Shmucks (11 page)

“Maybe even offer him a few dollars,” Pelzic suggested. “That should persuade him.”

“Good idea,” the man said. “I'll go over and have a chat with him. There's nothing like the personal contact.”

“Yes, but make sure to offer only a few dollars, otherwise he might become greedy.”

“Don't you worry about that. If he wants too much, I'll Jew him down fast enough.”

“You'll what?” Pelzic asked.

“I'll Jew him down . . . you know, bargain him down.”

“Oh,” Pelzic said, nodding.

The man gripped the back of Pelzic's seat and pulled himself over towards the door. He fumbled with the handle. Pelzic leaned over and opened the door for him.

“Be careful he shouldn't Jew you up,” Pelzic called.

The man cocked his head, looked at Pelzic strangely for a moment and then trundled down the laneway towards the other car.

Pelzic opened his dashboard light and began fiddling with the meter to see if he could speed it up.

CHAPTER 13

THE GIRL GOT BACK INTO LEVIN'S CAR.
“That man is something else, I mean outasight,” she said, and slouched down into the seat.

“What happened?”

“He tried to get me into his car again. He's got a drunk in the back.”

“Yeah, I saw him fall out the window of the taxi,” Levin replied. “He fell out right on his head. He must really be plastered.”

“When I gave him the cigarettes he tried to get rid of the drunk, but the drunk wouldn't go.”

“The driver must be a real prize shmuck.”

“Yeah,” the girl said. “What is that exactly anyway?”

“A shmuck?” Levin asked.

“Yes.”

“A shmuck is a shmuck.” The girl raised her eyebrows slightly. “I mean . . . you can't define that word. Basically if you translate it literally, it means a prick. But there are a lot of levels to the word, little nuances depending on how you prefix it. There are all kinds of shmucks–dumb shmucks, stupid shmucks, clever shmucks, prize shmucks, king shmucks. Like if you were talking to a certain guy, you could say, ‘You're a real clever shmuck, aren't you?' Did you hear the way I said that? Did you catch the little inflection, the note of disdain in my voice?”

“Yes, I did, it sounded nasty.”

“That's right, because the clever shmuck really gets some people uptight. He tries to be smart at the expense of another person; so quite often that other person says, ‘You're a real clever shmuck, aren't you?' It's a kind of rhetorical question. It's more like a statement made by the person just before he punches the clever shmuck in the face.”

The girl nodded her head in understanding.

Out of the corner of his eye Levin saw the passenger getting out of the taxi. He watched as the man stumbled towards his car, weaving from side to side. He approached Levin's window and leaned forward so that his head was almost inside the car.

Levin drew back, overpowered by the whisky stench.

“Say, young fella, would you mind backing your car up so that the taxi can get through?”

“I'm sorry but I can't. If the taxi wants to leave, he'll have to leave backwards. That way.” Levin pointed at the opposite end of the alley.

“Couldn't you let him through?”

“No, I can't,” Levin replied. “He's in the wrong. It's up to him to move.”

“Can I come in and sit down? I'd like to discuss this thing rationally with you?”

The girl leaned over and whispered into Levin's ear, “Don't let 'im in. He'll really stink your car up. He stank up the whole taxi.”

“I don't see the point of discussing this thing,” Levin said. “It's a simple matter of right and wrong and I'm right and he's wrong. I think we'd be wasting our time talking about it.”

“You don't understand. I had an awful lot of trouble just walking down this lane from the taxi.” He flung an arm in a wild flopping gesture toward the other car. “I'm quite ill this evening. I've got to get home to bed.”

“Why don't you get out onto Peel Street and flag another one?” the girl asked.

“I couldn't make it all the way down there and, besides, I wouldn't want anyone to see me in this state.”

“Well, look mister, I'm really sorry but I can't move.”

“Damn it, you have to!” He pushed his head inside the car so that his face was an inch or two from Levin's.

Levin drew back even farther. “Look mister, please go away.”

“Now listen here, don't you talk to me like that.” The man reached inside as though to grab Levin's tie.

Levin pressed the button controlling the left front power window. The window went up trapping the man's hand at a point between the elbow and the shoulder. Levin didn't want to injure the man. He simply wanted to immobilize him for a moment and calm him down. He had always wanted to try that little trick but until then had never been presented with such a good opportunity. He was pleased to see how well it worked. However, it hadn't calmed the man down, but in fact seemed to be producing an opposite effect. The man was strenuously trying to pull his arm free, and Levin was afraid the glass might splinter.

“Hey mister, calm down and I'll let you go, okay?”

“Open that bloody window, damn you!” the man yelled. “Let me go. Why don't you pick on someone your own age?!”

“I'm not picking on you!” Levin protested, suddenly feeling very defensive.

“Well let my arm go, you damn bully.”

“Okay, okay, but don't bug me. I can't move my car so just leave me alone. Ask the taxi prick to move.”

“Yeah, just blow,” the girl yelled. “Just fuck off, mother fucker. Split.”

Levin brought the window down. The man withdrew his arm, stepped back from the car and began to rub the area that had been squeezed.

“You're a madman!” he shouted. “You ought to be reported to the police.”

“Fine, you call them and we'll see which of us they'll arrest,” Levin replied curtly.

“I'm not someone to tamper with,” the man mumbled.

“I'm not tampering with you, you're tampering with me,” Levin responded.

“You
are
tampering with me,” the man said.

“I don't tamper with anybody,” Levin replied.

“Well, I would call getting my arm stuck in a window tampering.”

“It was your own fault, you tampered with me first,” Levin said.

“Yeah,” the girl interjected, pointing a finger at the man. “You're the bloody tamperer if anybody is, not him.”

“Don't throw a tamper tentrum at me, young lady,” the man said, bending slightly to face the girl. “I'm old enough to be your father.”

“Grandfather is more like it,” the girl retorted.

The man winced and straightened up. He looked wearily at Levin. “Would five dollars make you change your mind?”

Levin's heart soared with joy. He had always wanted to be in just such a situation where a bribe was offered and a matter of principle was involved. When he first went into the real estate business, he was certain that people would be constantly trying to bribe him to obtain various contracts. But after eight years in the business he was still waiting.

He had a vague feeling that the appropriate thing to do now would be to leap out of the car and hurl the man into the brick wall but he couldn't see the sense in that. He had no desire at all to assault the man. Levin recollected that in the movies physical punishment was usually called for in this kind of situation but he couldn't understand why. Levin just shook his head. “Look, I'm not moving. I'm sorry you're not feeling well but there are other taxis around.”

“I'll give you ten dollars,” the man said.

“Look, I don't want your money. Just leave me alone, okay.”

“Bug off, man,” the girl hissed.

Levin smiled inwardly. She was really on his side, fighting for him, cursing for him. That was a very good sign.

“It's not enough then, is it? Alright, is it worth twenty dollars?” The man was reaching inside his jacket to pull out his wallet.

“Look mister,” said Levin, “you're not gonna move me for a hundred bucks so why don't you just leave.”

“Wow, are you sick, man,” the girl yelled.

“Oh, up your hole,” the man said disgustedly. He turned away and began walking slowly back down the lane towards the taxi, stumbling and tottering as he went.

Suddenly Margie flung open her door and jumped out of the car. She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, “Eat shit, you big shmuck.”

The drunk staggered up to the taxi, opened the door and fell onto the seat in a heap. He was asleep and snoring within seconds.

PELZIC REACHED OVER AND PULLED
the door shut. Then he grabbed the man's jacket and tugged hard until he rolled off the seat onto the floor. He wasn't going to push his luck. He didn't want the seat ruined.

He was curious to know what had transpired between his passenger and the other man but didn't want to wake him. At least now there would be some peace and quiet in the car. He'd had more than enough of the man's drunken talk. Pelzic looked at the meter. Once more he contemplated driving the car back and forth, but ruled it out for his original reasons. The meter itself could not be fooled with. To open it, or change the dials where the price was registered, he would have to break a seal on the meter cable. The seal could only be broken at the central police station on Champ de Mars in front of a police witness. If it was done under any other circumstances the driver would be in serious trouble and liable for a fine of up to ninety dollars.

Maybe he could break it and claim that it had happened accidentally? He tried to think of a reasonable excuse but then stopped. He knew he was only wasting his time. The police would take one look at him and probably begin beating him with wet newspapers. There was something about him that immediately made police suspect him of having done something wrong. For that matter, it seemed that all uniformed people instantly reacted negatively towards him. The moment they laid eyes on him they became nasty. He didn't know why, but he knew from experience that it was so.

Even the postmen didn't like him–not to mention the few clergymen with whom he came in contact. Even the ticket takers at Jarry Park treated him rudely. Whenever he went to a baseball game they studied his ticket as though expecting to find that it was counterfeit.

He couldn't get near an automatic toll area, on any road in Quebec, without immediately being surrounded by half a dozen uniformed inspectors who would watch him deposit his money with undisguised anticipation. They just always seemed to be waiting to jump on him.

No, he wouldn't fool with the meter. Pigs would grow wings and fly before he would do that. Still he had to do something. But what? What would Schmecker do in such a situation? he wondered. He knew what Schmecker would say. He'd say, “Frap 'em out. Frap de mooch out!” But how? Pelzic asked himself. How would one do it in such a situation? Then suddenly an idea came to him. He glanced into the back. Dunsmore lay there snoring loudly.

Quietly, Pelzic took the keys out of the ignition, opened the door and stepped into the lane. He went around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He pulled out his jack, smiling inwardly. He set the jack up under the rear bumper at a mid-point between the opposite ends. He worked the lever until both rear wheels were raised free of contact with the pavement. He pushed the car a few times to see if it was balanced properly. He went around and got back into the car. It was quite awkward sitting at a 20° angle, but he adjusted his seat backwards so that he was not leaning too far forward. He looked down onto the floor in the back. His passenger was still sound asleep, with his face pressed against the floor. Pelzic switched on the ignition. He depressed the accelerator slowly and watched the speedometer move. When the needle reached sixty m.p.h., he held the gas pedal steady.

It was a perfect idea, Pelzic thought, as he watched the meter begin to go suddenly haywire. It was clacking, ticking and buzzing, just as though he were driving on the highway–but there was no wear and tear on the tires, much less gas consumption, and he didn't have to watch the road. If the police happened by, he could always tell them that he had just finished fixing a flat tire. They should believe that. He lit a cigarette, pressing down on the accelerator as he did. The speedometer needle moved up to seventy-five. Pelzic quickly released the pressure on the pedal, and brought it down to sixty.

With my luck, he thought, I'll probably be arrested for speeding.

CHAPTER 14

THEY SAT QUIETLY IN THE CAR
not talking for a while. Levin was trying to figure out what the taxi driver was up to. At first he thought the driver had somehow gotten a flat tire. He laughed to himself as he watched the man jacking the car. Then he saw him get into the car and heard the motor start. By the motor's sound, Levin estimated the wheels were spinning at high speed. He couldn't figure out what the taxi driver was doing. He was trying very hard to make some sense out of it when the girl said, “Do you want to see something nice?”

Levin was taken aback. Was the girl propositioning him? It didn't sound like it from the matter-of-fact way the question had been asked, but it seemed that there might have been a sexual connotation in her words.

The girl was staring out the window.

“Yes, what?” Levin replied finally.

“Look up there,” she said pointing towards the apartment building.

“Where?” Levin asked.

“There, look, on the third floor.”

Levin's eyes followed the direction of the girl's finger.

In a well-illuminated bay window on the third floor, he could clearly see a naked woman. She was standing there in full view, calmly smoking a cigarette.