“Come on, please? I’ll be really careful with it.”
His stomach felt off, and he put down his burger. The previous night’s conversation with Jenn came into his mind again, how he’d had a whole different plan than being thirty-two and living paycheck to paycheck. “What does your mother say?”
“She said to ask you.”
Bravo, he thought. Thanks, Trish. Much appreciated.
“I think you’re a little young.”
“But, Dad-”
“Sorry, Cass. Ten is too young.” He chewed a cold french fry.
She started to pout, then paused, then took another sip on the milk shake. “Is it because you’re broke?”
“What?”
“Mom said that you barely make enough to afford your fleabag apartment.”
“She said that to you?”
“Well, no.” Cassie shrugged. “I overheard her on the phone.” She looked at him openly, too young to realize the effect of her words, that the last, worst thing she could ever give him was pity.
He stared, wanting to tell her the truth, tell her all the things he’d given up for her already, and all the things he would again. But kids didn’t need to know about child support and rent and gas at four bucks a gallon. Otherwise they stopped being kids. “Your mother was joking.”
“Yeah?” She didn’t sound convinced.
“I’m made of money. You know, fleabag apartments aren’t cheap. You have to pay extra for the fleas.”
“Dad.”
“Plus flea food.”
“Dad.”
“And flea grooming. Fleas are very particular about their grooming.”
She giggled, and the solemn expression fell from her face. It was something.
RING.
Ring.
Ring.
“John Loverin.”
“Johnny Love, Johnny Love. You know who this is?”
“Sure, kid, I know. How the hell are you?”
“Depends on whether you have my money.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I look like a Democrat?”
“Ain’t it the way. Since you bring it up, the price you’re asking. I’m thinking an even two instead.”
“Hmm. Let me consider that. I don’t want to say anything rash.” A pause. “Nope, I had it off the bat: Blow it out your ass.”
“Hey-”
“Hey my ten-inch cock. You know you can turn it around for double what I’m charging. So let’s not play.”
“All right, all right. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“You have a buyer lined up?”
“Yeah.”
“Not someone you want to disappoint, I’m guessing.”
“Not so much, no. So I can count on you, right, kid?”
“Anybody tell you that whole ‘kid’ thing is kind of annoying?”
“Most people are too smart to take that tone.”
“You find someone else who can get you this, you can tell me to walk. Till then, I take any tone I like. Another thing. Tuesday. It’s not going to be me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It won’t be me comes in to see you. I’m sending someone.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Nope.”
“Who?”
“Crooch.”
A laugh. “Jesus. Anything to avoid a little dirty work yourself, huh? You must really have that pasty-faced loser twisted around your finger. What did you catch him doing?”
“Everybody sins, Johnny. I’m just there to see it. So we OK? You’re fine with Crooch?”
“Kid, so long as he brought what you’re selling, I’d be fine if it was Big Bird squeezed his feathery butt through my door.”
“Glad to hear it. Let’s keep everything simple. A nice, clean deal.”
“You deliver, I deliver.”
“Fair enough. Have a happy fucking weekend.”
AFTER ALEX DROPPED CASSIE OFF, as he was battling traffic eastward and holding off the mood as best he could, his cell phone rang. He checked the screen. Trish. No way he wanted to talk to her now. Instead he leaned back in the seat and sucked deep on the emotions that had been waiting for him, a cocktail he drank often: two parts rage to one part aching frustration, flavored with a dash of self-pity. Damn her for talking about him that way in front of Cassie. And damn her for her snide attacks about the child support. Sure, over the years he’d missed a couple of payments. But he was doing the best he could.
Still, he couldn’t find it in him to hate her. He knew her too well. She wasn’t cruel; she was just practical in a relentless sort of way. All about the end result. They’d split up in part because she didn’t want to be married to a bartender. She was young, had her looks and her brains, and though Cassie limited the dating options, for a certain type of guy-the kind who had worked harder than he meant to for fifteen years, then looked up and realized his life was empty-a kid was actually a bonus. Insta-family, just add wedding ring and mortgage payments.
Of course, now there wasn’t much room for an ex-husband. Especially one who still tended bar.
The joyless irony of it all was that he had to go to work even now. Right now, in fact. He stewed for the rest of the commute, then swallowed his cocktail like a man and went inside.
At this hour, Rossi’s had that hollowed-out look, like a house where the owners were on vacation. The hostess stand was empty, and servers were rolling napkins in the dining room. He walked past to the bar. His kingdom. Jesus. The thought made him wonder if he remembered how to tie a noose. An early shift bartender was setting out bottles. He nodded at Alex, said, “Johnny wants you.”
“What for?”
“Didn’t say. Just wanted you to come back to his office when you got in.”
“He’s here? At three o’clock?”
“Will wonders never, right?”
Alex nodded, reached around the tap for a glass, filled it with Diet Coke, then went to the back room. He paused to check the kegs-he’d been easing a few better beers into rotation, a couple of taps of Lagunitas and Victory, good American craft beers to add to the usual crap that people drank-then noticed that the back door to the alley was unlocked yet again. The kitchen staff went out back to smoke and never locked it. He threw the bolt, went to the office door, and stepped inside.
Johnny Love sat behind the desk, facing away. He whirled at the sound of the door opening. “What the fuck?”
“Ahh-” Alex hesitated. “You wanted to see me?”
“Don’t you knock?” He straightened in the chair, positioning his body to hide something behind him.
Alex fought the urge to point out that this was more often his office than Johnny’s, that he and the restaurant managers used it day in, day out, instead of the occasional drop-by. Instead, he said, “Sorry, Mr. Loverin. My mistake.”
Johnny turned back around and did something with his hands. Alex couldn’t see what he was doing, but heard a creak, and then a dull metal clank. Johnny was putting something in the safe. Alex waited, rocking from one foot to the other, until his boss swiveled back around and slowly raised one foot and then the other to set them on top of the desk. Said nothing. Marking his territory as clear as if he’d pissed on the desk.
Alex repeated, “You wanted to see me?”
Johnny stared. It was a look that Alex supposed had once been scary, back in the days when the guy was actually a player, carried a gun. He said, “How’d you like to earn a little extra money?”
“Doing what?”
“Simple thing. I’ve got a meeting this Tuesday night, I’d like you to join.”
“What kind of meeting?”
“What do you care?”
“I just mean, what’s this about?” There had been talk that Johnny was buying into another restaurant. If it was true, he might be looking for somebody to manage the place. The step up in salary might make the difference Alex needed.
“What it is, what you need to know, it’s just a little side deal I’ve got going on. A guy I know who likes to pretend he’s tough. I want you to stand around, wear a shirt shows off those muscles.”
“You want me to be a bodyguard?”
“Nothing like that. It’s a, what do you call it, a pageant. You’re there to make things look a certain way. You’re set dressing.” Johnny nodded at that, pleased with the description.