Chapter 1 (second scene)

I left the Lower East side by taking the Broadway Line into Brooklyn. Hank had left a rat infested, decrepit, two room apartment on Orchard Street about a year ago for a slightly bigger, roach infested apartment in Williamsburg. He worked on the docks somewhere this side of town. It was early evening but there was still a lot of daylight left. As I walked down Broadway and then onto South 6th, a steamy fog blanketed the East River.
There were plenty of people trying to escape their heat boxes, and on days like today, all you could do was sit on your stoop and hope for a breeze to pass over the water. I passed three boys sitting on the bottom step of the three-story brownstone building; all shirtless and wearing washed-out dungarees. I pushed on the door and entered. The air was even hotter and heavier in the dark hallway and burned my nostrils. Pulling myself up to the first floor as I held onto the shaky, paint-chipped banister, I breathed the air through my mouth. Hank’s apartment was at the back with another. I put my ear up against the door and listened. Nothing. I knocked...still nothing. Goddamn...I walked back outside and glanced into the almost tree-less street; the only color to it was the trash strewn in gutters. My memory flashed back to the squalor I’d grown up in and of my old man and the stream of filthy whores he’d brought home. I slid my hand through my hair and looked for a place to wait.
The corner building across the road offered shade and a good view of Hank’s building. I walked down the steps and crossed the street, picking up part of a blab sheet lying on the pavement. Getting into the shade I leaned my shoulder against the wall, stuck a cigarette in between my lips and watched as one of the shirtless boys came towards me.
“Wanna shoe shine, mister?”
I shook my head.
“I can run an errand for you, anything you want.”
“Beat it.”
He began to turn away from me.
“Hey,” I said.
He spun around.
“You know Hank? Lives across-–”
“Mr. Sneddon?” he said. “Sure.”
“Think you can keep an eye out for him?”
“Sure, mister.”
I sat on the side street with my back against the wall and my ass on a blurb. I lit my cigarette, rolled my sleeves to my elbows, brought my knees up and looked at the paper. ‘Denise Darcel’s Flat Is Looted,’ I read. ‘Burglar took two mink stoles and a pair of earrings with a total value of $6000 from the apartment of Denise Darcel, actress, at 20 East Sixty-third Street...’ I raised my eyebrows and whistled. Not bad for a private job. I wondered if the East River gang had been responsible. Mick was a tough Irish who led the gang of six. I knew him from when I’d lived in the Bronx with my old man. He’d been on the streets longer than I had but was still pulling off small-time cons.
Mick had begun to trespass onto our domain though and I’d gone to see him before the Gallo family got wind of it. The mob didn’t have patience when it came to people affecting their income. There was no sit-down over a cup of coffee and politely tell you that you’d moved into their territory. You trespassed...you left hurt. It was bad for business when people couldn’t come out onto the streets because they were afraid of getting jumped by gangs; we’d never see our customers to get their numbers or loan-out money. I wouldn’t say Mick and I were good friends, but we respected each other. We’d chewed the fat for awhile and he’d mentioned a job he was planning uptown that would bring him and his gang a lot of dough...and for small-time hustlers like them, six grand worth of goods was the most they’d ever get their hands on again.
“Hey, mister.” The kid pointed up South 6th. “Mr. Sneddon.”
I leaned forward and cranked my head so I could see. Hank was easy to spot thanks to Uncle Sam. I watched the heavy-set man dragging his gimp leg behind him. I stood up and reached into my pocket, pulling out a quarter. “Thanks,” I said as I handed it to him.
I waited for Hank to get to the top of the stoop before dropping my cigarette onto the ground and following. By the time I got into the building he’d just climbed the stairs. I took them two at a time and got to the top as he turned the door handle. As he entered the apartment, I ran to the door, and as it began to close I jammed my foot in the doorway. His face appeared in the small opening, at first, confused, and then as he recognized me, panic. He pushed the door against my foot but I’d already begun to shoulder it. It swung open sending him staggering backwards.
I smiled. “Hey, Hank, thought you’d be happy to see me.”
He recovered his footing and stood his ground. “I ain’t got your money. Tell your boss he’ll have it by the end of the week.”
I shut the door and leaned against it. A rank odor immediately filled my nostrils. It was the stench of decaying food, overflowing ashtrays, body sweat and the filth of an apartment that never got cleaned. Remembering my last visit, I flicked a switch next to me so I wouldn’t step into anything foul. The bare overhead bulb flickered before giving me the light I needed. A cockroach scurried from a plate on the floor to a pile of newspapers several feet away. I wasn’t sure what disgusted me more, the filth, or a cockroach that was big enough to be heard.
Knowing it would bug Hank, I casually flipped through some mail sitting on top of a small table by the door.
“You got no right touchin’ my stuff, punk.”
I looked up at him, happy I’d gotten a reaction. “You always treat your guests so nice?”
“Screw you, asshole.”
“Last time Ricky saw you, Hank, you told him you’d have some money. I hear you ain’t even paid a dime. You’re lucky you’re still walking.”
He crossed his arms in front of him. “I can’t give you what I don’t got.”
“What happens to your dough, Hank? You blow it on gambling?”
“I got other bills to pay, too, you moron. Rent, food...”
I slowly walked towards him. “You know the score, Hank, we don’t like to wait so long for our money.”
He took a step backwards. “You’re still wet behind the ears, kid. I could knock that smart-ass head of yours right off your shoulders.”
I smiled. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Where’s your cash?”
“I told you I ain’t got none.”
I reached him in a few steps, grabbed him by the collar and slammed his back against the wall. I sneered into his ruddy face. “Now’s your chance to make good of your words, I’ll even let you take first swing.”
Now normally I wouldn’t be so cocky to let someone take the first swing, but I knew this guy from way back. I saw his clumsy fist coming at my face, grabbed it and followed through with a punch into his soft belly. He moaned and began to double over. I grabbed his collar again and shoved him back against the wall.
“You gotta do better than that, Hank.”
He heaved trying to suck in some air. I put my arm across his throat and added some pressure. He began to wheeze.
“Money,” I said.
He gurgled something and I added more pressure. His eyes began to bulge and purple lines spread across his face. He tried to pry my arm off as I reached into his jacket pocket. I found what I was looking for and opened the wallet with one hand. Squeezing a little more I watched him gag and splutter and then I took a step backward and watched him fall to his knees.
“Thought you said you didn’t have any cash on you.” I counted the bills, pocketed thirty and threw the empty wallet at his feet. “I’ll be back next week.” I looked around the apartment. “And Hank? You need to clean this place up. It’s a pig sty.”
“You son-of-a-bitch,” he rasped. “You took all my money, I got none left for nothing. No food-–”
“It ain’t your money, it’s Mr. Gallo’s.” I stepped over him. “I’m doing you a favor, Hank, you could do awhile without some food.”
I was glad to be outside of his apartment. I closed my eyes for a second and ran my hand through my hair before lighting a cigarette. This was business...and Hank knew it. He needed money; we gave it to him no questions asked. He understood the terms. I knew he was a heavy gambler; hopefully he’d get lucky on the track and pay us in full. Luck had been on his side today; with Donnie on Ricky’s back to get money from him, Ricky would’ve beaten the crap out of him.