The winter of Frankie Machine

39

“He is one smart son of a bitch,” Carlo says.

They’re sitting in the parking lot of a Burger King in El Centro, sixty miles east of Borrego and hard by the Mexican border. Jimmy has the rest of his crew spread around the town. He took the Burger King, sent Jackie and Tony to Mickey D’s, Joey and Paulie to Jack in the Box.

“How comewe get Jack in the Box?” Paulie had complained.

“What, you want Burger King?” Jimmy had asked.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Well, fuck you, I get Burger King,” Jimmy had said. Burger King’s got better french fries and the sodas aren’t so gassy. You’re cooped up in a car with another guy hours at a time, you don’t want gassy sodas. Now he looks at Carlo and says, “He didn’t get to be Frankie Machine by being stupid.”

“He got away,” Carlo says. “Now he’s got money, he’s got an open road. We don’t know where the fuck he is; he could be anywhere.”

“Chill,” Jimmy says. “One fucking phone call, I’ll know right where he is.”

Carlo looks at him, impressed and skeptical at the same time. “Who you gonna call?”

“Ghostbusters.”