The Friends of Eddie Coyle (13 page)

“Jesus,” Coyle said.

“It’s a great life,” Scalisi said, “if you don’t weaken, it’s a great life.”

“So what’re you doing?” Coyle said.

“Well,” Scalisi said, “I was watching the Broons. They got a great club there. That’s one problem with being in the construction business. You got to come up here. Can’t go to no Broons games. I sort of miss that.”

“Hey, look,” Coyle said, “you’re better off. I was over at the stadium there, well, you remember, and I was thinking, you got a lousy game on the tee-vee, you know, well, you just shut it off and go do something else. I was talking to Joey there, yesterday it was, down at Dillon’s, he was at that Seals game, and he said, Jesus, it was fucking awful, but you paid for the seat, you know? They got to thinking they can beat the other guys throwing their clippings
onna rink, and there you are, well, you paid for the seat, you aren’t gonna
leave
, you know.”

“I know,” Scalisi said. “I still miss the guys. You go down there and have a squid or something and then you go to the game, it’s nice, you know? It’s a nice time. I kind of like it.”

“Most of the girls down there wear pants,” Coyle said.

“Hey, now,” Scalisi said, “I know that. I mean, I’m not knocking it, you know? But I was just saying, I miss it.”

“Things’re going pretty good,” Coyle said.

“Very nice,” Scalisi said. “Things’re going very nice. Arthur’s good and careful. Yeah, very nice. You bring the stuff?”

“Out in the kitchen,” Coyle said. “I put it under the chair. Right inna shopping bag, under the chair. All set.”

“You done all right on this one,” Scalisi said. “I want you to know, I appreciate it. I been able to talk some sense to Arthur, you know, about hanging onto the stuff. He starts getting all bothered and I just say: ‘Well, Arthur, you know, Eddie’s done all right by us so far. He’ll have some more. Now heave it inna god-damned river.’ Damn near breaks his heart,” Scalisi said. “You can see he doesn’t want to do it. Arthur gets a good piece, he hates to part with it. But he does it. And it makes a difference, you know? It’s a lot safer, knowing nobody’s going around with a piece on him, case he gets picked up on suspicion. It really makes a difference.”

Wanda came in with a tray. It held a quart of beer and two glasses. “That’s pretty nice meat you brought,” she said. “I was putting it away there, and I looked it over.”

“Hey, thanks,” Scalisi said. “How much I owe you for the groceries?”

“Well, let’s see,” Eddie Coyle said. “Twelve for the first batch,
the eight. Then there was another dozen, eighteen bucks for that. Now there’s ten here, another fifteen hundred. Forty-five hundred. I’ll throw in the steaks.”

“My God,” Wanda said, “that’s a lot of money for some meat.”

“Shut up, Wanda,” Scalisi said.

“You know my friend here, I think,” she said, “very large gangster type.”

“I told you,” Scalisi said, “shut up.”

“Fuck you,” Wanda said. “I heard you talking about me, I was out there, I heard you. What business of his is it, I wear pants or not. What am I, something you brag about? My kid brother talks about his goddamned Mustang the same way you talk about me. ‘I just reach down there every so often and set her off.’ For Christ sake. I thought we were friends. I thought we liked each other. Shit.”

“You got this trouble?” Scalisi said to Coyle.

“Yeah,” Coyle said, “different, but the same. Hasn’t everybody?”

“Fuck you too,” Wanda said to Coyle.

“I think it’s all this Women’s Lib stuff or something,” Scalisi said. “I’ll be Christ if I know what to make out of it.”

“I don’t think they got enough on their minds,” Coyle said. “You know, hacking around all day. They stand around there thinking, you get home and they’re all pissed off and all you did was put the goddamned car in the yard. They need some good worries, is what I think.”

“I work,” Wanda said. “I probably work more’n both of you bastards put together. I earn my keep.”

“I told you to shut up,” Scalisi said.

“I told you to go and fuck yourself,” Wanda said. “Talking
about me like that. How’d you like it if I was to start telling the girl at the store about your prick and what you like me to do with it? With me, the things you like to do with me, would you like that?”

Scalisi came out of the chair quickly and slapped Wanda across the face. “I told you to shut up,” he said. “That’s what I want you to do. Shut fucking up.”

“No,” she said. She did not cry. “No, you wouldn’t like that. And you better sleep with both eyes open tonight, because maybe I’ll decide to hit you with a hammer, you bastard.”

Wanda stamped out of the living area and made as much noise as she could shutting the folding door to the sleeping area.

“You ever get laid,” Scalisi said.

“Sure,” Coyle said.

“You ever get laid without a lot of goddamned
talk
?” Scalisi said. “That’s really what I mean. I’m beginning to understand the guys, that go down to the hotel and pick something out and pay twenty bucks. I really mean it. You pays your money and you say: ‘Blow me.’ And she blows you. No crap, you don’t get a load of shit about it. It’s clean and you can see what you’re doing. I used to think, well, any man’s got to pay for it, he might as well cut it off, you know? But the old lady’s whining and bitching all the time and then I get this wired up and I think, well, all right, here’s something and there isn’t any talking and stuff, you know? I been with this broad for probably a year and a half. And I
know
she’s screwing whoever says please and thank you on the plane to her, and
I
don’t care. I mean, what the hell, I’m not perfect. It isn’t as though she come walking into it blind and stupid, you know? But what does she do? She’s mad because I tell the goddamned truth. She
don’t
wear no pants. That’s obvious. You take a look at
her, you know. So where’s the thing, I mean? What harm does it do? The broad’s great in the sack and she lights off real easy. So I say it, and now she’s mad. I don’t know.”

“Look,” Coyle said, “they’re all batty. I come home the other night, I hit the number. I got six hundred and fifty bucks on me. Six hundred and fifty bucks. I’m thinking about buying her a color tee-vee. She watches the fucking thing all the time. I figure she’ll enjoy it. So what happens? I come in the door. What does she say: ‘Where the hell’ve you been? The oil burner’s all smoky and I can’t get the repairman.’ So right there I forget about the color tee-vee. I went out in the morning and I come home at night and she’s pissed off. Screw her. I went out and opened a fucking bank account.
In my name.
Next February or so I’m gonna have some business down in Miami, there, and I’m gonna get warm. To hell with her.”

“Hey,” Scalisi said, “the money. How much?”

“Forty-five hundred,” Coyle said.

“I’ll be right with you.” Scalisi got up again and left the living area. In a few minutes he returned. He had a packet of bills. He handed it to Coyle. “Count it,” he said.

“No,” Coyle said. He accepted the packet and put it in his pocket. “No, you never screwed me yet. I trust you.” He got up.

“You gotta go?” Scalisi said.

“I got a long ride,” Coyle said. “You got something else on your mind anyway. You gonna need any more guns?”

“I don’t think so,” Scalisi said. “Look, I’ll let you know. I think we’re just about finished. You gonna be around?”

“At least until next month,” Coyle said. “I got that thing in New Hampshire coming up. I don’t know.”

“That gonna be a problem?” Scalisi said.

“I don’t know,” Coyle said. “I’m waiting to hear. Maybe not. Hell, how do you know? It comes, it comes. You take it the way it comes. I don’t know.”

“I hope you’re all right,” Scalisi said.

“Me too,” Coyle said, “me too.”

With no expression on his face, Jackie Brown sat in the outer office, his cuff ed hands in his lap. Tobin Ames, a shotgun across his lap, sat behind a desk, opposite Jackie Brown, watching him. In the chief’s office, Waters and Foley watched Ames and Jackie Brown through the glass partition.

“Did he say anything?” Waters said.

“He said he understood his fucking rights,” Foley said. “He’s a tough kid, I’ll say that for him.”

“When did you arrest him?” Waters said.

“About quarter of five,” Foley said.

“I guess you stopped off for a drink on the way in,” Waters said.

“You ever been in that traffic on Route 128?” Foley said. “We brought him up to the marshal’s office and mugged him and printed him and then we brought him here.”

“Okay,” Waters said. “Now it’s almost eight-thirty. You got some plans for him for the rest of the evening, I hope.”

“Sure,” Foley said. “We’re gonna charge him.”

“Good,” Waters said. “I think that’s an excellent idea. You got any idea of what you’re going to charge him with?”

“Yeah,” Foley said. “Twenty-six, fifty-eight-sixty-one. Possession of unregistered machine guns. Five of them.”

“Well,” Waters said, “what’re you waiting for, Easter? I mean, you had him for almost four hours. He oughta be charged.”

“I know he oughta be charged, Maury,” Foley said, “but I don’t make warrants out of thin air. Moran had to get a search warrant for the car. Then we searched it. We found the guns. Now Moran’s getting a complaint. I got a Commissioner all lined up. Soon as Moran gets the complaint, off we go.”

“I had tickets for the Bruins game tonight,” Waters said.

“Hey,” Foley said, “look, I know, I’m sorry. I just thought I oughta talk to you.”

“So talk,” Waters said.

“What do I do now?” Foley said.

“You mean after you get him bailed and so forth,” Waters said. “That’s the first thing you do.”

“I know,” Foley said. “But then what?”

“What’re the choices?” Waters said.

“Okay,” Foley said. “I can let him go. The Commissioner’s sure to let him go in personal security. I can say: ‘Okay, Mister Brown, see you in court.’ And then try to get an indictment on the son of a bitch.”

“You think you’re going to get one?” Waters said.

“I think so,” Foley said. “That bastard in the U.S. Attorney’s office, I don’t think even he can find anything wrong with this
one. I did everything I could think of, and Moran thought of some other stuff. I tell you, if this kid wanted to take a leak, I’d get a warrant before I’d let him do it.”

“Okay,” Waters said, “you can let him go and indict him. What else?”

“I could say something to him before he goes,” Foley said.

“Like what?” Waters said.

“Well,” Foley said, “for example, he knows somebody tipped us. He’s not stupid. He figured out we got word he was going to be over at the railroad station. Couple times, driving in, he said: ‘Who told you? Who told you I was going to be there?’ ”

“You wrote that down, I hope,” Waters said.

“I wrote it down,” Foley said.

“Okay,” Waters said, “he was asking questions. So what?”

“So suppose we tell him?” Foley said.

“Tell him what?” Waters said.

“Well,” Foley said, “we got a choice. We could let him think the kids in the VW bus did it.”

“He going to believe that?” Waters said.

“Probably not,” Foley said. “He might, but probably not.”

“So why do it?” Waters said.

“To get their names,” Foley said. “I’m not saying this is what we ought to do. I’m just saying, we could.”

“You get the license number on the bus?” Waters said.

“Yeah,” Foley said.

“Sooner or later that’s going to tell us who was in it, right?” Waters said.

“Likely,” Foley said, “unless it’s stolen.”

“Assume it’s not,” Waters said, “what have we got?”

“The names,” Foley said.

“And for evidence we can show they drove the bus to the railroad station,” Waters said. “Is that a federal crime, to drive a bus to the railroad station?”

“To buy machine guns, sure,” Foley said.

“Who’s going to say that?” Waters said.

“Jackie Brown,” Foley said.

“Suppose he doesn’t,” Waters said.

“Nobody,” Foley said. “Nobody in the world.”

“You still got a federal crime?” Waters said.

“Sure,” Foley said.

“Sure,” Waters said, “but you can’t prove it, is all.”

“Right,” Foley said.

“Next question,” Waters said.

“I could tell him Coyle tipped us,” Foley said.

“That’s an interesting notion,” Waters said. “Why tell him that?”

“It’d make him mad,” Foley said. “I’m reasonably sure he was up to something with Coyle. So I tell him Coyle blew the whistle, he gets mad and tells me what he was doing with Coyle.”

“Is it worth it?” Waters said.

“Well,” Foley said, “you told me yourself, suppose Coyle was arming those bank robbers. If he was, maybe Jackie Brown was peddling the guns to him.”