Killing Them Softly

STEVE AND BARRY CAPRIO waited together in the doorway of the Hayes Bickford opposite the Lobster Tail on Boylston Street. “I tell you,” Barry said, “I wouldn’t’ve recognized the guy.”

“Jackie said that,” Steve said. “Guy lost some weight and he thinks he’s got a wig or something. He’s also, he’s a pretty sharp dresser now, and he sure didn’t used to be.”

“Must’ve come into a little money or something,” Barry said.

“Probably not,” Steve said, “not what Jackie thinks, anyway. He thinks all of a sudden, guy started spending a couple dollars now and then. ‘Probably come outa the divorce better’n he expected,’ is what Jackie thinks. He used to be the tightest cocksucker you ever saw.”

“Christ sake,” Barry said, “he hadda be. The way he used to chase broads alla time? What’s he been married, about nine times?”

“Dillon thinks three,” Steve said. “Dillon was there. Jesus, Dillon looks like shit.”

“Dillon’ll be all right,” Barry said. “That prick, he’s too mean to die. Ever see his eyes?”

“Not particularly,” Steve said.

“I never saw eyes on a guy like that,” Barry said, “I never saw eyes like that until after I hit them. The first time I saw that guy, I really thought: He’s gonna go over. But he doesn’t. It’s the way he always looks. Those’re bad eyes. He’s gonna die.”

“We’re all gonna die,” Steve said. “Trattman’s gonna die.”

“Yeah,” Barry said, “but not tonight, right Steve?”

“I haven’t got no inside information,” Steve said. “I just got a job to do.”

“Don’t gimme that,” Barry said, “I didn’t sign up for that. I want you to tell me, Trattman’s not gonna go to sleep tonight.”

“Not by us,” Steve said.

“Okay by me,” Barry said.

“He didn’t say his prayers or something,” Steve said, “I can’t help that. But we’re not doing it.”

“Okay,” Barry said. “I just wanna be sure.”

“Just what I said,” Steve said. “Nothing else.”

“Because I always liked Markie,” Barry said.

“Everybody did,” Steve said. “You, you mostly liked the blonde.”

“What blonde?” Barry said.

“Oh come on,” Steve said, “the blonde he used to have at the One-Fifteen, remember her?”

“That was the other game,” Barry said.

“The game he knocked over himself,” Steve said.

“We’re lucky, he didn’t have us there for that one,” Barry said. “I wouldn’t’ve wanted to be there for that.”

“Oh for Christ sake,” Steve said, “sometimes you’re too fuckin’ dumb for fuckin’ words, you know that, Barry?”

“Why?” Barry said. “The game got knocked over. We was there, we either would’ve hadda do something about it or else we would’ve been inna shit, we didn’t do something about it.”

“Why the fuck you think he didn’t have us there?” Steve said.

“That’s what I mean,” Barry said. “That was nice of the guy. He knows he’s gonna do something, he lets us out.”

“You dumb fuckin’ shit,” Steve said. “I gotta have a talk with Ma. I know it now, she was fuckin’ the milkman. Maybe the milkman’s horse. You gotta be the dumbest fuckin’ shit on the face of the fuckin’ earth. You embarrass me, you know that? You stupid fuckin’ ginzo.”

“He did,” Barry said.

“You should’ve worn a helmet, Barry,” Steve said. “I mean that. I think you took too many shots inna head. Don’t you know why he let us out?”

“He was being a nice guy,” Barry said.

“He didn’t wanna pay us,” Steve said. “If we’re there, and we didn’t know, he would’ve had trouble. He didn’t want no trouble. He wanted money. He didn’t wanna share no dough with us. So he told us not to show up. He’s not nice. He’s just cheap. Just like everybody else. You dumb shit.”

“I still liked the guy,” Barry said.

“You liked the blonde,” Steve said. “Come on, Barry.”

“He was married to that girl,” Barry said.

“Jackie don’t think so,” Steve said. “Dillon, either. She was just something he had around.”

“She was a nice girl,” Barry said. “I did like her.”

“She hadda great big ass,” Steve said. “That’s all you think about, a great big ass.”

“She did,” Barry said. “Still, not a bad girl at all. Nice bazooms. She was a good kid to talk to.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “right. Talk. Remember that night she come out there inna pink pants?”

“Yeah,” Barry said.

“You don’t,” Steve said. “Still, that was the biggest pink thing I ever saw.”

“She was a nice girl,” Barry said.

“You wanna be careful,” Steve said. “Some night I’ll get drunk and I’ll call Ginny up and tell her, you’re scoutin’ strange tail alla time.”

“Steve,” Barry said, “you know …”

“I know,” Steve said.

“Ginny’s the best thing, ever happened to me,” Barry said. “I know, you’re always telling me, I’m a dumb shit. Okay, I’m a dumb shit. But I know some things. The times that girl, I couldn’t count them. You can kid around all you want. I don’t care if you are my brother. You know what? I get home tonight, don’t matter what time I get home tonight, it’s probably gonna be late, Ginny’ll be waiting up. We’ll have a beer and we’ll talk. Anybody gives Ginny a hard time, well, I’m maybe a little outa shape. But nobody better call Ginny and get her thinking something like that, or anything, that, especially that’s not true.”

“Oh for Christ sake,” Steve said. “I was just hacking around.”

“Not on that,” Barry said. “Ginny, Ginny’s sacred to me.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said.

“I mean that,” Barry said. “The rest of you guys, all right, you can think anything you want. But not me. Not me and Ginny.”

“You mean to tell me,” Steve said, “Trattman’s pink broad, you didn’t fuck her?”

“Nah,” Barry said. “I tell you, she was married to Trattman at the time. You don’t fuck somebody else’s wife. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Jackie don’t think so,” Steve said.

“Jackie don’t know, is what Jackie does,” Barry said. “She told me herself.”

“You asked her,” Steve said.

“I didn’t ask her if she was married,” Barry said.

“Barry,” Steve said, “I’m ashamed of you. My own brother, and you asked somebody else’s girl to fuck.”

“I did not,” Barry said.

“I’m definitely gonna tell Ginny,” Steve said. “You’ll be lucky, you don’t get a mouthful of plates, you come in after this. You goddamned stud.”

“I wasn’t married to Ginny then,” Barry said.

“Barry,” Steve said, “you been married to Ginny since you’re twelve, you know that. You just didn’t get to church before, is all. Any time Ginny said: ‘Jump,’ all you ever said was: ‘How high?’ ”

“I did not,” Barry said.

“You did,” Steve said. “You give up boxing because Ginny didn’t want your face wrecked.”

“No, I didn’t,” Barry said. “I give it up because I wasn’t no good.”

“Who’s the light-heavy champ in Sixty-three?” Steve said.

“All right, all right,” Barry said. “He wasn’t champ for long.”

“Who was he?” Steve said. “I forget his name.”

“When I fought him he hadda different name,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “I remember. Tennessee Bobby Walker. Yeah. That’s the guy. How long’d you go with him?”

“That was before,” Barry said.

“Not much before,” Steve said. “Twelve and you TKO-ed him, and then fifteen and he splits you. And, who was that guy on the Ticonderoga?”

“You remind me of Jackie,” Barry said.

“I remind you of Ginny,” Steve said.

“He was always at me, like you are,” Barry said. “That night Walker beat me? He was fulla fuckin’ shit, and I was hurt. That bastard cut me onna eye and he kept the laces in it all night.”

“You did the same thing to him, the time before,” Steve said.

“That didn’t make it feel better,” Barry said. “The only thing that bastard’s thinking about’s how much money he’s out. And I was hurt.”

“You should’ve butted him,” Steve said.

“I tried to,” Barry said. “Didn’t work. He had his head down too low. You know something? That’s the thing I liked about Markie. He never saw me fight. All you guys did.”

“And we knew you quit because you’re chicken,” Steve said. “It’s all right.”

“I wasn’t any good,” Barry said. “There’re guys that’re like that, you know.”

“I know,” Steve said.

“No you don’t,” Barry said. “You’re just like Jackie. I’m not gonna do this. I haven’t got nothing against Markie. I dunno why he didn’t stay married, the blonde.”

“Barry,” Steve said, “they weren’t married. That was just something that went on a long time. She was letting you down easy. She didn’t wanna fuck you and she didn’t wanna hurt your feelings.”

“No,” Barry said, “maybe, okay, but nothing Markie ever had, went on a long time. He’d just as soon get married as fuck around, he don’t care. He’s not a bad shit.”

“No,” Steve said, “he’s not. He’s just an asshole when it comes to the broads.”

“I still like him,” Barry said.

“So do I,” Steve said. “I said that to Jackie. I, I don’t want to do this, you know? I really didn’t. Markie’s not a bad shit. I told him, I said: ‘Look, I used to work for the guy now and then. Me and Barry. Jeez, I don’t know. He always treated me all right.’ ”

“Dillon was there too, wasn’t he?” Barry said.

“Dillon was there,” Steve said. “White’s a fuckin’ sheet, he don’t use no breath to say nothin’, it’s probably his last. There’s dogs, I think, not as sick as Dillon.”

“They’re both the same,” Barry said. “They’re both pricks.”

“I don’t know,” Steve said.

“I do,” Barry said. “I knew Jackie before I knew Dillon. I didn’t work for Dillon, after I worked, after I knew Jackie. Jackie didn’t have no work. They’re both the same.”

“What difference it make?” Steve said.

“You know Dillon,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“You know Jackie,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“You know the way Dillon looks now,” Barry said, “and it’s because he’s sick.”

“He don’t look right,” Steve said.

“Jackie always looked that way,” Barry said. “Always. He’s got the same eyes.”

“Ahh,” Steve said.

“I mean it,” Barry said. “I mean it. I did some things for that guy. When the fights’re on, and all, you know something? I bet that guy didn’t weigh one thirty then, and he wasn’t carrying nothing you could see, and you can see things, you know?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“A little shit,” Barry said. “He was always a little shit. And there was a lot of big guys around. And he had dough. And you know something? Nobody ever fucked with him. Nobody. Not officers, nobody. You know why? Because he looked the same way then that Dillon looks now. In the eyes. Like somebody hit him. Only he’s not hurt and he’s not going down. He’s just there. And nobody knew him from the next guy’s asshole, then. Now Dillon’s sick and he looks the same way. I don’t trust that guy.”

“He’s all right,” Steve said.

“He’s a mean little prick,” Barry said.

“He doesn’t act like one,” Steve said. “He treated me all right. Any questions I had, he treated me all right.”

“What’d you ask him?” Barry said. “What’d he say?”

“I told him,” Steve said, “I said: ‘Look, I kind of like Markie.’ He said: ‘I know it. Everybody does. He’s a great guy. I told him once: “Markie, you ask girls to fuck, you don’t even want to fuck.” I said that to him.’ And you know what he says? Jackie said: ‘ “I’m staying in shape. Besides, how the fuck do I know, I don’t wanna fuck the girl, unless I fuck her? So I ask her, and she says, all right, I fuck her and then I know. After.’ ” I think, myself,” Steve said, “I think the guy’s afraid, there’s some broad some place inna world that’s gonna fuck, and he’ll die without asking her. That’s what Jackie said. ‘Guy gets more ass’n a toilet seat.’ ”

“Well,” Barry said, “that’s him all right then. He’s got one with about a forty-inch setta boobs on her in there. He practically didn’t even get his coat off before he spotted her, and he was right next to her before I could even get a dime inna box to call you. He don’t waste any time.”

“He’s been at it a long time,” Steve said. “You know that guy, except for when he first gets married, he goes out every fuckin’ night? Every night. When he gets married, for a little while he doesn’t. Then pretty soon, he does it again. So naturally, the broads he marries, there’s always something that tips them off, they’re all lizards themselves and he’s not home and they start figuring. But you imagine that? The guy’s close to fifty, and he’s, he’s not married, he’s never home. Never. You can say what you want about the guy, he is still one strong bastard.”

“I hope he’s quick, too,” Barry said. “This fuckin’ dampness.”

“He’ll be out,” Steve said. “All we got to do is be here and wait, just like whoever the broad is. Markie don’t waste no time. He knows what he’s doing. Half the gash went into that place, looking to get laid, they ended up inna rack with Markie. And he gives them what they’re looking for, too. They all, you know something? They don’t even know who he is.”

“How come?” Barry said.

“Onna one-night stand,” Steve said, “he don’t give his right name.”

“Who’s he say he is?” Barry said.

“Well,” Steve said, “he knows us, right? And he knows Dillon and he knows a lot of guys. And then there’s some guys he doesn’t know, some guys that, he just makes up their names. Depends on how he feels. So the thing is, there’s probably four, five broads, come in here or some place else one night all pissed off at their husbands, and they think they fucked us.”

“That cocksucker,” Barry said.

“Hey,” Steve said, “you got to give the guy credit.”

“Sure,” Barry said, “and suppose one of them broads that he fucked and he said he was me, and Ginny finds out, huh? Then I’m deep in the shit and I didn’t even do it.”

“Hell, Barry,” Steve said, “I mean, nobody could recognize you. What’s the matter, I thought Ginny trusted you.”

“She does,” Barry said, “because she knows I don’t do that.”

“Well,” Steve said, “look, he probably didn’t say he was you very much anyway. And the girls he meets, they probably don’t even hear the name. They’re just out to get laid. It’s always, he’s the head of the fuckin’ Mafia. He’s got this whole routine he goes through. ‘Just in town for a couple days. I’m in and out of town a lot.’ He is, too. Except the nights he runs the game, he’s here, he’s in Danvers, he’s in Lawrence, he’s all over the place. Then he pulls out this big roll. He’s got himself about eighty fifties there, and it’s nothing but fifties, either. And he’s got the rings. And then pretty soon: I’m staying with a guy. Can’t take no chances onna hotel, you got to sign everything. Can we, can we maybe use your place?’ And of course the broad, she hasn’t got a place. Well, she’s got one, but the old man and the kids’re there, and besides, she don’t want nobody to know she’s from around here. So the next thing you know they’re in a hotel and the broad’s paying for it. ‘He can’t take them to his place,’ Dillon told me. ‘There’s no bugs in there, for Christ sake. Bug’d be ashamed to live in that place.’ But he’s got the Cad and the gold rings and he goes around telling broads all kinds of things and they all believe him and he fucks them all. He’s done more for the world’n Christmas, you add it all up.”

“Why’d you say that about Danvers?” Barry said.

“Because he goes there,” Steve said. “There’s this club he goes to some times, up in Danvers. He goes over the Beach, too. The guy gets around.”

“Ginny’s ma lives in Danvers,” Barry said.

“I doubt he fucked Ginny’s ma, Barry,” Steve said. “You wanna know, though, I’ll call her up and ask her for you.”

“Some day I’m gonna break your fuckin’ long nose for you, Steve,” Barry said.

Trattman, wearing a mouse-colored, double-breasted overcoat, emerged from the Lobster Tail with a dark-haired woman in her forties. He raised his right arm, using his left hand to guide her toward the curb. An attendant in a snorkel coat pulled up in a tan Coupe de Ville. Trattman opened the passenger door for the woman as the attendant got out on the driver’s side. Trattman closed the passenger door and walked around the front of the car. He handed a folded bill to the attendant. The attendant said: “Thanks,” with no sign of recognition. Trattman got into the Cadillac.

Steve and Barry got into Steve’s metallic blue LTD hardtop, black vinyl roof, and shut the doors.

The Coupe de Ville headed east on Boylston Street. It crossed the intersections at Hereford, Gloucester, Fairfield and Exeter streets on green lights. Steve kept the LTD three car lengths back, one lane to the right. He went through the Fairfield and Exeter intersections on yellow lights.

“This isn’t a bad car either,” Barry said.

“You ever decide,” Steve said, “stop fuckin’ around and do something, you can get something for yourself instead of bitching all the time about how everybody else’s got something and you don’t.”

“Fuck you,” Barry said. “Last month I hadda lay out close to two hundred and fifty bucks for the fuckin’ dentist. Every time I get a couple bucks ahead, something comes along to fuck it up.”

The Cadillac stopped for a red light at Dartmouth Street.

“I must be gettin’ old,” Steve said. “All my friends’re having trouble with their teeth. Jackie was telling me, his wife’s all hot and bothered, she’s gotta have, what’re those things, root canals. ‘Which is gonna set me back about nine hundred bucks, I suppose, I’m through.’ I didn’t know stuff like that cost so much.”

The light at Dartmouth changed and the Cadillac moved forward. The woman in the Cadillac moved closer to Trattman.

“He’s telling her what he’s gonna do to her now,” Steve said.

“The thing that really did it to me,” Barry said, “you know what that son of a bitch whacked me for Maine? Five hundred a day and expenses. I hadda pay him almost thirty-nine hundred dollars. Plus what I hadda give him before, a thousand, take the case in the first place.”

The Cadillac had green lights at Clarendon and Berkeley. The Caprio car went through on yellow.

“That’s because you’re a stupid shit,” Steve said. “No asshole inna world would’ve gone up there the way you did. You, you haven’t got no complaint. I think he did all right by you. You had anybody else, you would’ve gotten hooked again.”

The Cadillac stopped for a red light at Arlington Street.

“I’m not putting the hammer on Mike,” Barry said. “He’s just expensive, is all.”

The light changed and Steve followed the Cadillac, turning right on Arlington Street. A man in a light gray Chesterfield, carrying a briefcase, crossed the street in front of the LTD, walking fast and catching up with a tall albino man who wore a lavender cape lined with red satin, and platform shoes. Steve Caprio changed lanes to the right and closed the distance between the LTD and the Cadillac.

“Looks like he’s going down the Envoy,” Steve said. “Must’ve got a cheap one this time, gotta pay for it himself. No, I was just saying, ah, it’s the same thing. You just fuck around too much. You did something, you could get something. You don’t see me or Jackie going up to Maine and being stupid like that, chasing guys around when they’re staying with their families and stuff.”

“Well,” Barry said, “he wasn’t gonna pay. He took the dough off of Bloom and then he wasn’t gonna pay it back. Bloom hadda get his dough outa the guy. You can’t go around letting guys get away with stuff like that.”

The Cadillac moved into the left lane at the Statler Hilton and turned left.

“No, he’s not going down the Envoy,” Steve said. “He’s going down the Terrace. She must have some dough after all. Sure, and Bloom gets his dough, and you get, what’d Bloom give you for that shitty thing?”

“Six hundred,” Barry said. “I needed the dough. Ginny was starting to get the caps, there, and that was the first time I hadda pay.”

“Six hundred,” Steve said. “So, you only lost about thirty-two, forty-two hundred on it. Bloom give you what Mike cost you?”

“Nope,” Barry said.

The Cadillac went into the Terrace Hotel garage.

“Nope,” Steve said. “You ask him for it?”

“Nope,” Barry said.

“Sure,” Steve said. He parked the LTD half a block from the garage and turned off the ignition. “So, you almost go to jail again, and you spent on that what I spent on this car. That’s what I mean. Sooner or later you’re gonna have to start picking your spots, like I do. Otherwise you’re gonna spend the rest of your life tryin’ to get out of things that you shouldn’t’ve got into in the first place, and you’re never gonna have nothin’.”

“Look,” Barry said, “okay, you got all this talk and shit for me, lemme ask you this: you’re doing so good, how come you’re still going out and beating guys up, huh?”

“It’s not the money,” Steve said. “You wanna see how much money I got on me, right this minute?” He moved on the seat, reaching for his wallet.

“No,” Barry said.

Steve relaxed. “I got twenty-one hundred bucks on me right this minute,” he said. “I don’t owe nickel one on this car and I sent Rita’s check to her the other day. No, I’m doing a favor for a guy. This thing come up, Jackie’s done some things for me when I couldn’t do them.…”

“Jackie don’t beat guys up,” Barry said.

“No,” Steve said, “but there’s things that Jackie does do, you know? There’s other things inna world that guys do besides going around and doing things to other guys, Barry. You wouldn’t know that because the only thing you ever thought about was how you could grab a fast hundred and never mind what you’re doing on the long run. Jackie gimme that thing, when he was getting away from the machines he had in the locations on Route 9, there. He didn’t have to do that.”

“He couldn’t handle it himself, though,” Barry said.

“No, he couldn’t,” Steve said. “But he didn’t have to give it to me. He didn’t have to say to the guys, ‘Now, I want you to give this thing to Stevie, he’s a good guy.’ But he did. So, if Jackie asks me to do him a favor, and I can get a fast hundred out of it for my dumb brother, I’m gonna do it.”

“I can use the dough,” Barry said. He lit a Winchester cigar.

“Why’re you smoking those fucking things?” Steve said.

“Because they’re not gonna kill me as fast,” Barry said.

Steve lit an L&M. “Well,” he said, “you inhale them, don’t you?”

“Some times I forget and then I do,” Barry said. “Not very often, though. It’s like swallowing fuckin’ fire when you do it.”

“Sure,” Steve said, “and you’re not gonna tell me, there isn’t more shit in them’re these.”

“Shit,” Barry said, “I mean, how long’ve we been smoking?”

“I started when I was twelve,” Steve said.

“Okay,” Barry said, “and I was a big asshole then just like I am now, I did everything you told me to do, so I was eleven. So, I mean, I been smoking close to thirty years, it’s probably not gonna make much difference now anyway. Ginny was after me about it, I smoked them Omegas for a while. I did them, and then there was that other kind of thing there.”

“Between the Acts,” Steve said. “I can’t figure them things out, I never could. They smell just like anything else, when you’re the guy that’s smoking them. But when you’re the guy that’s with the guy that’s smoking them, you’d swear the bastard spent the whole day burning a cat or something.”

“Yeah,” Barry said. “So, I didn’t have any cigarettes for over a year now, except when I was up in Maine, there. I had about twenny packs of Luckies in them three days, I can tell you that. But except for that, I been using these things. I don’t feel no better, though. I thought I would. Them guys that’re try in’ to put you guys out of business all the time, you think you’re gonna feel better if you stop. Ginny told me that too. But I don’t. I just eat more. Some day they’re gonna say you can’t sell the fuckin’ things any more. That’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Never happen,” Steve said. “Look, how many guys are there, you think, can go back and forth like you do? Huh? Maybe two. They’re not gonna do that. Shit, they did the same thing with booze. They do it and, well, look, they think they’re taxing them now, right? How much taxes you think me and Jackie pay on that stuff, huh? So you think, they can’t get the taxes on what they’re letting me sell, you think they’re gonna, they’re gonna be able to stop me from selling them? I pay on about one third of the stuff I sell. Just enough so it’s not too fuckin’ easy for them, a kid could catch me doing it. And nobody looks at the bottom of them things. So, and they know I’m doing it, and guys’re doing it, and they know they can’t stop me and they also know, if they didn’t let guys sell them at all, they couldn’t do it.”

“Jesus,” Barry said, “it takes this fucker long enough, don’t it?”

“Well,” Steve said, “you got to allow the guy a certain amount of time, you know. I asked Jackie. I said, ‘Great, the guy’s gonna get laid and I’m gonna wait around all night for Christ sake.’ Jackie says, no, he don’t stay out late. He gets what he wants and then he goes home. Never stays out past one.”

“I still think it’s kind of nice of us,” Barry said, “letting the guy get his rocks off like this. Probably how he stays in so good shape.”

“He’s a fairly smart bastard,” Steve said.

“Not tonight he’s not gonna be,” Barry said.

“Well,” Steve said, “I mean, and that’s the kind of guy he is too, like about the broads, there. He’s not smart enough, he doesn’t marry any of them. Some times he’s not smart. And the same thing with the games there, see? Most of the time he runs a good game and all, and everybody’s happy and that’s when he’s being smart. He’s not making any noise and he’s only taking guys that want to get taken and he don’t kill it, you know? He don’t take them for a lot. And he don’t talk about how he’s taking them. No, he just sometimes, it seems like every so often he’s gotta take everybody for everything, and that’s the same thing.”

The Coupe de Ville paused at the garage exit and Steve started the LTD. The Cadillac went down a short street and turned west on Kneeland Street. Steve put the LTD in drive and went east on Kneeland Street. In the rearview mirror of the LTD the taillights of the Cadillac receded into Park Square.

“You’re sure he’s going home,” Barry said.

“Yup,” Steve said. “He’s just too fuckin’ cheap, take the Turnpike.”

Steve kept the LTD in the middle lane on the Massachusetts Turnpike and did not exceed sixty-five miles per hour. The LTD reached the Allston exit in less than seven minutes. Steve threw change into the tollgate basket and turned right on Cambridge Street. At eleven-fifty he parked the LTD beside a hydrant on Sheridan Street in Brighton and shut the ignition off.

“All right,” he said, “it’s the third brick one down there on the left.”

“The one with the yellow Chev,” Barry said.

“The next one,” Steve said.

“No driveway,” Barry said.

“Right,” Steve said. “Cheap bastard parks on the street.”

At nine minutes past midnight the Cadillac moved slowly by the LTD. Steve and Barry eased down on the seats.

At twenty minutes past twelve the Cadillac moved slowly past the LTD. Steve said: “If he comes by once more I’m gonna move and give him this place.”

At twelve thirty-five, Trattman walked up Sheridan Street, approaching the LTD from the rear, on the same side of the street. When he got to the rear bumper of the LTD, Steve said: “Now.”

Barry and Steve got out of the LTD. Barry said: “Right there.”

Trattman stopped. He frowned. He said: “You guys, you guys …”

Steve pointed a thirty-eight Chiefs Special, two-inch barrel, at Trattman. He said: “Get inna car, Markie.”

Trattman said: “You, I haven’t got no money on me, you guys. I don’t, you guys, I haven’t got no money or anything.”

Barry said: “Get inna fuckin’ car, Markie.” He walked up to Trattman and took him by the right elbow. Trattman resisted slightly. “The car,” Barry said, “you got to get inna fuckin’ car, Markie. You’re gonna get inna car and you know you’re gonna get inna car, so get inna car, for Christ sake.”

Trattman walked slowly toward the car. He looked toward Steve. Steve held the revolver steady. Trattman said: “Steve, you guys, I didn’t do nothing.”

Steve said: “Barry, put him inna back and get in with him.”

Barry pushed Trattman slightly. Trattman said: “I mean it. I didn’t do anything.”

Barry said: “Markie, we’re gonna have all kinds of time to talk about things. Just get inna car, all right?”

Trattman bent and entered the car. He got into the back. Steve slid in on the driver’s side and shut the door. He turned in the seat and pointed the revolver at Trattman. Barry got in and managed to close the passenger door from the back seat. Steve handed the revolver to Barry. Trattman said: “Why’re you guys doing this?”

Steve started the LTD.

“I could, I could do something, you know,” Trattman said. “You guys’re gonna do something to me, I know some guys and I know the right, I know where to call. You guys oughta think about that.”

“You maybe already did something,” Barry said. “Maybe that’s why you’re here, because you did something.”

“I didn’t do nothing,” Trattman said.

“Well,” Steve said. “Then, you’re all right, Markie.”

“You got nothing to worry about,” Barry said.

Steve turned the LTD right on Commonwealth Avenue. He turned left off Commonwealth Avenue onto Chestnut Hill Drive. He took the left fork onto St. Thomas More Drive and the right turn onto Beacon Street.

Trattman said: “You guys know me. Why’re you guys doing something like this? I thought, you’re doing all right, Steve, for Christ sake. Why’re you doing this?”

“A guy, some guys asked me to talk to you,” Steve said. “I said I’d talk to you. You know, Markie, talk? Didn’t you used to have me and Barry around in case you wanted us to talk to somebody?”

“Sure,” Trattman said. “That’s why I can’t understand this, why you guys’re doing this to me.”

“Because,” Steve said, “for the same reason, we used to do things when you wanted us to. Only this time, we’re doing it for somebody else.”

Steve took the left at Hammond Street and turned right off Hammond into the parking lot behind the Chestnut Hill shopping center on Route 9. He stopped the LTD in the shadows behind R. H. Steams’.

Steve got out of the car and unlatched the seatback on the driver’s side.

Trattman looked at Barry. Barry pointed the revolver at him. “Get outa the car, Markie,” he said.

Trattman said: “Please, you guys, lemme talk this over, all right?”

Steve said: “Now, Markie.”

Trattman said: “I didn’t do nothing.”

Barry moved the revolver closer to Trattman’s face. “Markie,” he said. “There’s things worse’n talking, you know? Right now all we’re supposed to do is talk to you, and that’s really all we wanna do. You’re liable to get everybody all pissed off, you keep acting like this.”

Trattman hesitated. Steve reached into the car and grabbed the left shoulder of Trattman’s coat. He pulled. Trattman’s upper torso shifted in Steve’s direction. Steve said: “Markie, you really got to cut this out, all right? You know what can happen to a guy that doesn’t wanna do what people tell him. Now don’t give us a lot of shit, okay? We’re just a couple of guys that’ve got to talk to you and we’re gonna talk to you and you’re gonna talk to us, and that’s all there is to it. Unless you don’t wanna talk or something. Then it’s different, you know? You know how things are. Now come outa the fuckin’ car before I start to get mad.”

Trattman pulled himself forward and got out of the LTD. Barry got out quickly behind him. Barry handed the revolver to Steve.

Trattman stood next to the car, his arms and hands close to his sides. He faced Steve. “I didn’t do anything, you guys. I dunno what this’s all about, and if I did something then I would, wouldn’t I? And I really don’t. You guys, you guys’ve gotta believe me.”

“Move around the backa the car, Markie,” Steve said.

Trattman raised his hands slightly, palms up.

“Move, Markie, you fuckin’ little prick,” Steve said. “You tryin’ to make me shoot you, for Christ sake?”

Trattman moved sideways to the left rear panel of the LTD. He stood with his arms tight against his sides. Steve stood three feet away from him, pointing the revolver. Barry walked around behind Steve and stood at his right.

“Honest to God,” Trattman said, “Steve, may my mother get cancer, I had nothing to do with it. Honest to God, Steve. You, can’t you tell them that? I know how it looks. I know. But honest to God, Steve, I didn’t.”

“He didn’t do it,” Barry said. “That what you were gonna ask him, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“That’s what we’re supposed to talk to you about, Markie,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “this thing, you didn’t have nothing to do with it?”

“Steve,” Trattman said.

“What thing was that, Markie?” Steve said.

“Steve,” Trattman said. His voice broke. “Steve, did I ever lie to you? I never told you anything, did I?”

“Now?” Barry said.

“Uh huh,” Steve said.

Barry took two strides toward Trattman, closing his right hand and swinging the fist back in the motion of a softball pitcher. Trattman jerked his hands up toward his face. Barry swung his fist forward and punched Trattman in the groin as Trattman’s torso began to move backward over the trunk of the LTD. When the fist connected, Trattman’s torso stopped and began to move forward quickly. His hands dropped from his face. His mouth gaped. His eyes stared. He exhaled and moaned simultaneously. He clapped his hands to his groin. He doubled over.

Barry took a short stride backward. He stepped forward on his left foot and brought his right knee up fast. It caught Trattman on the mouth. There was a cracking sound. Trattman’s head snapped up. His body, still in a crouch, sagged off to the left.

Barry grabbed the lapels of Trattman’s coat and pulled him up. He leaned Trattman against the car. Trattman kept his head down. He cried. He spit blood and pink material from his mouth. He raised his head. He had closed his eyes. His nose and mouth were pulpy and covered with blood. Some blood and pink material were on his coat.

“What’s this thing you didn’t have nothing to do with, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman moved his head once to the left and once to the right. He extended his tongue, then retracted it, tracing the tip of it along his lips. He lowered his head and spat blood and pink material on the pavement of the parking lot.

“He don’t answer,” Barry said.

“Must be there’s nobody home or something,” Steve said.

“Maybe I better knock again,” Barry said. “Make sure.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“No,” Trattman said, uttering it in a high voice as “Mo.”

“Shut up, you fuck,” Barry said. He hit Trattman very hard, twice, in the pit of the stomach. Trattman started to double over with the impact of the first punch. The second brought a rush of air from his mouth. Steve and Barry stepped back two paces, quickly. Trattman fell forward on the pavement and vomited half-digested steak and salad, and blood. He lay on his chest, his head resting on its left side. He breathed noisily.

“Whaddaya think, Steve,” Barry said, “you think he’s through?”

“Better give him another minute or so,” Steve said. “He might have some more in him.”

Trattman, his eyes closed, expelled more vomit, blood and pink material from his mouth. It ran down his cheek to the pavement.

“Give him a try now,” Steve said.

Barry stepped forward. He picked Trattman up by the collar of his coat, at the nape of the neck. He leaned Trattman against the side of the LTD. Trattman’s head lolled off to the left. His eyes remained closed.

“Who’re the kids, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman retched and bled from the mouth and nose. He raised his right hand feebly toward his face. He touched his face lightly with the tips of his fingers. Slowly he shook his head.

“Can’t hear you, Markie,” Steve said. “Who’re the kids, Markie?”

Trattman explored the pulpy flesh around his mouth. He sighed. Tears came from his closed eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I,” he said, “they … I didn’t …”

“He still says he don’t know nothing,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “how about that?”

“Think he doesn’t?” Barry said.

“Jesus,” Steve said, “maybe he doesn’t, after all.”

“You can’t tell about guys, though,” Barry said.

“I know it,” Steve said. “I heard about a guy once, somebody asked him if he knew a couple guys and he said he didn’t. But you know what? He did.”

“Better ask him again?” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

Trattman screamed softly through his bloody lips.

“Pick a place,” Steve said, “you don’t get all covered with stuff.”

Trattman moaned. His head lolled to the right. He got his eyes open as Barry stepped forward again. He saw Barry’s right hand, closed in a fist, swing back across Barry’s chest until the fist passed over Barry’s left shoulder. He closed his eyes quickly and moved, jerkily, to his own left. Barry brought his fist back in a flat arc. The heel of his hand hit Trattman at the right hinge of his jaw. His head snapped fast to the left as the bone broke. His torso stretched upward and to the left, then sagged down. The back of his head hit the edge on the left rear fender of the LTD. When he hit the pavement he was lying on his left side, face up. His eyelids fluttered open, then closed. He gagged softly on something wet in his throat.

Steve walked up to Trattman and bent over him. “Markie,” he said softly, “you sure?”

Trattman moaned. His head shifted on the pavement.

“About the kids,” Steve said. “It’s the kids, Markie, we’re supposed to talk to you about. You sure you don’t know who those kids are? You really sure?”

Trattman moved his head slightly.

“Because I got to be sure,” Steve said. “I really got to be, Markie, that’s all there is to it. You make me stay here all night, me and Barry, making sure, I’m not gonna like it. And it’s gonna be an awful long night for you, Markie.”

Trattman vomited suddenly, a small amount of pink material and blood. Some of it spattered Steve’s shoes and the wide cuffs of his pants.

“You bastard,” Steve said. He stepped back quickly. He stepped forward quickly and kicked Trattman on the left side of the rib cage, near the belt. Ribs cracked. Holding his foot at an angle, Steve wiped his shoe on the skirt of Trattman’s coat. Trattman gasped and moaned and sighed. “You cocksucker,” Steve said. He stepped back again.

“Whaddaya think, Steve?” Barry said.

“Get inna car,” Steve said. “Strikes me right, I’ll back over the prick.”

As the LTD began to move, the taillights illuminated Trattman in red. Then he lay in the mist and darkness, breathing loudly and moaning from time to time. Then he passed out.

The LTD left the parking lot at the Hammond Pond Parkway exit.

On Route 9, eastbound, Barry said: “I hurt my fuckin’ hand again. I always do.”

“Kiss it and make it better,” Steve said. “It’ll be all right. That fuckin’ Cogan, though. I’m gonna make him pay for these clothes that that cocksucker ruined.”

“Think we oughta get the car washed?” Barry said.

“I’m gonna,” Steve said. “Just be onna safe side. I’m gonna leave you off, and you take the gun, okay? There’s a place in Watertown, it’s open all night. I’ll go there.”

“And then,” Barry said, “then where’re you gonna go?”

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Steve said. “Why, you wanna come?”

“I’m not gonna be able to sleep,” Barry said. “I always have to calm down some.”

“Tell Ginny you don’t want no beer,” Steve said. “Have her give you some warm milk and stuff.”

“Fuck you,” Barry said. “Whaddaya think, though, about the guy? Think he knows?”

“I don’t think,” Steve said. “Who the fuck wants to think about him? He’s just a shit.”

“Well,” Barry said, “I mean, I worked him over pretty good.”

“Probably,” Steve said, “he probably knows.”

“He stood up pretty good, then,” Barry said. “If he does, I mean.”

“He’s gotta stand up pretty good,” Steve said. “He knows what’s gonna happen to him, he doesn’t. He knows.”