Get Real

25

DOUG WAS WORRIED about Stan Murch. Not worried about him, exactly, but more worried for him. The news that he had been peremptorily kicked out of the gang had come as a real shock. Weren’t gangs supposed to stick together? Wasn’t it the gang against the world, and they relied on one another because there was nobody else they could rely on?

And what made it even worse, in some way it was Stan Murch who had put this gang together. His mother had sent Stan to Doug, and Stan had shown up with John, and then at the next meeting Andy was there, and it really looked as though this was a tight-knit group, people who had known and trusted one another through many nefarious experiences. Tiny and Judson had come in to complete the crew, and it had all made sense.

But then, because he himself had added Ray Harbach to the mix, all at once they threw Stan out. No regrets, no good fellowship, just cold calculation. It had changed the way he looked at the gang, and not for the better.

And how would Stan have taken it? Oh, John and Andy had dismissed all that, as being nothing of importance, because Stan knew the ways of the world and there would always be another job, but did that make sense? Would Stan not be resentful even a tiny bit?

Nonviolent, Doug thought. They’re supposed to be nonviolent, but who says so? They do. Do they look nonviolent?

He remembered asking them, John and Andy, when they’d told him Stan was out, asking them because he so much didn’t want anything really bad to happen, asking them if they’d actually killed Stan—the way the mobsters on television always do a reduction in staff—and he clearly remembered Andy’s answer:

“I can guarantee you, Doug, we stay away from violence completely unless there’s absolutely no way it can get back at us.”

And that’s a slippery sentence once you start to look at it, isn’t it?

What if they had killed Stan? Tiny, with those big hands of his. Killed him to keep him from betraying the gang to the police as revenge for his ouster, or to keep him from spying on them and robbing them once the job was done. Didn’t honor among thieves, really, go out with Robin Hood?

Doug fretted the entire weekend about Stan, where he was, what he thought about what had happened, and by Sunday afternoon, two days after he’d been told about Stan’s downsizing, he couldn’t stand it any more. He had to find out. No matter what the truth was, he had to know it.

So finally, Sunday afternoon, giving up his futile attempts to read the Sunday Times, he took the only route he knew to get in touch with Stan, and phoned his Mom, only to get her answering machine, with her distinct impatient voice: “If I know you, say so, and I’ll call you back.”

“Mrs. Murch,” he told the machine, “this is Doug Fairkeep. Would you please have Stan call me as soon as possible?” And he hung up, to fret some more.

She called back at seven that evening. “He’s outa town,” she said.

“Out of town?”

“He went to California for maybe a month,” she said. “He had a couple possible job opportunities out there.”

“Do you have a contact number for him?”

“Not me,” she said. “He’ll check in, I’ll tell him you called.”

“I’d really like to hear from him.”

“You know how often people call their mother,” she said. “When he gets a minute off his busy schedule and gives me a ring, I’ll give him your message.”

“Thank you,” Doug said.

That was his own mother. She wouldn’t cover up for them, would she, if they’d… done… anything? Or had she been intimidated? (Though she hadn’t sounded particularly intimidated.)

But the more he thought about it, if they did decide to eliminate Stan because he knew too much, wouldn’t that mean Doug also knew too much? Not a happy thought.

All in all, he had a troubled night.