The Friends of Eddie Coyle (19 page)

“He came looking for me,” Dillon said. “I assume that means he wants me to do something for him, he wants
me.
I had some hard things he asked me to do, and I did them, and nobody got hurt but the guy that was supposed to get hurt. Nobody on anything I ever did ever ended up in the Death House, which is more’n I can say for some I know.”

“He knows you’re good,” the man said.

“All right,” Dillon said. “I’ll be at the place. You want me, you call me, we’ll see what we can do. But we do things the right way, all right?”

“I’ll see you,” the man said.

“He didn’t show up,” Foley said. “I sit there for about half an hour, and I have a cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee. Jesus, I forgot how bad a thing a cheese sandwich is to eat. It’s just like eating a piece of linoleum, you know?”

“You got to put mayonnaise on it,” Waters said. “It’s never going to have any flavor at all unless you put some mayonnaise on the bread before you put the cheese on.”

“I never heard of that,” Foley said. “You put it on the outside, do you?”

“Nah,” Waters said, “you put it on the inside. You still put the butter on the outside and all. But when the cheese melts, there, it’s the mayonnaise that gives it the flavor. You got to use real mayonnaise, though, the stuff with eggs in it. You can use that other stuff that most people use when they say they’re using mayonnaise, that salad dressing stuff, you can use it. But it isn’t going to
taste the same. I think that other stuff scalds or something. It doesn’t taste right, anyway.”

“They don’t go for those refinements in the Rexall’s anyway,” Foley said. “What the hell, you go in there and order a cheese sandwich, they got a whole stack of them, already made up, probably since last Wednesday, and they take out one of them goddamned things, big fat piece of this orange cheese in it, and throw on some grease, they pretend it’s butter but I sure don’t believe that, and then they go and they fuse it all together with a hot press there. My stomach’s still trying to break that thing down into something I can live on, just like a big piece, two big pieces, of bathroom tile with some mastic in between. Served hot. I get sick, you’re gonna have to give me a pension.”

“You been living off the tit too long, I think,” Waters said. “Getting so you bastards won’t eat anything unless you get it handed up to you at the Playboy Club for God’s sake. Under-cover. My ass. You think I don’t know, you’re taking each other to lunch? Shit. Do you good once in a while, the Joe and Nemo route. That’s where the hoods are anyway, you know. They don’t patronize these high-class joints I’m always seeing on the vouchers, where a piece of meat’s nine bucks. They’re down scrounging, just like you would be if you couldn’t write it up.”

“Well anyway,” Foley said, “he didn’t show. So I’m sitting there and getting the fish-eye from the waitress, and I had a Coke and my bladder’s beginning to get sore, you know? So I pay up and get out, and I go out on the street, and I’m not too upset. After all, he said he might not show up. So I part with fifteen cents and I get a
Record
, and what do I see, that the guys he wants to trade off got scooped this morning up in Lynn. So that explains a lot of things.”

“One of them got dead,” Waters said. “Goodweather, there. I guess he had it in mind to make a fuss or something.”

“Yeah,” Foley said, “I gotta call Sauter about that. Apologize. I didn’t think he was that good a shot. What’d they hit them with?”

“Burglary, for the district court,” Waters said. “I imagine the grand jury’ll be getting a better variety of charges. Let’s see, two murders, three robberies, burglary in all of them bankers’ houses, probably gunrunning, stolen cars, conspiracy. Did I leave something out?”

“Blasphemy,” Foley said. “I always wanted to charge a guy with blasphemy.”

“What about your friend with the knuckles, now?” Waters said.

“He goes to jail, looks like,” Foley said. “New Hampshire wasn’t satisfied he helped us grab Jackie Brown there, and I don’t think he’s got anything left to trade now.”

“Ah, well,” Waters said, “tough shit.”

Coyle came into Dillon’s place shortly after three-thirty in the afternoon. He took a stool and raised his right hand, then let it fall.

Dillon poured a double shot of Carstairs and drew a stein of draft beer. He put both in front of Coyle. “You making any money?” he said.

Coyle drank off the Carstairs. He drank some of the beer. “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way,” he said. “Matter of fact, you was to ask me, I’d have to say I’m not having a very good day.”

“Hey,” Dillon said. “Why is that?”

“You heard what happened up in Lynn there,” Coyle said.

“
That
was a rough thing,” Dillon said. “I understand that kid there, that got killed, I understand he was in pretty good down in Providence, you know?”

“I didn’t hear that,” Coyle said. “Gimme some more whiskey.”
While Dillon was pouring, Coyle talked. “That’s about the only thing I didn’t hear, though. It figures.”

“Well, hell,” Dillon said. “It’s not as though you had anything to do with it. From what I hear they were all free, white and twenty-one. They knew what they were getting into. They were big boys.”

“Yeah,” Coyle said. “Course, this is the end of Artie Van. And Jimmy, too, for that matter. On the other hand, how many guys hit the street on murder one, huh? Wouldn’t matter they was all virgins. Which they aren’t.”

“Well,” Dillon said, “you got to look at it philosophically, you know? You win some, you lose some. They made, what, about a quarter of a mil in a month? Now you start heaving the pressure on like that, you’re gonna get the fuzz mad. It’s got to happen. And when that happens, hell, they killed two guys didn’t they? When that happens, you take what you get, no money back.”

“Yeah,” Coyle said, “but they were set up. That’s what bothers me, I think. The cops were waiting for them in that house. Somebody set them right fucking up. I’d like to know who that was.”

“I imagine they would too,” Dillon said. “Yeah, I would think that’d bother them.”

“Christ,” Coyle said. “I know Jimmy Scal, I know him pretty good. Well, hell, you know that. I known Jimmy since, I known him for a long time. I hate to see him take this one. You know what’s going to happen, he’s never gonna see the sun shine again. He is in forever.”

“You never know,” Dillon said. “Maybe they can get the evidence suppressed. That can happen. And a jury’ll do funny things, you know. They might get off. You just can’t tell about these things.”

“They might get off
once,
” Coyle said. “They were awful busy, you know. They hit about four counties. I don’t think there was one bank they hit was in the same county as another one. Sooner or later somebody’s going to take them out. They’re all through.”

“Well, I still say,” Dillon said, “they knew what they were getting into. Did anybody feel sorry for you?”

“No,” Coyle said. “You got a lot of fucking nerve asking me that.”

“Well,” Dillon said, “you went through, didn’t you? You took the fall, you didn’t come whining to anybody, say, it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t mean it, look, I’ll throw somebody else in, just let me go. You didn’t do that. You gotta have as much respect for them as they had for you, you know? You were a big boy, you got to think they’re gonna be big boys.”

“I haven’t been a big boy yet,” Coyle said. “That comes up next week.”

“I thought it was all over,” Dillon said. “I thought that was all wrapped up.”

“It is,” Coyle said, “I am, I’m all wrapped up. I’m going down to Danbury, is what I’m gonna do.”

“How long?” Dillon said.

“My lawyer,” Coyle said, “my great goddamned lawyer, he figures about two years, probably.”

“So you do eight months,” Dillon said, “you do a third. You can do that easy. You’ll be out, when, when Gansett opens in the fall. No sweat. And I see you got some money, the other night there. You’re all right. Don’t take it so goddamned serious.”

“I can’t help it,” Coyle said, “I still feel bad. That Scal, he’s a ballsy guy, you know. I dunno Van. But I know the Scal, and he’s
all right. I feel sorry for the Scal, I really do. He’s gonna get life, minimum.”

From the other end of the bar a man rose and answered the phone. He shouted: “For you, Dillon.”

“I’ll be right back,” Dillon said. “Get you another on the way?”

“Yeah,” Coyle said. “I’ll have another beer, too.”

Dillon could see Coyle sitting at the bar while he talked on the telephone. “Yeah, I know who this is,” he said. “Funny thing, he’s in here right now. Putting on a big performance, how sorry he is, how pissed off he is about the way they got set up. Almost enough to make me mad. No, not mad enough for that. Look, you get a man up here this afternoon with the money in an envelope, I’ll see what I can do. Maybe tonight, yeah. I’m not promising anything. I still got to get a car. Yeah, I got somebody can drive. The money first. The money in front. Well, you get the money here, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Look,” Dillon said to Coyle, putting the fresh glasses in front of him, “you’re gonna step on your tongue, you don’t look out. Now, that was a friend of mine, and what he tells me is he can’t go to the Broons tonight. So how about you forget your troubles and come to the game with me, huh? We’ll have some dinner, I’ll take the night off, we see a good game. Rangers. Whaddaya say?”

“Sounds good,” Coyle said.

“Sure,” Dillon said. “Come back around six or so, I’d say stay but the way you’re going, you won’t be able to see the game you stay here very much longer. We’ll go have a little wine, maybe a steak, then we go to the game. I guarantee you, by the time you get home tonight, you won’t have a care inna world.”

“I’ll do it,” Coyle said. “I’ll go call my wife.”

“Hey, look,” Dillon said, “whyn’t you forget that for once, all right? You can’t tell you know, we might run into something and you wouldn’t want to go right home. So, why call her?”

“You’re right,” Coyle said. “I got some things to do. I’ll see you back here around six.”

At five-fifteen a kid in a black turtleneck sweater and a suede jacket came into Dillon’s place. He asked for Dillon. He handed Dillon a business envelope, a fairly fat envelope. “Okay?” he said.

“Okay what?” Dillon said.

“Okay?” the kid said. “Just okay.”

“If it’s okay,” Dillon said, “it won’t bother you. If it isn’t okay, it won’t. Get lost.”

In the course of the evening Coyle had several drinks. He drank beer with Dillon during the first period. Bobby Orr swung the Bruins net and faked three Rangers into sprawls. He quartered across the New York goal, faked low and left, shot high and right, and Coyle rose up with Dillon and fourteen thousand, nine hundred and sixty-five others to howl approval. The announcer said: “Goal to Orr, number four.” There was another ovation.

Next to Coyle there was an empty seat. Dillon said: “I can’t understand where the fuck he is. That friend of mine, I was telling you about? He give me both his tickets. I invited my wife’s nephew. I can’t understand where he is. Loves hockey, that kid. I don’t know how he stays in school, he’s always down here, scrounging for tickets. Twenty years old. But a bright kid.”

The kid arrived during the intermission between the first and second periods. He apologized for his tardiness. “I get home,” he
said, “I get the message all right, but then I have to go and borrow a car. I thought I was gonna miss the goddamned game.”

“You couldn’t take the trolley or something?” Coyle said.

“Not to fucking Swampscott,” the kid said seriously. “You just can’t get to Swampscott after nine o’clock. I mean it.”

“Hey,” Dillon said, “who wants a beer?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Coyle said. The kid had a beer, too. Dillon had a beer.

In the second period the Rangers opened with a goal on Cheevers. Sanderson went off for roughing. Sanderson came back on. Esposito went off for an elbow check. Sanderson fed Dallas Smith for a shorthanded goal. Orr fed Esposito who fed Bucyk for a goal.

Between the second and third periods, Coyle had trouble following the conversation between Dillon and his wife’s nephew. Coyle went to the men’s room. As he got up, Dillon observed that he might ask if anybody wanted a beer. Coyle returned with three beers, carried carefully before him. There was beer on his trousers. “Hard to carry beer in a crowd like this,” he said.

“You’re not supposed to have beer at the seats,” the kid said.

“Look,” Coyle said, “you want some beer or not?”

During the third period the Rangers got another goal. Sanderson drew a five minute major for fighting. The Bruins won, three to two.

“Beautiful,” Coyle said. “Beautiful. Can you imagine being that kid? What is he, about twenty-one? He’s the best hockey player inna world. Christ, number four, Bobby Orr. What a future he’s got.”

“Hey look,” Dillon said, “I forgot to tell you. I got some girls.”

“Jesus,” Coyle said, “I don’t know. It’s pretty late.”

“Come on,” Dillon said. “Let’s make a night of it.”

“Hey,” the kid said, “hey, I can’t. I gotta get this car back. I got to go home.”