In the Shadow of Sadd Page 2
“What about you, Angelina? Do you have large breasts?”
***
The rain beats down on George’s Mustang, parked outside the garage. There are three other cars, as well: a fire-engine red Escort with a pink teddy bear dangling underneath the rear-view mirror, a dented Impreza and a station wagon of some sort. Bruno pulls in behind the Mustang and kills the engine. The windows of the garage’s four entrances emit a faint yellow light. Two of them are large enough to hold tractor trailers. George is doing well for himself. Bathed in the blue glint of a blowtorch, Bruno glimpses a truck behind one of the entrances, and a couple of figures moving around it.
Bruno hops out of the Chevy and jogs through the rain to the gateway. There’s an ordinary door alongside the gate. He opens the door.
“Bruno?” George gestures him in. In the place of his right hand, which he lost when Jimmy Sadd’s limo exploded, George has a claw made up of two steel ‘fingers’ he moves with the help of the muscles in his arm. Or something like that. Bruno has never really figured out how George is able to do it. And he isn’t about to ask.
“Helena told me you were here. I don’t see any water damage ...”
George laughs. “Only stupid men tell women everything. What’s up? Been a while. What can I do you for?”
There’s a truck in the middle of the work space. A refrigerated truck from D.R. Rea Fast Food. There are small puddles of rainwater underneath the trailer. The interior of the refrigerated trailer is buzzing with activity.
“I need your help.”
George shakes his head. “Bruno, I haven’t seen you for ... what, three months? I turned thirty-six a couple of weeks back. Did you call to wish me a happy birthday? Did you send a card?”
“Shit, George, I’m sorry about that. I’ve been ...”
“Last time you showed up, what was it you wanted?”
Bruno offers a meager smile, but doesn’t reply.
“Your Chevy Dinosaur needed a new front fender, because you ran somebody down, so you show up here. But otherwise ...”
“I know, George. It’s been really crazy. Sadd’s inside and the cops are all over us.”
“I’m done with Jimmy. I don’t have the nerves for that kind of work anymore. I’m still taking my pills every day. Zoloft, Ambien, benzos ...”
Bruno nods. He knows. The only reason George was driving Sadd’s limo the day the Latvians blew it up was that he had a strong immune system. The Latvians used a connection in Sadd’s own organization to place a bomb in the limo. A time bomb, and had it been any other ordinary Wednesday, it would have exploded while Bruno was driving Sadd’s little girls home from school. A particularly vicious bout of acute gastroenteritis saved their lives. While Sadd, his tiny little wife and the girls were setting distance records in projectile vomiting, as was Bruno, George – one of the few in the gang who hadn’t caught the bug – had gone out to wash the limo, just to help pass the time. He was washing the back wheels when the whole thing exploded. He lost his hand and was pretty much shell-shocked. The hand was replaced with the claw, but George was never really himself again. He jumped at the slightest sound – someone coughing was enough to set him off. He had the shakes, he had nightmares, he started to cry if anyone confronted him. He even started watching Dr. Phil. He wasn’t good for anything anymore. He had to go the therapy and medication route.
Sadd helped him get the garage going. You take care of your own, and George had been one of the guys. Many had thought he would take over the operation should Jimmy ever reach the point where he couldn’t go on. Now he’s an auto mechanic.
“It doesn’t look like you’re completely done with it.” Bruno nodded toward the truck. “Or do you always get up in the middle of the night to change O-rings? I’m guessing you’re about to open the false wall in the back of that trailer. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a couple thousand cartons of Romanian cigarettes behind it.”
“Fuck off.” He finds a cigarette in his pocket, lights it and arranges it between the two metal fingers.
“I’m busy, Bruno. Get yourself a cup of coffee down in the cafeteria, that’s all I can do for you.”
“I’m in deep shit, George. You’re all I got.”
“What happened to taking care of yourself? I can’t ...”
“I got a body in the back of my van.”
George slowly lifts the cigarette to his lips and takes a drag as he stares at Bruno. “Come into the office.”
***
“What are you thinking?” whispers George angrily through his teeth as he closes the office door behind them. The office is located in a small annex to the large garage spaces. There are bookshelves full of folders along the one wall, and old desks with computers whose keys are covered with oily fingerprints. Pictures of classic automobiles hang on the walls. “Tell me you didn’t park your fucking Chevy in front of my garage with a goddamn stiff in the back, where anyone can take a look because there are windows all the way around!”
“I covered the body with a rug. You think I’m an idiot?”
George pulls open a drawer in one of the desks and finds a bottle of pills, which he opens. He casts a long, hard glance at Bruno before shaking out two of the pills. “You can’t do this to me, Bruno.”
“I don’t have any choice. I don’t know what the hell to do. I have to get rid of the stiff. Jimmy’s inside. I have no one else to go to.”
“I don’t do that kind of work anymore.” He sits heavily in the chair behind the desk. His hand shakes as he lifts the pills to his mouth and swallows them dry. “My nerves are shot. Helena is pregnant again, Bruno. I’ve got a new life going here. I’m a family man – I can’t ...”
He stumps out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray, and lights a new one in the same motion.
“Can’t you just go away?”
“Go where?”
“That’s not my problem. You must have gotten rid of bodies for Jimmy before – it can’t be the first time. You’ll figure it out. Go on. You were never here. I know nothing about it.”
“It’s different this time. It wasn’t planned.”
“I don’t want to know. Get out of here!”
“It happened in one of Jimmy’s secret apartments. I couldn’t just leave the body there.”
“ENOUGH ALREADY. GET OUT OF HERE!”
“Okay. Have it your way. But you’re forcing my hand – I’m gonna have to tell Jimmy you refused to help me when I ...”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t have any choice.” You’re leaving me hanging here, George. I’m desperate. Look at me. I have no choice. That body can never be found. It has to disappear. Now.”
George shakes out another pill from the bottle. He leans back and turns on the radio, sliding the volume bar to the top. He gestures for Bruno to approach him. With his lips near to Bruno’s ear, he says, “Tell me what happened.”
***
“This is Alley-Cat Jack. We’ve got a new caller on the line.”
“Hey Jack, I don’t want to use my name.”
“So what do I call you?”
“Max.”
“Okay, Max. What’s up?”
“I’m a detective. I want to comment on the accusations of police corruption the papers have been covering these past few weeks.”
“The City is listening, Max.”
“I think it’s a cheap shot. I mean, the press talking about corruption, like they can’t be bought? Like, you think the papers would have backed the banks’ petition to be exempt from service-charge laws if they hadn’t been paid off? ‘THE BANKS HAVE TO LIVE TOO,’ isn’t that what they wrote? Good God ...
“And what is corruption, I ask you? Who gets hurt if a poor cop gets a new car or a week’s vacation in Kenya for letting the Baltic girls earn a living in peace, down on the docks? I mean, where’s the harm in that?”
“You can get AIDS.”
“Yeah, well, there is such thing as a condom. People have to protect
themselves. These girls have no other way to make a living, and even if we did send them all back to the misery they came from, there’d still be a new batch of girls turning tricks down on the docks the next day. We’re just doing the community a favor. And if a cop gets a little taste, it’s not like there’s any harm done. It actually allows him to concentrate on the more serious crimes that cost lives every single day.”
“Such as?”
“Traffic violations.”
***
“Bruno, Bruno, Bruno,” George says faintly after he’s shut off the radio. “You really are in deep shit. Did you call?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s taking care of the apartment?”
“Yup.”
“You are so fucked. Coming here with a stiff in the back of your van ... Shit, Bruno.” He rises, slowly shakes his head, and walks out of the office.
Bruno hesitates, shuffling his feet – he can’t decide whether or not to follow George. His ears are ringing from the noise of the radio. He looks around the office. It feels unreal, as though the whole thing were an out-of-body experience.
“Are you coming?” George says, appearing in the doorway with two shovels. “Spades would be better, but I don’t have any.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
“I’ve got some stuff to take care of on the way, Bruno.”
“Okay.”
George scratches his chin with his good hand. Bruno can hear the sound of the stubble. George turns and walks down through the garage’s work stations until he arrives at the one where the truck is being worked on. They go over behind the trailer. George knocks his claw on the bottom of the trailer to get his people’s attention. “I’ve got a few errands, so I’ll be gone a couple of hours. If anyone calls, take a message.”
There are two men inside the refrigerated trailer. One is using a blowtorch to remove the angle brackets that have kept the false wall in place. It’s precision work. If the blowtorch is held at the wrong angle it will ignite the cigarettes hidden behind the false wall. The man is wearing a welding shield and large work gloves. The other man holds a spray bottle of coolant, which he applies to the iron as soon as it has been severed by the blowtorch. The cigarettes are packed in a layer of protective material, but the Romanians have a history of taking shortcuts, so they aren’t taking any chances. Bruno knows the game – he did the same kind of work at another garage when he was still a boy.
The man with the blowtorch turns to them, flips up his visor and mumbles, “It’s all good.” His face is covered with tattoos.
They walk out through the rain to the Chevy. George opens the side door, tosses the shovels inside and lifts a corner of the rug. “Dead. No doubt about that,” he says as he drops the rug back into place. “Where did you get the plastic from?”
“It’s a garbage bag. I have a whole roll in the van. I’m planning to paint my living room, so I was gonna use them to cover the floor. I thought I could cut them up and ...”
“Okay.” George gets into the van. “Shit weather we’re having ...”
“Hmm ...” Bruno replies as he starts the engine.
“You need a new accumulator.”
“Maybe.”
George finds the cell phone in the middle of the front seat. “What’s the problem with your cell?”
“I dropped it. The fucking thing doesn’t work. Where am I going?”
George sighs softly. “Just make a left. I’ll let you know.”
Bruno puts the van in gear, turns on the windshield wipers and steps on the gas.
“What color?”
“What?”
“What color are you painting the living room?”
Bruno casts a sidelong glance at his brother. “Off-white.”
“Off-white? Helena wants me to paint ours yellow, but I can’t deal with painting.”
“Thanks for doing this, George. I really appreciate it.”
“Uh-huh ... How about turning on the radio?”
***
“I’m the greatest inventor of our time!”
“Okay, so what have you invented? The cure for cancer? The solution to terrorism?”
“Even better. I invented a weather machine. From now on, it’s possible to control the weather. Think about it. Sunshine whenever we want it. Rain in the desert. It will change how we view the world.”
“I’m guessing a lot of my listeners would like to see a demonstration.”
“Fine by me, Jack. I just have to plug in the machine. The City will have to change its name to Sunny Beach.”
“We don’t have a beach.”
“Well, you know what I mean ... Okay, it’s plugged in. The lights are on. I’m pushing the button. Look at the sky! You’ll all be calling me a genius tomorrow – no, you’ll be calling me God!”
“Did you turn it on? Nothing’s happening. It’s still raining here. Hello, are you still there?”
“Yeah ... I think it just needs a tweak.”
***
The taxi whirls up a fog of dirty rainwater in its wake. The traffic is heavier now. The first wave of rush hour is starting to rumble through the streets of the City.
“Make a right at this light,” George says, pointing his finger.
“Okay.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” George turns in his seat.
“I’m not looking at you.” Bruno pulls into the right-turn lane and shifts gear, checking his side-view mirror for bicycles.
George makes clicking sounds with his mouth. “Whatever you say.”
They drive on in silence. The car radio plays an old disco track about crying and owing something to somebody. Bruno remembers the song from his youth, at which point it was already old. It was the kind of thing his mother listened to in her more jovial moments.
“Have you seen Mom at all?” George asks. Perhaps the thought triggered the same thought in his mind.
“Mom? No ...” He wrinkles his brow. “Should I have?”
“She’s HIV positive.”
“She’s what? How?”
“I guess she needed a little love.”
“Mom?”
“Uh-huh ...”
“Bullshit.”
George goes back to his clicking sounds. Bruno tightens his grip on the wheel and stares out of the windshield.
“So is she gonna die?”
“They have medicine for that now. If you can afford it.”
Bruno nods. “Where are we going?”
“You can stop over there.”
“By the bakery?”
“Yeah.”
“What are we doing at a bakery?”
“Buying breakfast.”
Bruno remains seated in the van while George runs through the rain to the bakery. He follows him with his eyes, watches him smile at the young girl behind the counter, point at a loaf of bread, chat. Bruno can’t sit still. He moves around in his seat, and fidgets with his seat belt. He taps his foot.
George now exits the bakery, two paper bags clamped between the claw’s two moving fingers.
“You want something? I got enough for two.”
Bruno shakes his head. “Man, I can’t eat anything with a stiff in the back.”
George fixes him in his gaze. “Those Zolofts make me so fucking hungry. I’ve gained 20 pounds – it’s totally out of control. No, go the other way. I have to pick up a bicycle for Sofus.”
“Can we please just get rid of this body? Then I’ll drive you to Hamburg if you want.”
“Can’t. The bike has to be picked up now – I don’t want to discuss it. It’s Sofus’s birthday present, he’s two years old tomorrow. I have to get it.”
After a few minutes George fishes up a roll from the bag and starts to eat it. “Are you sure you don’t want a roll? They’re really good.”
Bruno remains silent. When he went to sleep the night before, everything was just as it should be. He watched TV in bed as he ate sushi and drank Japanese beer from the take-out plac
e on the corner. He probably felt a little lonely. Normally he would have brought a whore home for the night, but that had begun to sharpen his sense of loneliness instead of dulling it, so he’d been cutting back on that practice. And the loneliness hadn’t been that bad the night before. He’d meditated for a while, and worked out at the center earlier in the evening, and he felt relaxed and in balance. He’d slept soundly, even before the test pattern had replaced television programming. He rarely dreamed. For him, sleep was nothing but a vast, black embrace.
And then the phone rang.
Now he sighs deeply and sends George a long, tired glance. “I’m really sorry about this, George. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
George nods weakly. He rummages through one of the bags and fishes out a container of orange juice. “Jimmy Sadd is the most evil man I’ve ever known. I mean really evil. I’m not talking about tough, or cruel – all the bosses are tough and cruel. You’ll never get anywhere in our world if you’re not respected. But Jimmy ... God damn, Bruno, getting involved with Sadd ... I’d rather do a deal with the devil himself. Sadd is worse. You’ll never get out.”
He puts the straw in his mouth and drinks some of the juice. “The first time I met Jimmy, I was inside for taking a lead pipe to that guy from the Snakes.”
The Snakes was a youth gang based around the concrete slum out behind the Stadium. There hadn’t been much interaction between them and the Spiders, the gang George and Bruno belonged to, until Suzette, one of the girls who hung out with the Spiders, was raped by a dark guy after a Run DMC concert at the Stadium. The cops didn’t do anything, of course. Girls are raped in the slums of the City every day, and the cops prefer to stay away from the slums.
George had a master key for all Fords. You could buy them for next to nothing all over the City. Fords are some of the easiest cars to steal. The day after, he drove Suzette and a handful of the boys out to the Stadium in a stolen Scorpio. They spent a couple of hours driving around the area before Suzette pointed out a guy. He was wearing a green beret with a snake stitched onto the front – the emblem of the Snakes. They stopped the car. George took care of him with the pipe, while the other guys held him down.
The cops wouldn’t normally spend a lot of time on something like that, but the guy had an uncle whose neighbor was the brother of a police detective. The one owed the other a favor, and abracadabra, George gets five weeks for aggravated assault. He was just fifteen years old.