having to accompany my father to get me, and I was sure that he wanted no part of babysitting me alone. I didn’t blame him.
“What time did he leave?” I asked.
“About four.”
“That’s too long, Georgie. Where was he going? Did he say?”
“No, but he said he’d be back by dinner and to watch you. It’s way past dinner and I been watchin’; but Mike, I haven’t had a touch all day except for a drop or two here,” he nodded at the bottle, “and I’m kind of parched. I don’t like to drink at home. A man who drinks at home alone has a problem, you know.” He nodded somberly.
I didn’t think he needed to get to a bar all that badly. He was looking to distance himself from me, and was too decent or too scared to ask me to leave. Although I understood completely, it still made me feel like I had plague.
“Go on out, Georgie, I’m okay. I’ll be fine. Does your front door lock without a key?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pull it closed behind me. Where are we anyway?”
“Seventy-second and Tenth. You know—I could stay a little longer.” His eyes were begging me not to ask. “Go,” I said. “I’ll let myself out. But Georgie—one thing—you have no idea where I am.”
He made a twisting gesture with his hand in front of his lips, then turned and hobbled out. I figured his vow was good for a few drinks, which, coupled with the walk to Peggy’s—if he even went there—gave me about an hour to clear out of his place. I stood up quickly and a gentle internal tug at my side reminded me not to be stupid.
It dawned on me abruptly that the whole idea of my working for Tony had been insane. What the hell did I think I was doing? I’d been shot, and quite frankly I was still terrified. Then when I had the chance to tell my father about the bag, and turn it over to Tony, I decided to play games instead and dig myself in deeper. I was turning into Nicky, and I didn’t even get to become a junkie first.
I tried Kathy Popovich’s number again. It rang twice, someone picked up, and a guy’s voice said hello. I slammed the receiver down so hard fire shot up my right side and tears welled in my eyes. What was wrong with me? I hardly knew this girl and I was furious with her for being with someone when I needed her. This was not good. I knew I didn’t have the luxury of getting this fucked-up, so I tried to forget it and calm myself down.
I picked up Georgie’s book from the desk and looked at it. It was called Touch of the Poet, but it wasn’t poetry. It looked like a play, complete with stage directions. It was an old book, and well-thumbed through, with notes in pencil scribbled along the margins. I wondered if Georgie had done that, or if he’d bought the book used. I looked at a few of the other books on the shelves nearest the desk, and realized that they were all plays. There were some famous names that I knew, or titles that had been made into movies, but most of them I’d never heard of. There was also a stack of typing paper on the desk, but I didn’t see a typewriter anywhere. Maybe Georgie was really Shakespeare. He was about the right age.
I put the book down, picked up the phone again, and called Gina. I didn’t want to do it, but when I ran down my options it didn’t take long for me to see that I had little choice. She gave me a song and dance about not hearing from me for so long, but I cut her short. I told her that something was up and I’d be coming by to stay for a while. She got all bubbly then, and started in with lots of playing-house scenarios. She said she’d fix a room for me upstairs. That apartment. That apartment was waiting for me. It gave me chills. I told her it would be fine. After we hung up, I stole a drink out of Georgie’s bottle. It felt great going down, but it kind of exploded in my stomach and I got dizzy. I realized I hadn’t eaten since early in the morning.
I was worried about my father. He should have been back by now. I didn’t know if he’d gone straight to Lou or Tony, or even the Old Man, or if he’d had some other plan in mind. Whatever he was doing probably wasn’t going well or he would have come back or called. He was right about everyone knowing about me and Gina, but I couldn’t think of anything else, and besides, I wanted to be someplace where he could find me.
I turned out the light in the den and slowly pulled myself up the stairs with the help of Georgie’s rickety handrail. I made my way through the musty house to the front door. When I opened it, Lou was coming up the steps.