Apaches - Lorenzo Carcaterra [108]
“Anything else?” Rev. Jim asked.
“Yeah,” Dead-Eye said. “Stay alive.”
Pins slammed the truck gears into reverse and backed the hook end close to the bumper of the Lincoln. The driver’s side window rolled down and an overweight man in wraparound sunglasses stuck his head out.
“What’s up, asshole?” he said in a Spanish accent, watching Pins lift a large wooden slab and place it under the front tires of the Lincoln.
“You’re double-parked,” Pins said. “That’s illegal.”
“I’m in the car,” the driver said. “I can move it.”
“You should have thought of that before,” Pins said. “Once the wood’s down, the job’s a done deal.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” the driver said, his face red with anger. “You don’t have to tow anybody anywhere. I’ll move the fuckin’ car.”
“The wood’s down,” Pins said. “You can’t move it once the wood’s down.”
“Fuck you and the wood,” the driver said.
The middle of the garbage truck stopped right next to the Lincoln. Geronimo approached from the passenger end, his hands down by his sides, one holding a semiautomatic, a silencer attached to the muzzle. He gave two hard knuckle taps on the passenger window. The window buzzed halfway down, letting out miniclouds of smoke, most of it wrapped around the face of a man in light-colored clothing.
“We break a garbage law now too?” the man asked with mild irritation.
The man behind the wheel punched the dashboard repeatedly, his anger at full throttle. He had pockmarked cheeks and hair the color of straw hanging down the sides of his face. “I hate this fuckin’ city,” he shouted. “Take a look at who’s giving us shit. A fuckin’ tow-truck driver and a garbage man.”
“Do you know you have to pass a test to get this job?” Geronimo said.
“I don’t give a fuck!” the driver screamed.
Geronimo leaned his head into the car, looking beyond the two men in the front, staring into the darkness of the backseat, where Saldo sat quietly through the commotion.
“You’re all going to take a ride to the pound,” Geronimo said to Saldo. “Believe me, you’ll like it. You can roll down your windows and take in the water view. It’s a better place for you to be than here. Have I painted a clear enough picture?”
Saldo nodded, his eyes and manner indifferent.
“You’re no fuckin’ garbage man,” the driver said.
Geronimo shrugged. “I couldn’t pass the test.”
“What are you then?” the man in the front asked.
“He’s a cop,” Saldo said. “They’re both cops.”
“Cops?” the man behind the wheel said. “The tow-truck driver too?”
“A lot of us have to work two jobs,” Geronimo said.
“Say the word,” the driver said, looking into the rearview at Saldo. “We’ll take these fuckers out right here and now.”
Geronimo lifted his hand and showed them the gun. “Let’s not be stupid,” he said to Saldo. “They make a move on me and I move on you and we both know it’s not worth it. So stick to the plan and enjoy the ride.”
Saldo stared into Geronimo’s dark eyes, feeling the front end of the car start to tilt upward.
“We stay with the car,” he said to the two men in the front.
“It’s been nice talking to you,” Geronimo told him.
“I hope we get to do it again,” Saldo said. “Soon.”
Geronimo backed away from the car, the two men in the front staring angrily at Pins as he lifted the car into tow position.
“Kill the engine, please,” Pins said to them.
“I’d like to fuckin’ kill you first,” the driver said.
“Hey, I’m nervous as it is,” Pins said with an innocent smile. “I’ve never towed a car before. I would hate to lose you guys on the highway.”
• • •
THE THICK WOODEN door to the four-story brownstone swung halfway open, the brass knob held by a large man in charcoal-gray slacks and red suspenders draped over a black shirt. His eyes narrowed as he watched the commotion around the Lincoln. He moved his free hand to the small of his back, fingers wrapping themselves around the handle of a .32 short Colt. He saw the DOT man chain the car and lift it. The two men in the front were exchanging angry gestures while Saldo’s shadow sat motionless in the back.