Pagan Babies

21

RANDY DIDN'T SEE A PROBLEM withthe priest. He gives it to his brother to bring suit, then months of depositions, court dates set and postponed for one reason or another, by then, or long before then, the guy's back in Africa. Debbie, he knew he could handle. If he got sixty-seven grand out of her once he'd forgotten it was that much he could give her a few grand to calm her down and then play with her, massage her ego, laugh at her jokes, even get her back if he felt like it.

Ideally, the Mutt would get to Vincent this week, before Saturday, and that would be the end of the eight-grand payoffs, at least till Tony realized it wasn't coming in and by then he could be in some federal lockup doing twenty years. That was the hope. Randy believed the Mutt would make good and whack Vincent out because he was motivated, he hated Vincent; but the Mutt, being stupid, would probably fuck up and get caught, by either the mob or the cops, more likely by the mob, unless he made the hit and took off, no time for goodbyes, or to get paid. Randy did not believe the Mutt would try to implicate him. If he did, Randy was ready to act astonished and simply deny it.

He sat at his desk in soft light reading the latest review of the restaurant in Hour Detroit. Ambience, excellent. Service, very good.

Food… and the Mutt walked in.

"You want to see me?"

"Hey, come on in and sit down. How's it going?"

"Okay."

The Mutt closed the door, came over to the desk and took a seat.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

"About what?"

"You're getting ready to do the deed, aren't you?"

"Oh. Yeah, you bet. What I'm doing is working on a plan, decide where's the best place to do it. I was thinking go to his house, only his wife'd be there, and I don't want to have to do her, too. If you know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean," Randy said, maintaining a soft approach now that he and this redneck retard were pals.

"I'd like to catch him like someplace having his supper."

"You don't mean here."

"No, some Italian restaurant, he's sitting there, has his napkin stuck in his collar-"

"A mom-and-pop place," Randy said, "that's been in the neighborhood for generations. Known for good basic pasta dishes, checkered tablecloths. Like in the movies."

"Yeah, like that."

"There aren't any," Randy said. "Detroit, for some reason, is not big on good Italian restaurants. There're a few… No, I was thinking the best way to do it, you follow him. You see him get in and out of his car. The right moment comes, you pop him and drive away.

You do have a car?"

"I got the pickup I drove here. She needs a new batt'ry, I'm always having to jump her. What I been thinking of doing, go to Sears and get a new one."

"Or you could steal a car, just for the job. I understand," Randy said, "that's often the way it's done. You know, in case someone gets the license number."

"That's a good idea."

"Have you ever stolen a car?"

"When I was a kid they called it joyriding. Yeah, we'd get us a car and go on up to Indianapolis and drive around in it. But what I was thinking," the Mutt said, "I could get me a driver. It would, you know, free me up. I wouldn't have to find a place to park when I go to do it."

"Ask one of your buddies?"

"I don't have none here. But I know a fella's done some time'd go for it."

Randy didn't like the sound of that one bit. He said, "Mutt, I can't see you needing help, like it's your first time and all," Randy getting a hint of down-home drawl going. "Hell, you get a pistol and shoot the guy. Do a drive-by, you don't need an assistant for that."

"I could."

"You did get hold of a pistol?"

"Not yet, but I will. I'm told there's nothing to getting a gun in this town. '

Randy said, "Mutt? Let's do it before this Saturday. Okay?"

"Yeah, well, I'll get on it." The Mutt stood up and was about to go; he turned to Randy again. "You never said when you're gonna pay me."

Randy looked a little surprised, to show innocence. "I thought when the job's done. Isn't that the way?"

The Mutt said, "Well, most times"

Randy stopped him. "Mutt, hold it."

The door opened and Vincent Moraco walked in. Mutt stepped aside as the capo approached the desk and Randy said, "Hey, Vincent, we were just talking about you."

Debbie was in the kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches when the phone rang. Not hers, the one on the wall, so she let Terry get it, Terry in the library with the paper open looking up movies. A few minutes passed before he came in the kitchen.

"That was Fran. They're staying another day, be home tomorrow at four."

Debbie said, "What about the bed?"

"That's right, we sleep in it we'll have to do the sheets again."

Debbie said, "What if that's all we do, sleep in it, and in the morning we make the bed, good as new."

"Not do the sheets."

"Who's gonna know?"

"Just sleep in it."

"Sweetheart, we can fuck anywhere."

Now Vincent was in the chair at the desk facing Randy and the Mutt was over sitting under Soupy Sales. Randy thought Vincent might ask what they were saying about him, and then thought, No, not Vincent, he would never show he cared. No, he started right in.

"Tony wants you to give him two hundred fifty as a loan." He held up the papers. "You sign these, so Tony can turn around and give the check to the girl you fucked over. Tony says let that be a lesson to you."

Randy narrowed his eyes, but it didn't change anything. "How did she get to him?"

"With the priest. They got a religious shakedown going. She made the pitch."

"She tried the same game on me, I threw them out. She sold Tony Amilia?"

"He likes little broads like that."

"Come on he's seventy-five years old."

"Hey. Tony wants it, he gets it."

"Okay. He makes out a check to this fund for the little orphans in Africa, writes it off… When does Tony repay the loan?"

"It's in here." Vincent dropped the papers on the desk. "You sign all three copies."

Randy looked at the papers, a promissory note, without picking them up. "Twenty-five years 'at a rate agreed upon-' I'm giving it to him."

"With a check," Vincent said, "out of one of your personal accounts."

"I don't have that much in one place."

"Write the check."

Randy had to think. He said, "Or," and paused. "What? I mean isn't there a way to get around it?" He said, "After all-"

And the answer came from the Mutt, over against the wall. He said,

"Hell, whack him out, the guy that's getting the check. Then you won't have to."

There was a silence. Not a long one. Vincent picked it up saying,

"Sure, that's the first thing you think of, but you got to look at it good, think it through."

The idea, coming the way it did, got Randy sitting up straight. It was in his mind to wonder why Vincent would go for it, but he said,

"What's to think about? Christ, just do it."

Vincent said, "I'm talking about how, you luck."

"Get a guy who knows how."

"Not anybody from the crew, no way."

Randy's mind was racing now. "Run him down. Hit him crossing the street with a truck, hell, anything, a Buick Riviera."

Vincent turned to look over his shoulder at the Mutt. "He's done it, the farm boy. Tell him to go take a guy out. The Mutt says okay, goes and does the guy. Hey, Mutt?"

The Mutt said, "You bet," and looked at Randy looking at him, the two making eye contact for the first time since Vincent walked in.

What surprised Randy was the calm expression on the Mutt's face.

The Mutt got it-accepting a contract from a guy he had a contract to take out. If that wasn't cool… And if Vincent had confidence in him, Vincent a made guy, into this kind of thing, then maybe the Mutt wasn't as dumb as he looked. Man, this was weird. It allowed Randy to settle back.

He said to Vincent, "He can handle it?"

"I told you, he's done it."

Turning to the Mutt again, "What do you say?"

"Yeah, I'll doer. But now which person was it again?"

"The priest."

The Mutt said, "Oh," hesitated and said, "I guess it's okay, I'm Baptist."

"Then it's a deal," Randy said. "Doer."

"Yes sir, but who's gonna pay me?"

Randy said right away, "Vincent will take care of you," knowing he'd get an argument.

Of course, Vincent saying, "You're the one out the cash."

"But you have more to lose than I do," Randy said, "if Tony finds out." He could stare back at Vincent now fuck him. He could say, "I wondered, Why don't you want Tony to give them the two-fifty? And then I realized, shit, you think of it as yours. It's where the eight yards a week comes from. I wouldn't be surprised if you're skimming off the top. Tony goes away you can keep the whole thing, even raise it, uh? Take whatever you want. The restaurant business, hell, it's just a front. What I am really is a fucking bank."

Vincent listened, sat there watching him. Didn't get excited or do any more than stare with his sleepy eyes. No, he seemed quite calm-and that did begin to work on Randy's central nervous system and tighten him up. He was pretty sure he was right; but, shit, he might've gone too far.

Randy felt the need to add then, with a slight smile, "But who's complaining?"

Vincent got up from the chair to stand over the desk. "Sign the papers and cut a check."

Randy said, "Why? You don't need it now, do you?"

"I go back to Tony I got the check in my hand he sent me to get.

Understand? Write the fuckin check."

Randy signed the copies of the promissory note. He brought a checkbook out of the desk drawer, made a check out to Tony Amilia in the amount of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars and laid the check on the papers. He watched Vincent pick it up and fold the papers with the check inside. No thank-you or anything.

What he did say, "You and I're gonna have a talk, smart guy."

Turned and said to the Mutt on his way out, "Do the priest right away."

He was through the door before the Mutt came out of his chair and started after him.

Randy called out, "Where you going?" But the Mutt was already gone.

He caught up with Vincent in the restaurant and followed him out to the street. Vincent turned to him now.

"What?"

"How much you paying me?"

It took him a minute to say, "Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five what?"

"Hunnert the fuck you think?"

Now the Mutt had to think a minute. "Okay. And I need a pistol, a clean one."

I'll see what I can do."

He started to turn away and the Mutt said, "You better pay me when you gimme the pistol as I'll be taking off soon as I'm done."

"I said I'll see what I can do."

"You have to do better'n that," the Mutt said. "You want the priest done or not?"

Now Vincent gave him a look that reminded the Mutt of his mom, the times he'd forget and say "shit" in front of her and she'd call him "young man" and threaten to wash his mouth out with soap, but never did. These people were like her, they liked to try and scare you.

Vincent gave him the look but then said, "Stay around here. I'll call you." See? They got by on dirty looks.