The Bouncer

1. 23.

I texted Lisa. CARRIE COMING. TROUBLE COMING AFTER. TELL EVERYONE TO STAY IN THEIR APARTMENT. TRY THE COPS.

The cops wouldn’t come. Marcus had so thoroughly pissed off the 9-1-1 operators they didn’t even answer when anyone in the building called. And the police had almost forgotten that our block existed; the 293 was supposed to have been torn down years ago. It was easy to forget a single building in the midst of a field of rubble, the collapse of a development deal involving six countries and several banks.

And Abban Spillaine still had relatives with police brass on their collars. The cops wouldn’t come.

Bergen City seemed deserted. Jill drove at speed, blowing red lights and losing hubcaps on the turns, but there were no cops in sight. We had a few close encounters with pedestrians sauntering their way across Kennedy Boulevard, earning our fuck yous and assholes. I watched the city rip past with my hands clenched, heart pounding, joints aching.

“Why is Carrie going to the 293?” Jill asked, her voice slurry. “That’s ... that’s dumb.”

I nodded. “Because of the Fuck You Fund. Because of the money.” There was a lesson somewhere in the number of times I’d recently made terrible decisions based on sums of money hidden away in stupid places. I was my father’s son, after all.

Jill cackled. “Fuck you fund. Fuckin’ classic.”

My phone buzzed.

CARRIE’S HERE. LEFT A TAXI SITTING ON THE STREET, I TOOK CARE OF IT.

WHAT’S GOIN ON?

I forced my hands to work. It was too late to evacuate. EVERYONE IN THEIR APT, I tapped out. BAD SHIT.

I tried to do math, and heard my junior year pre-calc teacher’s mocking voice as she explained why I might actually need math someday. We’d have a few minutes on the Spillaines. Maybe ten, if they were as stupid and incompetent as they’d seemed. Maybe fifteen. Maybe five. Not much. If I could get Carrie away, I could draw them off. Lead them far away, take my medicine. But we wouldn’t have much time, and Carrie was a willful woman. A willful woman who wouldn’t be in much mood to listen to me, and who could blame her? There wasn’t a single person better off for having known me, and that included my daughter.

Hell, that included me.

It was a disease I’d inherited from my father. Dear old Mats, rotting in the yard behind the 293, still alive in legend and myth and the secret books of Bergen City crime families. For years criminals would be trying to track him down to dun him for ancient interest. As much as I wanted to erase Mats from history, this idea made me happy. I wanted my father to be a byword for asshole in Bergen City for decades to come.

Jill turned onto Howell with a squeal of tires and showed no interest in slowing down until we were just a few lots away. She slammed on the brakes and spun the car to a stop, rattling my teeth.

My neighbors were outside. I cursed under my breath as I got out of the car. Ivan, Tony Butageri, and Luis stood together on the top step of the stoop. Lisa stood on the sidewalk, eyes on me. Even Bill Gallagher, who rarely poked his white-haired head out of his dark bourbon-soaked apartment was sitting on one of the steps, smoking an old-school cigarette.

Lisa, wrapped in her tattered pink robe, broke away from everyone and walked over to me.

“What the ever-living fuck, Maddie?” she demanded, full voice. “You’re scaring the shit out of everyone. Carrie blew through here like—”

I pushed past her. “Inside!” I shouted. “Everyone in your apartments. Now. Bad people are coming. Men with guns. Get inside!”

They all stared at me. No one moved.

“You, uh, you got a real natural authority, Maddie,” Jill said, swaying next to me.

I glanced at her. She was gray. “Fuck,” I muttered. I turned and found Lisa right behind me. “She’s hurt,” I said, feeling something huge and heavy forming inside me, some ball of emotion I knew I couldn’t let out, not now. If I let it out I’d collapse under its weight. I had to keep moving.

Lisa studied me for a moment, the shoved me aside and turned Jill gently around. “Come on, honey, let me see you.” She glanced back at me with an expression of disappointed anger, then knelt down and lifted Jill’s bloodied shirt. “Jesus,” she said. “All right, sweetheart, come on, I got a kit in my place.”

She glanced back at me. “A fucking gunshot, Maddie?”

I nodded. “Bad fucking people.” I looked past her. “Everyone fucking inside! Now!”

Lisa began walking Jill up the steps, but no one else moved. Finally Ivan walked down to the street and over to me, flicking his own cigarette away. “Can’t do it, Mads.”

I stared at him.

“Lydia and some of the girls went to my sister’s,” he said. “Took the kids. The rest of us? You say trouble’s coming to the 293, we’re gonna help you with it.”

I swallowed the big something with some difficulty. “Ivan, I appreciate that, but—”

“I’m sixty and I’m out of shape,” he said with a crooked grin. “But I used to get my head busted in by fucking police every goddamn night. I can still take a punch. Tony and Luis ain’t young either. Bill’s fucking useless, but we couldn’t get him to go. Bottom line, Maddie, if you and Carrie need help, you’ve got us.” He put his hand on my arm. “Go check on 'em. No one’s getting in past us without a fight. This is the 293. This is our home.”

I swallowed thickly, staring down at my feet because I was afraid if I looked at him I’d hug him. “Weapons,” I said, voice shaking. “You’ll need weapons.”

“Jesus, Mads, this is Bergen City,” he said. “Weapons we got.”

####

The sink cabinet was open and all the cleaning supplies were on the floor. The apartment had an air of sudden motion to it, the sense of someone having been there, disturbed atmosphere. I walked through the dusty rooms. They already felt foreign to me, as if it was already my past. As if I was already moving through a memory.

She was packing in the bedroom. Ellie smiled at me as I walked in, and I reached down to touch her face. She grabbed onto my fingers. With any luck, she would never remember a bit of this, never have a bad dream about the night strange men came and took her.

“You have to hurry,” I said. “They’re coming.”

She nodded, stuffing Ellie’s clothes into a backpack. I watched her strong, wiry arms moving. Her hair was flecked with a hot pink dye; Carrie changed her hair color every other day, and the last rinse was starting to fade and wash out. I wanted to reach out and touch her, too, but I knew my wife. I knew the buzzing, angry energy surrounding her. I knew that if I touched her now, I might end up with some broken fingers.

“You and your fucking family,” she spat quietly without looking at me.

I sagged a little. I focused on Ellie, her found, happy little face. There was nothing to say. She was right. I was a Renik. I thought I’d escaped my parents’ bullshit, but it had found me. And I couldn’t promise it would never find me again, because who the fuck knew what other time bombs Mats and Liùsaidh had planted out there? Who knew how many more times some gangster was going to track me down over an old debt, and old score.

Who knew what my mother was up to right now, ruining Future Me?

I didn’t worry over Ellie. Carrie was stronger than me. She would be fine. She’d damn my memory and go to some meetings and move on, and when Ellie was all grown she’d have some vague memory of a man who’d once been around, who’d once sang her to sleep with she rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe she’d try to find me. And it would break my heart if she found me, but at least I knew she would be safe in the mean time.

Steps in the kitchen. Carrie paused for a split second, then sped up. I let go of Ellie and walked back into the kitchen. Jill and Lisa stood there. Jill looked a little better, more color in her face, less wobble in her walk. Lisa had suited up in her second-hand body armor, gun slung low on her hip. A future law enforcement star.

“There’s a guy just told me he’s coming in to talk to you. Alone, he says, unarmed. Under truce. Says he wants to parley. Says nothing happens until you talk.”

That wasn’t Merlin, who was all strut and shout. “Let me guess,” I said. “Leather jacket, kind of good-looking in a worn kind of way?”

She nodded. “That’s him.”

Chewing Gum.

####

He stepped into the kitchen with an easy swagger, holding open his jacket to show he was unarmed. Andy Dubsey, big fucking deal in the Outfit. Outranked everyone else involved, as far as I knew. He looked around, eyes attentive. It was a show, and it was also surveillance. He wasn’t stupid.

“Mr. Renik,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Like it was his apartment. But some people had that knack. They owned every room they walked into.

“This is a fucking mess,” he said, pushing his hands through his hair. “You got anything to drink?”

I considered. Then I walked over to the cabinets nearest the door and opened the topmost one on the left. I felt around on the highest shelf and extracted a half-empty bottle of bourbon. We kept it for guests, and as a reminder. Miguel had suggested it; he said that when he dried out, he’d poured everything down the drain, but then he got anxious. He thought about booze all the time, because he knew there was none there if he broke, if he had an emergency. He got wet again within the week.

But when he dried out again, he poured everything down the drain—except one bottle. And he told himself all he had to do was not drink from that bottle, every day. Every hour. Every minute. And that did the trick.

It worked for me, too. I’d left the meetings behind, but having that one bottle somehow made me rest easier.

I grabbed a glass from the dish rack and poured him four fingers. I set it in front of him, put the bottle on the table, and sat down.

He took a sip and nodded. “Good stuff.”

I shook my head. “No, it isn’t.”

He leaned back in the chair, easy. I figured he wasn’t unarmed—guys like him didn’t get to be middle-aged by actually walking into places bare-assed. I had to assume an ankle holster, a peashooter in his jacket, something.

He bent his arms back and laced his fingers behind his head. “This shit should never have happened. That fucking kid—Merlin,” he said, putting a bit of contemptuous mustard on the name. “If he’d run this little scheme up the pole, he would’ve gotten a smack for his trouble. This isn’t how we do business.”

This, I realized with a start, was an apology. Or the closest I was going to get. I felt a sour feeling in my stomach. Men of fucking honor. Killers and thieves who thought if they drew up a charter and acted correct, all was well.

“The Spillaines ain’t shit any more,” he went on. “They knew they wouldn’t even get a sit-down over this. And they knew bigger fish than they ever were had lines on your pops. Debts going way back, not to mention the Paradise rent. And once they found out your father was under our protection, that should have been the end of it. Getting your family involved was bad business.” He nodded. “This shit has been adjudicated. There was a fucking council, Renik. All the bosses, the underbosses, everyone. Everyone’s fuckin’ furious. Some because your pops is alive—they weren’t amused—some because of the way this shit’s been handled. Bottom line, your wife, the kid—they can go.”

I tensed up. Didn’t say anything.

“The kid—Merlin,” he said again, again stressing the name with a note of contempt. “He overreached, there. The Outfit doesn’t like it. We’re not fucking animals. A world of hurt is coming his way, and I am going to enjoy teaching that little shit some lessons. Right now, you have my word: Your family can walk out of here. Nothing is gonna happen until they’re out.”

He said this in a tone of self-satisfaction, as if this meant something—that he wasn’t a fucking piece of shit, that he wasn’t here to murder me.

I said nothing.

His smile faded. He was done being reasonable, doing the statesman act. “After that, we’re coming in. You’re telling us where your father is, and we’re sorting all of this out. One way or another. You got my word on that, too.” He studied me. “Sorry, boss. You trespassed on Outfit property, you escaped one of our tenants. Hurt some of our people. Busted up my truck.” He shrugged. “Maybe you had cause, but you’re on the hook for that, sorry.”

He leaned forward and drained his glass. “We got a deal?”

“Deal implies negotiation.”

He smiled. A guy who enjoyed what he did. “Do you accept our terms, then?”

I wanted to reach over and pop him in the nose. Then flip the table on top of him and drag him out from under it. take him by the collar and drag him up to the roof, throw him off.

Instead, I nodded. “I’ll walk them down. We’ll have a car. You move back, no one comes near them.”

His smile was cheerful. He was willing to be magnanimous in victory. The big swinging dick in from Kansas City, cleaning up Merlin Spillaine’s mess. “Agreed.” He stood up and looked around the kitchen again. He snorted in amusement. “Nice place,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll miss it.”

He vanished into the dark hallway. A few seconds later Jill and Lisa reappeared, and Carrie walked in carrying two bags and Ellie, who smiled around, red-faced with excitement.

“Okay,” was all she said.

I pictured Carolina Mueller working the bar at Queenies, the most confident woman I’d ever seen.

She brought Ellie over and I kissed her forehead. I didn’t try to kiss Carrie, or ask her where she’d go. Her people, probably, in Pennsylvania, at least at first. I trembled with the effort of swallowing the enormous wad of pain and anger inside me, but I needed to just let her go. I needed her to get clear of this, and then I would be able to handle whatever happened.

We walked downstairs with her. Carrie didn’t show any fear. She led the way, clutching Ellie to her protectively. In the tight vestibule I found Ivan, Luis, and Tony waiting. Ivan had a baseball bat, Luis, the dark bands of ink on his neck seeming to pulse with every breath, had a length of pipe. Tony just stood chewing a toothpick, his eyes locked on the scene outside.

Jill stepped forward and pushed the door open, and we both stepped onto the top step. The empty sweep of the torn-down block opened up around us like a prairie. A taxi waited, lights on. Across the broken-up street, three cars. Merlin Spillaine and five hard cases stood around one, glaring. Chewing Gum and a dozen slightly more polished thugs leaned against his busted-up truck.

Next to Merlin, bending the light, was Patsy. I recognized the enormous thug from my first meeting with The Broker, and he hadn’t gotten any smaller. His bald, hairless white head bloomed out of a baggy black shirt like some sort of mushroom. His arms, longer than they should be, hung loose at his sides. He had some kind of brass knuckles on each hand. And he stared at me like he’d been given permission to perform experiments on me.

Chewing Gum offered me a little salute. “Her fuckin’ chariot awaits, Renik!”

The goons chuckled, jostling each other.

I turned back and stepped aside. “Go,” I said.

Carrie hesitated for one blessed second. She didn’t look at me, but she said “Maddie—”

“Go,” I said, gruffly. “I’ll find you if you want to be found.”

She nodded and swept out. She put her head up and glared around at everyone as she strutted for the taxi. When she got there, she hesitated, hands full of Ellie and bags. Chewing Gum leaned over and smacked a short, roided-out looking guy in a tight white shirt on the back of his head and gestured at her. The short guy winced and trotted over to open the door.

Carrie placed Ellie in the backseat gently, then folded herself in with the bags. Shortie closed the door gently behind her. I imagined she was looking at me as the taxi pulled away, but I couldn’t see.

And then she was gone.

“All right!” Chewing Gum shouted from across the street, grinning. “Get your affairs in order and we can have our chat somewhere far away from these fine people.”

I nodded. I turned and found Jill Pilowsky glaring up at me. She had crusted blood on her cheek, and her hair was a wild mass of sweat and dirt. “You’re not fucking going with him.”

I nodded. “I did what I came to do. Carrie and Ellie are safe. My father’s dead.”

“When they find that out—in about two fucking minutes of beating on you—they’ll just put two in your skull and dump you in the river. To clear their books.”

“What?” Luis Quinones said. I startled. I hadn’t realized Luis had any English at all. He’d spoken about three words since he and his family had moved in, so the sound of his voice was shocking. I turned to look at him. Ivan, Lisa, and Tony crowded in behind him.

“What’s she talking about, Maddie?” Lisa asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

“The fuck he will,” Jill snapped. “He gets in that car he’s dead. Guaranteed.”

Lisa stared at her, then looked at me. “Then he doesn’t get in that car.”

The three men nodded, looking at each other.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “Those are real gangsters out there. Hard cases. Killers. They’ve pushed a button on me, so they’re gonna take me, no matter what. And if that means they have to kill all of you to do it, they fucking will.”

Lisa looked back at Tony, Ivan, and Luis. Then back at me. “You don’t get in that car, Mads,” she said in a level, uncompromising tone.

I looked from face to face. These people I’d lived with for years now. Said hello to in the morning. Nodded politely at when we met taking out the garbage. Had beers with on the front steps infrequently. Fixed their toilets, their kitchen faucets. Signed for their packages. Ate their food, shared my coffee. Everyone looked right back at me.

I nodded. “You all sure?”

Ivan grinned. “About letting these shitheads grab you? Fuck, yeah, we’re sure.”

I stepped back and Jill pulled the front door shut behind her. She turned the deadbolt and glanced at me.

“All right ramblers,” she said. “Let’s get rambling.”