11.
Rocky Higgins cranked mafia mojo. Six and a half feet high, with the hulk of a pro wrestler. Rocky turned coin with collections, pad-tossing, and blue moon snuffs. Grill jobs. Shakedowns. Bag man, cash handler. The boss had a problem with a pimp. He was a real bad ass. Rocky dispatched to Harlem. Rocky launched ostrich feathers out a window. Big bird crashed the sidewalk, turning jive-ass into jelly. No more problem. Rocky had a niche for punching out bills, paid in full.
Like the ponies? Miss a payment, behind on your vig? Soft knuckles on a deadbeat's door. Soft spoken voice in the dark.
Rocky filling frames. King Kong spooking natives.
"I’m a friend a Joe’s. He said you might have somethin’ for
’im", Rocky raising funds.
"I don’t have it right now," usually in a stammer.
"Joe needs you to get it, and he wants me to bring it to him", Rocky reassured the man. "How do I find you?" the dead beat wised up.
"You don’t. You call Joe, and tell him you want me to come by. If you and Joe are square, me and you are cool. If not, then we gotta go for a walk. I don’t think you wanna do that."
"I’ll call Joe tomorrow."
"I let him know. He’ll appreciate that." Rocky quit driving, due to problems with age and night vision. He was still good on his feet. Pick ups, shakedowns, and pumping pills. A big old lug, still on the payroll. Joe had a problem, and mailed him in to talk about it.
The blister was Tommy Casella. An up and coming psychopath when he gunned down a cocaine cowboy, and nailed out an eight year hitch. The time behind the walls drew plans.
Casella burned off the stretch, hitting the streets with the prints.
Humped it around like a Good Gulf Map. Casella wanted to be gangster of the year. Getting made, baby steps. He was out to bag a capo post, and beyond. Godfather dreams.
Casella peeled a big-time spree, earning off the charts. They sharked Rolex shipments, and hijacked a truck hauling fur coats.
Casella’s crew, a bunch of cowboys. Gavones. They plugged a driver during a botched hijacking. He’s in critical, and badge vigiled for the wake up to scope mug shots. There was also a rumor that one of the missing strippers from Joe’s go-go bar was raped and snuffed out, by you guessed it, Casella.
The goons snatched her, and raced the high heels to a Harlem flophouse. They tied her to a bed where Casella did a number on her. A shits and giggles bender.
"He’s out of control, and turning everything hot," said Joe. "I had cops at my grand daughter’s christening. Enough’s enough now, Rocky."
"I see your point," Rocky said. They burned the biz. Joe wanted some old school to bullet Casella’s ass. Rocky needed a job. Joe forked fifteen large. Rocky set up the hit, buzzing Tony Scram to work the wheel.
They met in Queens to brew the plan. Casella kept a pad in Astoria. Rocky eyeballed the block. Scram veined the getaway.
Primary, secondary streets. Parking, drop, pick up spots. Stashed wheels. Legit and hot rides to daisy-chain the escape, if needed.
The building brushed a crowded side street.
They tailed Casella for routine, and opening. Casella’s crew, always on spot, kept his back. The plan to nail him outside the digs was scrubbed. Too much muscle in a tight spot. Joe was getting impatient. He felt the squeeze. Casella was putting together his own strike plan. Sack Joe, and take it over.
They stalked Casella to a dance club in Manhattan. Rocky spotted gangster boy. He dug a mitt into his top coat. Sexy steel popped out, and Rocky opened up. Rocky mailed pills Casella‘s way, slamming ass into the side of the building. Anthony caromed off the bricks, and dropped. The posse banded a human pill box, squeezing off rounds. Ammo zinged. Women screamed. Bouncers scrambled.
Rocky chugged down the sidewalk, banging a corner. He hopped into the getaway ride. Scram punched the gas, zooming off. Tony sailed a few side streets, hugged Second Avenue, and gassed the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. Midway in the tube, Rocky held his chest.
"Rock, you okay?" asked Tony.
"I don’t know."
"Let me check." Tony patted Rocky’s coat.
"There’s no blood." Tony said.
"Fuck." Rocky said. The fire inside him burned. He convulsed, and pressed his palms on the dash. "I think I’m havin’ a heart attack," Rocky said. He convulsed calmly, as if the ride belted a shimmy.
"Holy shit." Tony exited the tunnel.
"Take me home."
"You sure? Don’t you want to get checked out?"
"I’m gettin’ too old for this shit." Rocky said.
Casella’s crew poured Tommy into a taxi, and booked it down town. His wing-man paid the driver five hundred bucks to disinfect the backseat and forget the fare.
A wanted gangster on the run. Underground. Eyewitnesses mainlined info. The shooter was a tall job said one peeper.
Another disagreed. He might have been tall, but seemed more stocky and wide. What they did jibe on, was the cashmere coat, fedora, and loud popping noises. Some gun for hire. A Turner Classic. Moose Malloy, film noir fugitive. On the loose, in our streets.
The papers dug it. Hot sheets flew off racks. Gangster gunned down in the city. He survived the street party, healing on the hush. Holed up in a safe house. Beat writers on the manhunt.
Cops and gangsters prowling. Joe dangled more cash. Off-duty badge rode in to smoke him out. Sleazy private eyes hopped the hay ride.
Rocky dove, cutting a deal with Joe. He was out. Joe knew Casella would be a tough target. Joe cut the loss, and ties with Rocky. It wasn’t personal, only biz. For days, the big guy dissolved, and moved around. Crash pad to crash pad. Cheap hotels. Rocky hooked up with a crazy mama san. Moved into a spare room in a run down massage parlor. Did security for the low end harem. Room, board, rub and tugs. He popped his heart pills, and burned off any hanging vendettas.
The night squad moved in, and crashed the halls of massagie. The dragons bagged mama san, rerouting talent. Back on the street, eyeballing new jobs. Rocky holed up with a chick from the parlor. They found cheap digs. Down on coin, Rocky strolled into a bank, and held it up. He walked off with five large.
The cops worked a tip. They tailed a chick to a run-down pad. They busted into the lair, looking to get it on. Rocky obliged.
He lifted, and tossed badge. Two cops flew into a wall, another body slammed to the carpet. The arrest looked more like that nightclub scene from Mighty Joe Young. The big guy tossing badge, cleaning house. Back up arrived. Out came the stun guns.