more if the mood struck? This time I wasn't shaking. It was different than that first time at Crazy Al's. I wanted to make sure I got it done fast. I didn't want Ricky to suffer.
The low mumble of conversation died off, and I readied myself. We knew Ricky would hit the head, because the guy had prostate problems and he drank coffee all day long. I felt like a leopard. I could actually feel the vibration of footsteps nearing the door. I cocked my head and focused on the antique glass doorknob. It rattled and turned.
Then it stopped. Ricky was right on the other side of the door, and when he spoke it was loud and clear.
“I ain't gonna see her no more,” he said.
“I know,” Eddie said. It was harder to hear his voice. He was probably standing in the entryway between the kitchen and living room, looking at Ricky, waiting for him to go in. Ricky must've had his hand on the door knob, head turned, looking back at Eddie. I could see it all, even though the only thing I could really see was a white door and a glass knob.
“We're through,” Ricky said. “I'm done with her. Maybe you could help me out with Jim Steeves. Set up a meeting with Frank. I'll tell 'em both how sorry I am. I ain't too proud to get down on one knee and tell Frank how sorry I am.”
“I'd stay quiet about it,” Eddie said. “The less you say, the better.”
“These last few weeks have been a killer,” Ricky said. “I just wanted some strange, that's all. Now I feel like everyone's out to get me. Known you for a long time, Eddie. A real long time. Right?”
“Right,” Eddie said.
“And you wouldn't? I mean, if Frank was to say something.”
“Wouldn't what? Cut you up into neat little pieces?” Eddie said.
He laughed. Ricky laughed. They laughed for quite a bit, or so it seemed to me. I was getting sweaty. The handles of the garotte felt as heavy as metal flagpoles.
“ Eddie Sesto ,” Ricky said, striking the first and last names like he was considering the tyranny of some ancient ruler. “I won't lie. I was a little bit scared coming over here tonight.”
The door knob turned again, the door opened, and Ricky Cervetti walked in. His hair was always oily, but for some reason I could really smell it. Sweet like the lotion for a woman's hands. He stared at the garbage bags all over the walls, frozen, looking up like an alien ship was shining a beam of light to take him away. I slipped the E string over his neck, and I pulled like I might win a million dollars if I could slice his head clean off. My face smashed into the back of his greasy hair. My nose came to rest on his braided gold-chain necklace.
Ricky's hands slapped my ears. Then they went to his neck, and tried to stop the deep progress of the wire. He leaned forward, lifted me off the ground, spun around, and we fell straight back and landed between the toilet and the tub. He must've thought that I would let up for a brief second, that the weight of him would stop me. But I closed my eyes, remembered Dan's words, and pulled even harder. I dreamed of the sweet finality of death; of the respite it would bring. I didn't want Ricky to somehow turn around and see me. I was just a phantom pulling a string. If Ricky looked into my eyes, it would make me real.
Dan the Man got spooked from the sound of us falling down. I heard the ruffle of the shower curtain as he flung it open, and I saw the barrel of his gun swimming toward us like the mouth of a cold steel fish. When Ricky saw Dan, the whole story sunk right in. He groaned and kicked his legs around, and made a sound like a fox with its leg in a trap. Dan the Man cocked the hammer on his Smith and Wesson Model 10. Our eyes met, and I shook my head—no. I couldn't do that to Eddie. Barring an absolute emergency, those garbage bags were supposed to stay dry.
Dan the Man climbed out of the tub, holstered his piece, and knelt down on the ground. He pinched Ricky's nostrils and cupped a hand over his mouth.
“Keep pulling,”
The low mumble of conversation died off, and I readied myself. We knew Ricky would hit the head, because the guy had prostate problems and he drank coffee all day long. I felt like a leopard. I could actually feel the vibration of footsteps nearing the door. I cocked my head and focused on the antique glass doorknob. It rattled and turned.
Then it stopped. Ricky was right on the other side of the door, and when he spoke it was loud and clear.
“I ain't gonna see her no more,” he said.
“I know,” Eddie said. It was harder to hear his voice. He was probably standing in the entryway between the kitchen and living room, looking at Ricky, waiting for him to go in. Ricky must've had his hand on the door knob, head turned, looking back at Eddie. I could see it all, even though the only thing I could really see was a white door and a glass knob.
“We're through,” Ricky said. “I'm done with her. Maybe you could help me out with Jim Steeves. Set up a meeting with Frank. I'll tell 'em both how sorry I am. I ain't too proud to get down on one knee and tell Frank how sorry I am.”
“I'd stay quiet about it,” Eddie said. “The less you say, the better.”
“These last few weeks have been a killer,” Ricky said. “I just wanted some strange, that's all. Now I feel like everyone's out to get me. Known you for a long time, Eddie. A real long time. Right?”
“Right,” Eddie said.
“And you wouldn't? I mean, if Frank was to say something.”
“Wouldn't what? Cut you up into neat little pieces?” Eddie said.
He laughed. Ricky laughed. They laughed for quite a bit, or so it seemed to me. I was getting sweaty. The handles of the garotte felt as heavy as metal flagpoles.
“ Eddie Sesto ,” Ricky said, striking the first and last names like he was considering the tyranny of some ancient ruler. “I won't lie. I was a little bit scared coming over here tonight.”
The door knob turned again, the door opened, and Ricky Cervetti walked in. His hair was always oily, but for some reason I could really smell it. Sweet like the lotion for a woman's hands. He stared at the garbage bags all over the walls, frozen, looking up like an alien ship was shining a beam of light to take him away. I slipped the E string over his neck, and I pulled like I might win a million dollars if I could slice his head clean off. My face smashed into the back of his greasy hair. My nose came to rest on his braided gold-chain necklace.
Ricky's hands slapped my ears. Then they went to his neck, and tried to stop the deep progress of the wire. He leaned forward, lifted me off the ground, spun around, and we fell straight back and landed between the toilet and the tub. He must've thought that I would let up for a brief second, that the weight of him would stop me. But I closed my eyes, remembered Dan's words, and pulled even harder. I dreamed of the sweet finality of death; of the respite it would bring. I didn't want Ricky to somehow turn around and see me. I was just a phantom pulling a string. If Ricky looked into my eyes, it would make me real.
Dan the Man got spooked from the sound of us falling down. I heard the ruffle of the shower curtain as he flung it open, and I saw the barrel of his gun swimming toward us like the mouth of a cold steel fish. When Ricky saw Dan, the whole story sunk right in. He groaned and kicked his legs around, and made a sound like a fox with its leg in a trap. Dan the Man cocked the hammer on his Smith and Wesson Model 10. Our eyes met, and I shook my head—no. I couldn't do that to Eddie. Barring an absolute emergency, those garbage bags were supposed to stay dry.
Dan the Man climbed out of the tub, holstered his piece, and knelt down on the ground. He pinched Ricky's nostrils and cupped a hand over his mouth.
“Keep pulling,”
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