Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime

Thirty-two

We managed to get off of Industrial Road without running into the cops, but I was still uncomfortable about it.

“They’re gonna think I’m involved when they find out I was there.”

“They’re not gonna find out,” Jerry said. “That’s why I went back for that piece of paper with your number on it.”

At the moment that slip of paper was crumpled in one of my pockets where it would do a lot less damage.

“I appreciate what you did, Jerry,” I said. “Don’t think I don’t, but-”

“I was just doin’ my job.”

He was behind the wheel because I was a little too shaky to drive.

“Where we headed now?”

I checked my watch. It was early enough for us to catch Ravisi and Davis at the strip club, since a dead Mike Borraco had not taken up much of our time.

“I guess we better head back to the club,” I said. “At least we can catch up to the two goons who worked me over.”

“And then do what?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“When you find them, what’re you gonna do?”

“Well, I’m gonna …” I realized I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know.”

“Find out who they were workin’ for when they kicked the crap outta you?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And then what?”

“Jerry,” I said, “I haven’t-”

“I hope you’re not thinkin’ about turnin’ them over to the cops.”

“Well … yeah, the thought had crossed my mind.”

“But not before you find out who they was workin’ for, right?”

“Uh …”

“And how was you gonna do that, Mr. G? Work’em over yerself?”

“I gotta admit, Jerry,” I said, “I haven’t exactly thought this through.”

“You don’t gotta,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The place was called Club Diamond, a fancy name for what was pretty much a joint. It spoke to how low I’d sunk a few years back that I’d been a regular there.

“Don’t get out,” Jerry said, grabbing my arm.

“Why not?”

“It’s early,” he said. “Chances are they ain’t here yet. Let’s sit out here and see if we can spot ’em.”

“What if they are already inside?”

“Then we’ll catch ’em comin’ out. Look, they know you. If they see you inside they’re either gonna run, or try ta kill you.”

“You have a point.”

“And if they try ta kill you,” he went on, “I’m gonna have to waste their asses.”

“Christ, I don’t want you to do that!”

“I know,” he said, “but it’d be their choice, not mine.”

“So what do we do when they show up?”

“Watch,” he said, “wait, and then follow ’em. With a little luck they’ll take us home with ’em.”

“I really meant it when I said I didn’t want to kill them, Jerry.”

“I know it,” he said. “We’re just gonna ask them some questions, that’s all.”

I stared at his profile, noticed that his hands had tightened on the steering wheel. He noticed it, too, because suddenly he looked at them and let up on the wheel so that the color seeped back into his knuckles.

“This is a nice car,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Big enough for me.”

“What kind of car do you have at home?”

“I ain’t got a car,” he said. “I live in Manhattan. Don’t need one.”

“You must sometimes.”

“Oh sure, somebody gives me one when I need it,” he explained, “or I rent one.” He slid his hands around the wheel, this time lovingly. “Gonna rent one of these next time.”

“Jerry,” I asked. “What do you do in New York?”

“This and that,” he said. “Collections. A lot of collections.”

“For loan sharks?”

“Sure, loan sharks. I do pick ups, too. You know, for the boys? Sometimes I gotta get tough, ya know? Break an arm or a leg.”

“You like that kind of work?”

“Don’t nobody like that kind of work, Mr. G,” he said. “It’s a job.”

We sat quietly for a while, watching the front door of the club. Men came and went, sometimes a man went in with a woman. There were windows with beer signs in them, and above the door the name of the club in blue neon. Vegas was a town of neon, of lights, and it was somebody’s job to make sure all the bulbs were on all the time. I sometimes envied whoever had that job. It was so clear what they had to do, with no hidden agendas.

“You ain’t thinkin’ I’m a hitter, are ya?” Jerry asked, breaking into my reverie.

“What?”

“I ain’t no hit man, Mr. G,” he said, indignantly.

“I never thought you were, Jerry.”

“I’ve killed people,” he went on, “but never for money, and only when they had it comin’.”

“And who decided they had it coming?”

“Not me,” he said. “I don’t make that decision. Because somebody I trust tells me.”

I nodded and stared out the window.

“But I ain’t no hitter,” he said, after a moment.

“I know.”

Then he nodded, apparently satisfied that he’d made his point. I didn’t see the subtle difference between what he said he did and what he said he didn’t do, but that was okay. It worked for him, and that was all that mattered.

“There they are,” I said, about half an hour later.

I reached for the door handle and he stopped me again.

“Let them go inside.”

We watched as the two men who had broken into my place, beaten me up, kicked and threatened me went into the club.

“Let’s go!” I said, too anxious to sit still.

“No.”

I looked at him.

“I’ll go in. Like I said, they know you.”

“You think you can go unnoticed in there?” I asked. “You’re a big guy, Jerry.”

“With all kinds of tits and ass hangin’ out, yeah, I think I can pretty much go unnoticed, but there’s one guy I do want to notice me.”

“The bartender?”

He nodded.

“I just wanna make sure he keeps his mouth shut.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Just seein’ me’ll do that.” He smiled for the first time since I’d met him. “Like you said, I’m a big guy.”