Spoonbenders

Still, they were broke, and he knew it. His job as telephone installation apprentice wasn’t enough. Frankie was right. He had to score. Score big.

Fifteen or so minutes later, Frankie banged on the back door of the van, and Matty scrambled out. Frankie held a dolly, upon which was a black cube about a foot and a half on each side—a safe. Matty opened the van door. Somehow Frankie managed to lift the thing into the back of the vehicle. Sweat poured off him.

“I need a safe for my training?” Matty asked.

Frankie grinned. “Practice for the real thing. You’re going to love the next part.”

They drove a few miles, to the bar they’d visited that first day of work—Mitzi’s Tavern. Frankie backed into a parking space. Matty started to get out and Frankie said, “Hold up. We’re just looking.”

“At what?”

“Your target.”

Matty suddenly realized what Frankie had in mind. “You want me to, uh, look inside their safe?”

“No! What good would that do? I want you to get the combination of their safe.”

“But how—”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I’ll teach you. I have the plan all worked out.”

“I can’t just rob a bar!”

“You’re not robbing anything—I am. And that, Matty, is not just a bar. That place is the headquarters of Bad Shit Incorporated. In the back room, Mitzi’s got a safe full of money she’s taken from a lot of hardworking folks. You know what street tax is?”

Matty was too shocked to even pretend to know.

“Protection money. Protection from her, and her brother. Every bar, brothel, and bodega has to pay up. If you don’t, they make your life difficult. Even shut you down. Trust me, when I ran Bellerophonics, they took a slice, right off the top.”

“Why don’t the cops arrest them?”

“You’re adorable.”

“I was just asking.”

“It’s Chicago, Matty.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“It’s a quote. Or a paraphrase. Don’t you watch movies?” He took a breath. “Mitzi’s brother, Nick Senior, runs the biggest crew in the Outfit. Organized crime. They tell people, if you don’t pay us, then the disorganized criminals will have their way with you. They tell you, we’re the dogs that keep away the wolves. And do you know why people pay up, and don’t squeal? Because it works. Any two-bit thug knocks over a protected place, Nick Pusateri Senior will take them the fuck out.”

“So they’re not all bad,” Matty said.

Frankie blinked, then doubled back. “That’s not all they do. They’re also loan sharks. They loan money to people at high interest rates, and then if you don’t pay—”

“Why don’t these people go to a bank?”

“Because a bank won’t talk to them. Loan sharks lend money to people that no bank would. For example, entrepreneurs who, despite having a dynamite business plan and a clear vision of the industry’s future, are nevertheless turned down on a technicality, like, say, a bad credit history, or no collateral.”

“So loan sharks are a good thing, right?” Matty asked. “Otherwise they couldn’t get a loan at all.”

“Right, except—look. These people are sociopaths. You know what a sociopath is? No conscience. They’d strangle a kitten if it owed ’em two bucks. All they care about is one thing—their money. They don’t care if you get sick or if your business goes bankrupt and you have no way to repay them, they just demand their money.” Frankie nodded toward the tavern. “Now pay attention.”

A tall, bulky man was unlocking the front door. It was the bartender who’d poured Matty a soda. “Ten o’clock, prompt as hell. That’s Barney. Pretty much works from open to close. First thing he does is walk to a keypad a few feet inside the entrance and turn off the alarm. There’s another keypad at the back door.”

“You want me to find out that number, too?”

“You’re learning. I’d also like you to peek behind the bar. I know he’s got a fungo bat behind there, and maybe a—well, just take a look if you get a chance.”

“You think he’s got a gun?”

“Not that you have to worry about. Come on, what’s that look for?”

Matty realized he was thinking of kittens. “Isn’t there somebody else we could steal from?”

“That wouldn’t be ethical,” Frankie said.

Barney went inside and closed the door. “They won’t be open for another hour,” Frankie said. “Mitzi comes in the afternoon, knocks off around ten or eleven.” He started drawing the layout of the interior on the back of a Tastee Freez bag, starting with the public area Matty remembered from his visit. Then there was Mitzi’s office, a tiny kitchen and supply room, and a cleaning closet. Past the two restrooms was a fire exit that let out to an alley.

“That’s where the second keypad is. And that—” He drew an X on the back wall of the office. “That’s where the safe is, right behind her desk. You just got to watch her, as much as possible, and find out what that combination is.”

“And then what?” Matty asked.

“Then you leave the rest to me.”

—

That afternoon, Matty left Frankie’s garage, closed the side door behind him—and stopped. Malice sat on the back stoop of the house. She’d looked up from her book and frowned at him.