14.
Eddie Bones hit the New York night mobbed up in fedora, leather jacket, and gator slip-ons. Full steam for a snuff job. A doctor wanted to cut his wife loose, and buzzed Eddie Bones to work it out. Bones obliged, looking to rip a quick score. Get on your feet cash. They picked a time and corner on the lower West side.
Bones defogged in Jersey. On the cheap, on the quiet. Every hatch job before was trumpets and tympani. The criminal messiah, back in the haze. The pipeline pumping with jobs. The old gang and crime johns calling him out. Parties, pitches, blueprints for scores.
Badge moving in to scope things out. Badge working tails, popping pix, patching phone lines. Badge had a hard on for Bones.
Loved tailing him around. They dug the dialogue.
Pushing sixty five, Bones was out to make a major score. Out of country, out of sight. Something so big, and clean, he’d be sailing jet fumes before any bosses could shake him down. Most of all, before any badge moved in to sack his ass.
Back in the ring. Stick and move. Soft jabs. Cut a groove, break a sweat. Bones hit the street, and spotted the doc‘s wheels.
Somebody hacked time behind the walls when you need an emblem to locate a Benz. Eddie spotted the Mercedes chrome, and slipped into a strange, streamlined ride.
"You bring the cash?" Bones wiggled into the Kubrick prop.
Sci-fi dash, instruments. A windshield bent like carnival glass.
"I wouldn't have called you if I didn't," he said.
"Ten large is alotta money. What did you say you do?"
"I'm a plastic surgeon."
"I'll keep that in mind. If I ever have to go on the lam, you could fix me up," Arthur, nervous, as Bones laughed at his own joke, "On the house, right?" Bones managed to splice in the Widmark grin.
"You weren't followed, were you?"
"Don't worry about it--I switched trains in the subway."
"Are you sure you could do this?"
"I'm here, aren't I? Let me ask you a question. Why do you want me to pull this thing?"
"She won't divorce me, and she knows I want to leave her."
"You think that's a reason to pop her?"
"She's a pain in the ass, alright. What difference does it make?"
"You're a nervous guy--they got pills for that shit."
"Are you here to crack jokes, or perform a service?" Service?
What the fuck does this guy think I am?
"Forget it. I'm here on business. Let's talk."
"How are you going to do this?"
"Pop, pop," Bones made a flesh gun. "She won't even know what hit her. She'll be out before she hits the ground," said Bones.
Bones knew the scale work, and pegged this guy full of shit.
The hard way would cost this clown six, seven figures. Pencil in the lawyers, head shrinkers, and grief, we’re talking major league coin. Or, you could zip the fork. Hire a burnt out, broken down gangster like Bones.
An old, brain skewed hand with a history of violence. Who are they going to believe? Arthur’s a smart guy. They don’t stick plastic surgeons in cell blocks. Prison’s not a place for guys with an education, tax dollars, and legit angles. They’re built for parasites. Slime like Bones.
Arthur passed Bones a legal sized envelope. Bitch info. Pix and routines. The pad. A split level spread in rich ville. Planet soccer mom. Luxury cars, SUV’s, mini vans squeezing every garage. Range Rover. Plates, make, model. The gremlin in Eddie’s head shot the script. Tail the broad to school. Make the drop, clock the agenda. A spin to Starbucks, the local gym. Scope the lots. More bug work. Lunch with the cougar club. A future target at the table? Who knows. One good turn deserves a reference.
Another ten large. One whack at a time, please.
Errands. Shopping. A jewelry store visit. Back to school to scoop the kiddies. I could make this happen. The gremlin killed the camera.
"Where are you going to do this?"
"I have to think about it. I mean, if you're wonderin', I'm not gonna drop her in fronta the kids, or the church--if you go to church, I don't know," Bones loose, and back from the editing suite.
"That's my concern."
"My concern's the cash," Bones laughed.
"I brought it." Arthur flashed an envelope. Bones snatched it, and fingered the bills.
"I want to be away when this happens."
"You do that. Take your girlfriend, go to Las Vegas, whatever, get outta town. When you come back, she'll be gone. I gotta get a condition outta the way," Bones paused. "You listenin'? You wit' me on this?"
"Go ahead," Arthur said.
"For any reason, you get second thoughts, you decide you don't want me to do this thing, and we call it off. Fine. But I ain't runnin' no fuckin' Wal-Mart over here. This kinda job’s non-refundable." Bones meant biz, and his tone jilted the surgeon.
Throw in the icy, psycho stare. Arthur clutched the wheel.
"I understand," The doctor said. Bones left the vehicle. What a putz, I don’t shop at Wal-Mart.