“Twinkle, twinkle little star
Cops are wondrin’ where you are
In the sea or under mud
All that’s left is pools of blood.”
My breath turned to vapour as I exhaled. The night was bitterly cold, and the inside of the car had become a fridge. A film of ice was forming quickly on the inside of the windshield. With a shudder, I turned the key and the engine purred into life as always. It was the one thing that never let me down. The station wagon was the most important tool I had. Without it, there was no business.
I reached for the thermos flask as two bright headlamps turned into Forty-Third Avenue two blocks up. The boys were early but it didn’t matter too much. The gravel parking lot they were headed for was deserted and ideal for taking the delivery. I’d checked it out for the last few nights and it had stayed empty. Forty-Third was an empty area. It was lined by a few occupied workshops but mostly derelict warehouses that once served the disused docks they backed onto.
***
My career, if you can call it that, started when Tony Sparizza, a college buddy, bumped into me in my local supermarket during the summer recess of my final year. I say buddy but that was only because he took my side when I got bullied. One of those sickly kids who never did Phys Ed, I attracted bullies and so I followed Tony and hung out with him and his gang.
It was in my second year that I found out that Tony’s father was a ‘made man.’ My mom and dad didn’t mind too much. They knew there was no way I would ever be a ‘made man’. I ended up being a gofer for the son of one. In fact, several years later, Tony would become ‘made’ himself.
My meeting with him in the supermarket that day was not by accident. He had been looking for me. He wanted to borrow my car, an old Chrysler I had saved up over three years for. I wanted to say no but when Tony told me his father wanted it and would pay me fifty bucks, saying no was out of the question.
“It’s okay, Joe,” drawled Tony, guzzling a soda. “It’s not for a job or anything like that. His car is in for service, and he wants to take mom to a party.”
We drove back to my place, and I handed him the keys.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it back clean,” he said driving away.
The next morning I found the car in my driveway. It had been through a car wash and the inside was clean and smelled of seat polish and bleach. For a second I thought the smell unusual but that was just for a second. My mind was elsewhere when I found an envelope with fifty bucks inside on the front seat.
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