Night Work (45 page)

“I remember.” He took the cigarette for a drag and then handed it back.

“It's not really enough, is it?”

“What's not enough?” He was adrift on the edge of sleep.

“To like someone. You need more, 'cause after a while maybe he doesn't like you as much, or you don't like him as much. It's not like love. Love lasts.”

“Does it?” This was beginning to sound like good-bye. He sat up and lit his own cigarette and saw her face for a moment in the flare of the match. She was smiling, so whatever was coming would not be with tears.

“I lied to you.”

“About what?”

“About the money.”

“What money?”

“The money. The money from Havana. The money they thought I stole. I did. I stole it. I lied to you about it.”

“You're kidding.”

Alice laughed. “Stay there.” She turned on the bedside light and got up, hunkered down, and pulled a suitcase from under the bed. It was heavy, but she heaved it up on the bed, clicked open the latches, and threw back the lid. The suitcase was full of packets of money banded with paper strips or rubber bands.

Cassidy laughed. “Jesus Christ. Under the bed? You hid it under the bed?”

“I didn't know where else to put it.”

He picked up a couple of packets and flipped them in the air. “This is goddamn wonderful.”

“You're not angry?”

“No.” How could he be angry? A big, beautiful, naked woman and five hundred thousand dollars on his bed.

“It was New Year's Eve, remember? Out with the old. In with the new. I took it, because I knew I couldn't go on like I've been going. I saw a play once in Washington where the lady says ‘I depend on the kindness of strangers,' or something like that. Well, maybe it wasn't kindness with me. They got what they wanted, but I began to see I wasn't getting what I wanted. So I figured if no one was going to give it to me, I was going to have to take it. They took the money from the suckers, and I took it from them.”

“You took a hell of a chance.”

“It was my chance to change my life. I had to take it. Then when those three men came here and began beating me, I was going to give it to them. They were hurting me, and I thought if I give it to them they'll stop. It's just money. Give it to them. But the young one liked what he was doing. Do you remember him? You called him the bagman when we were at the White Horse.”

Jimmy Greef. He remembered Jimmy Greef.

“He liked it.” She winced at the memory. “The other two, it was like it was their job and they had to do it, but he was smiling all the time that he was doing things to me, and he laughed, and so I started thinking, fuck you. I'm not giving it to you. It's my money. If you hurt me and I don't give it to you, I've earned it.”

Cassidy got up and went to her and hugged. “You're great. You're fucking wonderful, and you deserve every penny.”

“Yeah? Really?”

“Really.”

She grinned at him. “Hey, have you ever gotten laid on half a million bucks?”

He pretended to think about it. “You know what? I don't think I have.”

With a laugh she upended the suitcase, and money flew all over the bed.

In the morning they drank coffee standing together at the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. She stood with her hip pressed against his as if unwilling to break contact. She wore a suit he had never seen before. It was beautifully tailored to subtly display her body without being obvious, dark green to flatter her complexion and her blond hair. She wore high heels that made her as tall as he was, an impressive package. Two big suitcases stood near the front door.

“You look like half a million bucks.”

She laughed. “It's hard to believe that tomorrow morning at this time I'll be in Paris, France. Paris. It's supposed to be the most romantic city in the world. Do you think the French will like me?”

“The French will love you. A couple of weeks from now, you'll probably own the Eiffel Tower.” She had confessed that she had no idea what she would do in Paris, but she wanted to go. She was a woman who had made her way by herself in a harsh world that did not treat women kindly, but she was beautiful, rich, and tough. He knew she would be fine.

“I'm kind of scared, and I'm kind of excited. But I'm going to miss you, Michael. You've been the best.”

“I'm going to miss you too.” Cassidy called a town car to take her out to Idlewild. He carried the suitcases downstairs when the car came. The driver turned away discreetly while they kissed. She clung to him for a moment, took a deep breath, showed him a smile and tears, got in the car, and left with one last hand wave out the window.

 

32

Friday night. Jimmy Greef leaned against the bar at Chumley's and drank a Manhattan while Jamie carried the bag to the back office to pick up the week's take.

“Heavy tonight,” Jamie said when he picked up the bag. “What's up, they been paying off in quarters?”

“Silver dollars, mostly,” Greef said, going with the joke. He wasn't about to tell Jamie he was carrying more tonight than he'd ever carried before.

“Stop at Rosie Blue's over there on Broadway and West Third, the candy store there,” Carmine said just before Greef started out. “Pick up the numbers tote.”

“Sure. Is this going to be a regular thing?” Picking up the numbers money was a step up the ladder. Numbers money ran five, six, ten times what Greef took from the bars.

“Nah. A onetime. Paulie's sick.”

“Will do.” Not a step up, but a sign that people had their eye on him.

Greef signaled the second bartender for a refill and checked out the Friday-night crowd. There were a couple of broads at a table for two, college girls, maybe, or secretaries out on the town. One of them was dark-haired and a little chubby for his taste, but the other was a cute little strawberry blonde with big tits. Jesus, he'd like to get her unwrapped. He wondered how she felt about the rough stuff. He'd been thinking about that since they'd worked over the big broad at the cop's apartment. Jesus, that had been something. Some broads liked the rough stuff. That was a known fact. He wondered if the strawberry blonde was one of them. He'd been thinking about some things he'd like to try. The thought of it gave him a hard-on, and he had to turn to the bar and rearrange himself. Yeah, he'd stop back after he dropped the bag, and if she was still here, he'd make a play, get her back to his apartment, and see what was what. She looked like she'd probably love it. And if she wasn't here, he'd find someone else, because he and some broad were going to have some fun tonight.

Greef came out of Chumley's carrying the bag.
Fucking thing was heavy
. He headed south on Bedford figuring he'd find a taxi on Seventh. There was no point in breaking his back humping the thing down to Carmine. Besides, if he got back to Chumley's fast, the strawberry blonde might still be there.

Cassidy followed Greef and took him just south of Commerce. He bull-rushed him into an alley, slammed his head into the brick wall, pulled it back and did it again. Greef sagged to the pavement unconscious. Cassidy picked up the leather bag of money and walked away.

*   *   *

The morning rounds were over, and Orso was asleep when Cassidy arrived at the hospital. He sat on the uncomfortable chair next to the window and looked out across the river to Welfare Island and the redbrick lunatic asylum building abandoned five years back.
They probably should have kept it open for me.
He thought about what he was doing and realized there was no rational explanation. He was working on instinct and trusting that what he was doing was right on some scale.
The hell with it. It's in motion, so go with it.

“Jesus, you again. Can't I ever get rid of you?” Orso's light, dusty voice.

“Tanner told me to take the rest of the week off and go do something productive. I couldn't think of anything, so I came here to make sure you were behaving.”

“Yeah, I've been running up and down the halls chasing the nurses.”

“I thought I might see Detta.”

“Nah. I told her to stay home today. Some of the cousins are going to take her out for lunch. She needs the break.”

Cassidy got up and carried the canvas duffel he had brought to the bed.

“What's that?” Orso asked.

Cassidy opened the duffel and showed him the money.

“Jesus Christ, what's that?”

“It's money, Tony.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He waited for Cassidy to go on.

“Forty-one thousand dollars.”

“Okay. What are we doing here?”

“Does that get you healthy, the mortgage and your father's insurance?”

“Yeah. A bit more.” Orso was clearly puzzled.

“Okay. You come pick it up when you get back on your feet. I'll hold on to it till then.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Where did that come from? Is that your money?”

“I took it off Jimmy Greef for what he did to Alice.”

“You took the bag off Jimmy Greef?”

Cassidy nodded.

“No matter what he tells them, they're going to think he had something to do with it. He's in trouble.”

“Yes. But you're not.”

“You do this after what I did?”

“We can talk about it when you're out of here, if you want, but we're not going to talk about it now.”

Orso closed his eyes and made a choking sound, and tears squeezed out and ran down his cheeks.

“Okay,” Cassidy said. “I'm not staying around here while you leak water.”

Orso scrubbed his eyes with the back of the hand that was unpenetrated by tubes. “How do I pay you back for this? How do I thank you?”

“Buy me a drink at Toots's.”

Cassidy held the duffel on the seat next to him in the cab on the way downtown. He wondered where he should store it until Orso came to pick it up and decided that what had been good enough for Alice was good enough for him. He would shove it under the bed.

When he entered the apartment, Dylan was standing by the window smoking a cigarette. She turned at the sound of the door and watched him come in. Her stance was relaxed, but her eyes were wary, as if she was unsure of her reception.

His heart rose at the sight of her.

“She's gone, isn't she?” Dylan said.

“How did you know?” He put the duffel down.

“I'm a spy, remember?”

He lit a cigarette and noticed his hands shook. “Where's Slava?”

“Ribera took him to Havana this morning.” She stubbed out her cigarette but did not move away from the window. Neither one could take the first step.

Cassidy saw the suitcase near the door to the bedroom. “Are you staying?”

“May I?”

“For how long?” Nothing he said made any sense to him. They were just words that covered all the things unspoken.

“I don't know. Let's not talk about that. Let's just be together. Let's have what we can have for as long as it lasts. Is that all right?”

“Yes.”

When they met in the middle of the room, they waited for as long as they could stand it before they kissed.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to my agent, Lisa Gallagher, for her continued enthusiasm and her smart and useful suggestions on the story told; to Tom Doherty, Bob Gleason, Linda Quinton, Elayne Becker, and the team at Forge, for their support and encouragement; to Jane Herman, for the clarity of her copyediting; to Emily Mullen, for her diligence and her patient responses to my flood of inquiries and suggestions.

To all my friends, ink-stained wretches, who get up every morning to face the interesting mystery of the blank page.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DAVID C. TAYLOR
was born and raised in New York City. He spent twenty years in Los Angeles writing for television and the movies. Taylor has published short stories and magazine articles, and has had an Off-Broadway musical produced in New York City. He now divides his time between Boston and the coast of Maine. You can sign up for email updates
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