Caught Stealing - Charlie Huston [44]
—It was never stable. Frankly, it doesn’t alter my own situation. But it does greatly increase the danger to yourself.
—How so?
—There is now a large number of rogue elements at large, all looking for the key and, thus, for you. And I assure you that to the extent any of those elements have ever been able to show restraint in their dealings, I have always been the one holding them back. They are violent men and you are going to need an ally against them.
—Yourself?
—I nominate myself. Events like these have a momentum. Brutality lends itself to greater brutality and without realizing it, one can be swept along in its wake. If you wait too long, you might find yourself someplace you never knew existed. Doing things you never thought possible. I can both protect you and help to return your life to normal. I would like to do that.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and pinches one earlobe with the fingers of his right hand.
—I would like very much to do that.
All the running around has my feet hurting again. I stroke Bud and feel my feet throb in time to my heartbeat. Yvonne would rub my feet sometimes, not always, but every now and then. She always made me wash them first.
Roman reaches into his jacket again. He flips on the car’s interior dome light and shows me what he has. It’s one of the pictures. A close-up of a bruise pattern on her neck. Roman traces a finger over the bruises.
—Look here. See how the bruises are knobbed and distinct? The skin is abraded in each of the bruises. Torn. This kind of bruising you get when someone wears brass knuckles. Or sometimes, you see it if the perpetrator wears several rings.
I think about Ed and Paris in the hall outside my apartment. I think about them knocking on Russ’s door, knocking with their hands covered in silver rings. Naked women and skulls. Roman puts the picture in my hand. I look at it and think about Yvonne in her Knicks jersey, spooned against me on her futon.
—Your legal problems are significant, but not insurmountable. I can help you there. More importantly, you have enemies, enemies who are fierce. I can help you there as well. To get away or to get revenge.
I think about the first time I slept with Yvonne, how drunk we were, how we laughed. I think about her hands, callused, scarred and covered in small burns from her work. I look again at the picture of her sweet neck mottled, red, black and blue. Roman watches me.
—Did you give them the key?
—No.
—Did you tell them where it is?
—No.
—Where is it?
—It’s at the bar. It’s in the safe at the bar.
—Let’s go get it.
I’m staring at the picture, feeling the pain in my feet and listening to the rushing sound in my ears, and really, I’m just not that surprised when Bolo opens the car door, pushes me over and climbs in, wedging me tight between himself and Roman just like Red is now wedged into the backseat between the Russians, who are wearing their tracksuits again. In the rearview, I can see Red’s face, a huge gauze pad over his nose held in place by a big X of white tape. He looks at Roman, who is starting the car.
—I told you it was the bar.
Bolo adjusts himself in the seat to settle his bulk and looks down at Bud.
—Hey, man, how’s the cat?
—Spalding Gray.
—What the fuck, Spalding Gray? Who the fuck?
—Spalding Gray, he’s a, a, whaddayacallit, a performance, a monologist. He talks.
—Actors, fucking actors only.
—He is a fucking actor. He’s in movies, too.
—Bullshit.
Bolo and the Russians are playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. Bolo is kicking their asses. Tempers are flaring. Bolo looks at his watch.
—Come on, man, Spalding Gray.
—I don’t know fucking Spalding. Fucking Spalding is a fucking ball.
—So forfeit the point.
—Fuck you.
Red is leaning forward against the back of the front seat. The Russians put their heads together behind him and whisper to each other. Bolo grins.
—Come on, forfeit, you don’t even know who the fuck he is.
—Fuck you.
Red flicks the back of my ear again. He’s been doing it for a few hours now but doesn’t seem to be getting bored. Sometimes he just