Barely Legal

25

Benny Slick’s heart nearly stopped. Mario Payday was calling on him again? The elderly bookie had survived one meeting with Mario Payday, a small miracle in itself, seeing as how Benny had no visible assets, but he had no chance of surviving a second. If the marker he had produced didn’t hold up — and clearly it hadn’t or Mario wouldn’t be back — then Benny was history, and a pretty sordid one at that. The next twenty minutes were not going to be worth living. The only question was how many of them would involve hanging upside down out the open window.

Probably not many. To the best of Benny’s recollection, no one had ever been pulled up twice. You were lucky to find an answer that got you pulled up once. The second time out the window was a one-way trip guaranteed. There was no escape. If the window had been open, Benny might have gone out it himself.

“Ah, Mr. Slick,” Mario said. “I had not expected to be seeing you so soon.”

Benny tried to answer. It came out a strangled whine, eerily close to the pitch of a hospital monitor flatlining.

Mario Payday nodded approvingly. “Well said.” He grabbed the back of the chair Benny had just vacated, spun it around, and sat down. “I believe you’ve met my boys, Carlo and Ollie the Ox.”

Ollie looked like an ox. One that had just been slammed in the forehead with a sledgehammer at the slaughterhouse. His eyes registered no discernible intellect whatsoever.

“Now then, with regard to your marker, or rather Mr. Fisher’s marker, the one that you gave me in an attempt to resolve your outstanding debt.”

Benny swallowed hard. He was surprised to discover he still had saliva. He did not trust himself to speak.

“I brought up the matter with Mr. Fisher, who was most surprised to see me. He expressed the opinion that the debt had been paid, and that you surely knew it had.”

Benny found his voice. “That’s not true, he’s lying — of course he’d say that, what else was he going to say? You think he wants to give you ninety thousand dollars, of course he doesn’t, he’s trying to get out of it. I can’t believe you’d fall for that.”

Benny suddenly realized he’d said the word fall. His head automatically swiveled toward the window, as if propelled by an irresistible force. He looked back, but it was too late. Mario had followed his gaze.

“What a charming idea,” Mario said. “Carlo, could you help Mr. Slick recover his composure? I think I know just where to look.”

Benny’s eyes were wide. He opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. No agonized wail, no stammered excuse, no halfhearted plea for mercy when there was none to be had. He simply stopped. His face froze, and he blinked twice and pitched forward onto his face.

“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Mario said. “Why must they be so dramatic? Carlo, get him up. Dust him off. We’ve wasted more than enough time on this gentleman. His excuse isn’t going to fly. But he is.” Mario chuckled. “That’s rather clever. I hope he heard me. Get him up and ask him.”

Carlo rolled Benny over and slapped him in the face. Benny didn’t respond. Carlo put his head on his chest and listened for a heartbeat. He found none.

Carlo looked up. “I think he’s dead.”

Mario flicked cigar ash off his pants leg. “Well,” he said, “that’s inconvenient.”