The winter of Frankie Machine

80

Donnie Garth has the shower blasting. He’s standing under the spray, looking out through the glass at the ocean, when suddenly Frankie Machine’s standing there with a pistol in his hand.

Garth shuts the water off.

Frank hands him a towel. “Remember me?”

Garth nods.

“Wrap yourself up,” Frank says.

Garth wraps the towel around his waist. Frank gestures for him to get out and sit down. Garth takes a chair by the window; Frank sits down across from him.

“I put two people in the dirt for you,” Frank says.

Garth nods again.

Frank smiles. “I’m not wearing a wire. You’re the rat, not me. You know, I always wondered how you got a pass on all that. You get a pass on everything, don’t you, Donnie?”

Garth doesn’t answer.

“Well,” Frank says, “you’re not getting a pass on this.”

“On what?” Garth asks. He looks small and old, sitting there in the towel, water dripping down his skinny legs into the thick carpet.

“Summer Lorensen,” Frank says.

He raises the gun and points it at Garth’s chest.

“It wasn’t me!”

“Then who was it?”

Garth balks, as if he’s trying to decide who he’s more afraid of.

“Whoever it is,” Frank says, “they’re not sitting here about to put one in you, Donnie, and I am. I saw you through the window that night, the little act between Alison and Summer. Then I walked away. What didn’t I see?”

“The senator,” Garth says, “couldn’t…perform. It was all set up-the Lorensen girl wasbegging for it, part of the act, but he couldn’t get it up. She did everything to him, believe me, but it was a no-go.”

“Then what happened?”

“She laughed.”

“What?”

“She laughed,” Garth says. “I don’t think she meant anything by it. I think it was just her, you know, but he got mad. He just went off.”

“Go on.”

“You were there! You know!”

Because you can’t tell one janitor from another, can you, Donnie? Me or Mike, cleaning up your messes for you, what’s the difference? Your shit gets cleaned up. You don’t have to look at it.

It’s clear to him now what happened. They carried her body out to the car and Mike drove her out on that lonely road and dumped her. Had the afterthought to “strangle” her and stuff the rocks in her mouth.

And Fortunate Son walks away clean.

It would have been manslaughter. He would have done what, two or three years, tops? Maybe nothing at all?

But his political career would have been ruined.

We couldn’t have that, could we?

Not over some whore.

No humans involved.

And everything stays quiet until Mike starts to take heat over the Goldstein murder, so he starts looking for something to trade. And he’s got a big one-except he’s not going to put himself in the bull’s-eye, so he puts me.

Thanks, Mike.

So Fortunate Son starts to clean up his past, and reaches out to Donnie, who reaches out to Detroit to do it for him.

Because these guys never do their own dirty work.

They have people likeme to do that.

What did Fortunate Son offer the Combination?

Hell, he’s going to be president-whatcouldn’t he offer them?

“Did he use you as a go-between?” Frank asks. “Tell me the truth, Donnie.”

Garth nods.

His eyes are wide with fear, he’s quivering and sweating, and Frank’s disgusted that he sees the front of the man’s towel stained yellow.

Frank pulls the hammer back.

Hears Garth whimper.

Frank eases the hammer down and lowers the gun.

“Look,” Frank says, “they’ve already tried to kill me and theydid kill Alison Demers. They’re going to clip anyone who knows anything about what happened that night, including you. Or do you still think you’re going to get a pass?”

Why shouldn’t you? Frank thinks. You always do.

“If I were you,” Frank says, “I’d run.”

But he knows he won’t. The Donnie Garths of the world don’t believe that people kill them; they believe that people killfor them.