pigs are lookin’, don’t ya?”
Jackson-Davis didn’t bother to reply. Jilly was right, he was always right, even when he was wrong he was right. Sometimes it made Jackson-Davis mad, but when he thought about goin’ out on his own, without Jilly to tell him what to do, he flipped right over, from mad to near scared to death.
He looked at Theresa huddled next to him. She was shaking like a leaf.
“Now, c’mon, sugar, it ain’t gonna be so bad.” He began to wrap her in the blanket, making sure to cover her feet and her hands the way Jilly had told him. “I fixed the trunk up real nice and soft with foam rubber. Why, it’ll be just like goin’ to beddy-bye. Ceptin’ for the story, a’course. I can’t tell you no story in the trunk, but if you’re a good little girl, tomorrow I’ll run down to the Toys “R” Us store and buy you the biggest ol’ teddy bear in the whole wide world. That way, next time Jilly says you gotta go in the trunk, you could have some company.”
It was a little before eleven when Jilly parked the car on Fifteenth Street, a half block from the highway, and switched places with Jackson-Davis. This was the part he hated. The part about trusting a retarded hillbilly rapo with a man’s job. The part about Jackson-Davis fucking it up and Jilly Sappone going out of business. Too bad he didn’t have any choice. There was just no place to park a car in Manhattan and not risk having it towed away. Not unless he wanted to leave it in a parking lot and walk eight or nine blocks.
“You know what you gotta do, Jackson-Davis?”
“I sure do know.”
“Which is what?”
Wescott felt the blood rush up into his face. Sometimes Jilly treated him like a little kid, like Jilly treated Theresa, like Jackson-Davis Wescott was some kind of a dog.
“We been through this, Jilly,” he muttered. “Been through it a whole lotta times.”
“Then one more time ain’t gonna hurt. Bein’ as it’s my ass on the line.”
“There you go again, Jilly. Actin’ like I’m some kinda he-she. I swear to the good Lord above. …”
Sappone reached out, grabbed his partner’s earlobe, twisted sharply. “Ya wanna mouth me? Huh? Ya wanna mouth me?”
“No, Jilly. No way.” Jackson-Davis tried to pull back, which made his punishment hurt even more. But maybe that was good, too. Maybe he needed to remember about Jilly’s shitstorms. That they came out of nowhere, that when ol’ Jilly got mad, he drooled like a pit bull chained in the sun. “I’m gonna park the car by a fire hydrant and stay there until I seen you done the deed. Then I’m gonna pick you up and drive off real slow. I’m gonna drive straight down the avenue till you tell me to turn. And I’m not gonna panic, no matter what happens.”
The deed didn’t take all that long to get done. They parked on the west side of Avenue C, next to the enormous complex of redbrick high-rise buildings collectively known as Stuyvesant Town. Jackson-Davis started to shut down the engine, then remembered that he was supposed to leave it running. He raised a defensive hand to his ear just in case Jilly had seen him, but Jilly was already opening the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
“Get ya shit together, Jackson.” Jilly leaned over, put his face in the open window. His hand snaked down into his jacket, came up clutching his nine-millimeter Colt. “The prick is comin’ right for us.”
Jackson looked down the avenue. The middle-aged fat man carrying the Bloomingdale’s shopping bag sure didn’t seem like no Mafia guy. No, what he looked like was the ol’ pudge who ran the feed store in Ocobla, Tommy-Lee. Hell, Tommy-Lee didn’t even hunt …
“Hey, Jackson-Davis, don’t stare at the fuckin’ guy. Look at me.”
“Sure, Jilly.” Jackson-Davis did as he was told, though he didn’t much like the expression on Jilly Sappone’s face. It wasn’t exactly Jilly’s shitstorm expression. More like Jilly was gettin’ ready to jump one
Jackson-Davis didn’t bother to reply. Jilly was right, he was always right, even when he was wrong he was right. Sometimes it made Jackson-Davis mad, but when he thought about goin’ out on his own, without Jilly to tell him what to do, he flipped right over, from mad to near scared to death.
He looked at Theresa huddled next to him. She was shaking like a leaf.
“Now, c’mon, sugar, it ain’t gonna be so bad.” He began to wrap her in the blanket, making sure to cover her feet and her hands the way Jilly had told him. “I fixed the trunk up real nice and soft with foam rubber. Why, it’ll be just like goin’ to beddy-bye. Ceptin’ for the story, a’course. I can’t tell you no story in the trunk, but if you’re a good little girl, tomorrow I’ll run down to the Toys “R” Us store and buy you the biggest ol’ teddy bear in the whole wide world. That way, next time Jilly says you gotta go in the trunk, you could have some company.”
It was a little before eleven when Jilly parked the car on Fifteenth Street, a half block from the highway, and switched places with Jackson-Davis. This was the part he hated. The part about trusting a retarded hillbilly rapo with a man’s job. The part about Jackson-Davis fucking it up and Jilly Sappone going out of business. Too bad he didn’t have any choice. There was just no place to park a car in Manhattan and not risk having it towed away. Not unless he wanted to leave it in a parking lot and walk eight or nine blocks.
“You know what you gotta do, Jackson-Davis?”
“I sure do know.”
“Which is what?”
Wescott felt the blood rush up into his face. Sometimes Jilly treated him like a little kid, like Jilly treated Theresa, like Jackson-Davis Wescott was some kind of a dog.
“We been through this, Jilly,” he muttered. “Been through it a whole lotta times.”
“Then one more time ain’t gonna hurt. Bein’ as it’s my ass on the line.”
“There you go again, Jilly. Actin’ like I’m some kinda he-she. I swear to the good Lord above. …”
Sappone reached out, grabbed his partner’s earlobe, twisted sharply. “Ya wanna mouth me? Huh? Ya wanna mouth me?”
“No, Jilly. No way.” Jackson-Davis tried to pull back, which made his punishment hurt even more. But maybe that was good, too. Maybe he needed to remember about Jilly’s shitstorms. That they came out of nowhere, that when ol’ Jilly got mad, he drooled like a pit bull chained in the sun. “I’m gonna park the car by a fire hydrant and stay there until I seen you done the deed. Then I’m gonna pick you up and drive off real slow. I’m gonna drive straight down the avenue till you tell me to turn. And I’m not gonna panic, no matter what happens.”
The deed didn’t take all that long to get done. They parked on the west side of Avenue C, next to the enormous complex of redbrick high-rise buildings collectively known as Stuyvesant Town. Jackson-Davis started to shut down the engine, then remembered that he was supposed to leave it running. He raised a defensive hand to his ear just in case Jilly had seen him, but Jilly was already opening the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk.
“Get ya shit together, Jackson.” Jilly leaned over, put his face in the open window. His hand snaked down into his jacket, came up clutching his nine-millimeter Colt. “The prick is comin’ right for us.”
Jackson looked down the avenue. The middle-aged fat man carrying the Bloomingdale’s shopping bag sure didn’t seem like no Mafia guy. No, what he looked like was the ol’ pudge who ran the feed store in Ocobla, Tommy-Lee. Hell, Tommy-Lee didn’t even hunt …
“Hey, Jackson-Davis, don’t stare at the fuckin’ guy. Look at me.”
“Sure, Jilly.” Jackson-Davis did as he was told, though he didn’t much like the expression on Jilly Sappone’s face. It wasn’t exactly Jilly’s shitstorm expression. More like Jilly was gettin’ ready to jump one
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