Maurice Grapelli paced around his living room. He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting slacks and a pale blue polo shirt, both of which made him appear the perfect golf candidate, but a leisurely stroll around a golf course wasn’t something he’d ever strive for. There were always more pressing matters needing attention. Such as now. Which was why he’d a cell phone rammed against his ear. ‘Charlie, is that you?’ he asked the phone.
He wasn’t alone in the room. A second man, Vincent, sat on Maurice’s sofa leaning towards the television where a news bulletin played, its volume turned so low it was almost inaudible.
‘Yes, Charlie,’ Maurice said. ‘I’m glad you took time out to take my call… And yes, I appreciate that you’re busy… No… No, there’s no need to apologise for the delay in getting to the phone… Seriously… And I’m pleased the joint’s busy ‘cause you can bet I’d be on your back if it weren’t.’
He listened as Charlie related some further point, a scowl forming on Maurice’s face. ‘You did well to boot that Forrest guy out. Goddamn debtors. We should reduce our credit limits, Charlie. We ain’t no fucking charity, understand me? Now, don’t let him in again until he’s ready to pay. Meanwhile, let me work out a way to encourage him to do just that. We’ll use him as an example so’s all the other stupid schmucks understand what happens if they ring up too much debt.’
Maurice walked across to the window that overlooked the quiet suburban street. It was a nice area, full of office workers, teachers, health professionals. A respectable area. Except for him. It was as well none of them had a clue what he did for a living. He was an entrepreneur as far as they were aware, happy to spend time in his company. But they would shun him soon enough if they discovered the truth. There’d be no more barbecues with Sam and Esther, then; no more evenings sipping wine with Lacey and Mark. No, it wouldn’t do for them to find out. He’d hate to lose all that middle-class frivolity.
‘Now listen,’ he said, ‘tomorrow I’m gonna bring some big shots into the club to play. These are serious people with serious money and I wanna make a good impression. So, pull out the stops, right? Give the place a proper clean, draft in the best and prettiest girls for the tables and the waitressing and… well, you know the drill… but here’s the most important bit… let my friends win a bit and then lose a bit more. You get what I’m saying, right?’
Maurice waited until Charlie replied. ‘Good. I don’t want them to notice that they’ve been done over. I want them to have such a good time they don’t care they’re leaving with less cash in their pockets than when they went in. Treat them well. Make them wanna come back. And… if they show more than a passing interest to one girl or another, make sure that girl shows an interest in them…’
He turned away from the window. Sometimes the street was too quiet. A cemetery had more action. He cast a fleeting glance at Vincent, but the other man was glued to the television and didn’t meet his gaze. ‘Yes, Charles… Tell the girls they should do whatever it takes. Tell them they’ll get a large bonus. I want these guys to return. I want them to spend their bucks. They have loads and I wanna help them give me some of it.’
Maurice tried to concentrate on what Charlie said next. ‘What time, did you ask? Eight p.m. Alright? We’ll be there sharp so youse better have everything ready. I mean really ready. Crisp and sharp. Clean. Sexy. Got it? Right. Get on with it.’ He switched the phone off and flung it at the back of a soft-backed chair where it bounced onto a scatter cushion. ‘Jeez, I hate that guy. Vinnie, remind me why I employed Charlie. He makes my skin crawl.’
Vincent finally withdrew his attention from the television. ‘Because,’ he told Maurice, ‘he’s the best at what he does. Because he’s loyal. Because he’s able to handle himself when things get dicey.’
Maurice reached his drinks cabinet and poured two generous scotches, filled both with ice, and handed one over to Vincent. ‘Really? I’d never consider him to be any of those things.’
‘They were your words when you recruited him, boss. I’m only repeating what you said.’
The drink burned at Maurice’s throat. ‘Maybe I made a mistake. I’m allowed to make mistakes sometimes, aren’t I? Even small ones. After all, everyone slips up from time to time. Like that poor sucker on TV there. That actor dude. What was his name? Jonas…Windberg? Yeah, him. Jonas Windberg. That schmuck has just made the biggest mistake of his life. He’s gone and killed himself.’
On the television the reporter was recounting suspicions about the actor’s death: how he may have flung himself out of his hotel room window following a drink and drug binge. CCTV footage of Charis Hopegood flashed on the screen. She was in the hotel bar prior to her lover’s demise. There was a man with her whom she passed money to, before a small package was given to the woman. The couple separated and the man made his way out of the door. As he did, the camera caught his image, full focus.
Vincent groaned, then said, ‘Shit, that’s Ruby!’
It took Maurice a moment to register this. ‘What? You mean Ruby Demarco? Our Ruby?’ he asked, the implications gradually implanting themselves in his head.
‘Yeah, boss, our Ruby…’
Maurice Grapelli drained his drink. ‘Jesus Christ! Why the fuck was the stupid sonuvabitch making an exchange in public?’ He thumped his forehead with the palm of an open hand. ‘What kind of dumb ass would do something so goddamn stupid?’
‘Someone like Ruby, boss. He’s never been smart.’
There was a lot more scotch in the bottle. Maurice was tempted to empty it all. He restrained himself: he needed a clear head. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ A positive identification would lead to an arrest that would have the cops swarming all over Grapelli’s affairs faster than any amount of divesting he might do. ‘We need a plan.’
It was definitely time for another scotch. He poured a large measure on top of the ice in his glass and drank sourly. The liquid was fire at the back of his throat. ‘Do you remember the guy who did a job for us down Harlem? Tough guy. Large. Build of a heavyweight boxer. Erm… Hispanic. What was his name?’
‘You mean when we brought our problem with Jared Earnst to a conclusion?’
Maurice nodded. ‘That fella, yeah. The guy who took care of that. He’d be a good guy to have around at a moment like this.’
Vincent followed his boss’s lead and took a mouthful of his drink. ‘Yeah. He understood how and when to use his fists alright. Manny Vasquez was the guy’s name, boss.’
Maurice counted on Vincent to remember details like that. That’s why Vincent was a good guy. This Manny was a good guy too, but in a different way. Manny was handy in a fight, especially in the sorts of fights that might turn nasty or dirty. He wasn’t the sort of guy Maurice liked to have too close – types like him were always one step away from being reckless, and reckless guys got caught by the cops in the end – but guys such as Manny were useful when trouble needed sorting. They tended not to ask questions as long as you paid them well enough, plus they knew when to hurt someone a little or hurt someone a lot. That was all part of the service. ‘Get in contact with him, Vinnie. See if he’d do a job for us.’
‘Are you sure, boss? He’s only just come out of prison. He might be a little too hot with the cops right now.’
Maurice considered this. ‘Didn’t he go down for hitting his woman and a cop? A bad business that. But hey, he never grassed over any of his jobs. Put him on Ruby and line him up to scare that Forrest guy. Tell him to do Forrest in a way so’s the word spreads that you can’t run a debt with me. You understand? I want Forrest beaten so hard every other schmuck will know not to cross me. Got it?’
‘Sure thing, boss. I’ll track him down. It shouldn’t take too long.’
That made Maurice happy. ‘Good. Let’s move quickly on this. Get on it now and find him. We need to get Ruby out of the way before the cops get him and before he turns up here desperate for help.’
Vincent nodded, drained his scotch and placed the empty tumbler upon a table. ‘I’ll be in touch soon.’
‘Not so fast Vinnie. Best you keep your distance a while, too. For both our sakes. Either of us might land in the deep stuff if we aren’t careful, so let’s play it cool. Okay? Why not head out of town for a while. You know, once you’ve given Mr Vasquez those jobs. That way, you can say you never met the sucker if he gets pulled.’
Maurice knew from Vincent’s expression that the man understood him. ‘Oh, come on, you don’t get to visit that baby boy of yours often enough. The kid needs to recognise his father. It would be good for the both of you.’
‘Yeah, but that also means I gotta spend time with his slut mother again. Maybe I’ll go somewhere else.’
There was little joy in telling someone how to live their personal life but Maurice considered his employee as familial as his own son, with all the obligations that entailed. ‘That… slut… is the mother of your kid. And you didn’t have a problem spending time with her the night the two of you made baby Vinnie. So, grow a pair, will ya? Go visit your son. You’ll regret it if you don’t take the opportunity to bond with him. Don’t let him become a stranger to you. He’ll grow up hating you if you do ‘cause you know he’ll be fed poison and bile by his mother to paint you as a wayward scumbag.’
He patted Vincent on the shoulder. ‘Swallow your pride, Vinnie. Go spend time with your son.’
‘I won’t know what to say, what to do…’
The ice tinkled around Maurice’s scotch glass as he shook the contents. ‘Jesus Christ. Use your imagination. I dunno. Take a toy. A rattle. A doll. A book. Take some flowers for her if you need to sweeten her up a bit. Hey, if you take flowers you might even get lucky.’
Vinnie rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, ‘cause flowers will fix everything. But a book or a toy… Yeah, I get that. Thanks boss.’
‘Now go, won’t ya? I’m sick of you hanging around drinking my whisky.’
Maurice was left alone with the television. The broadcast had moved on to a different story. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, now what?’ He picked up the remote, increasing the TV’s volume.
This had turned into an extremely bad day. Problems with staff were manageable, despite more of these little difficulties popping up as his workforce increased. The trick was in acknowledging that folks such as Ruby were expendable. Maurice understood when to expend them. That was day-to-day crap. What the television was broadcasting was far more serious. This was his worst nightmare, the impossible event capable of bringing his doom. There, bound in cuffs and being led up the steps of a police precinct, was his boss, the person who funded his operations and whom, up until now, had kept the law quiet with bribes and threats. Now, the steel and defiance she possessed in abundance had escaped her. As she stumbled upon those steps that strength was replaced by a fear that cowered behind her eyes. Erica Barnes was in trouble, which meant he was in trouble too.
Leave a Reply