The Rat On Fire Part 6

"Like what?" Malatesta said.

"Like why you need a quick fifty that you can't pay back," Proctor said. "Like why you're sitting here with me on a night you wouldn't take a dog out for a walk. Fifteen hundred, Billy."

"Don," Mickey said at the counter, "you should've known, there ain't no future in this racket."

"I know, I know," Don said. "The trouble is that it's too late."

"When?" Malatesta said.

"Late morning, day after tomorrow," Proctor said. "The first one."

"This will take some doing," Malatesta said. "I'm supposed to be off."

"Yeah?" Proctor said.

"I'll be on," Malatesta said.

"I think I'll have another pastry," Mickey said. "These things're pretty good."

CORPORAL MICHAEL SWEENEY AND Corporal Donald Carbone perched on the orange plastic molded chairs in the office of Detective Lieutenant Inspector John Roscommon in the tenth floor quarters of the Criminal Division, Ma.s.sachusetts Department of the Attorney General, at 20 Ashburton Place in Boston. Sweeney wore blue slacks and a yellow short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt, open at the throat. Carbone wore brown slacks and a pale blue short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt, open at the throat. Roscommon had pulled his maroon tie down from the open collar of his white s.h.i.+rt-he wore gray slacks. All three men perspired.

"Good Christ," Roscommon said, "all that rain last night, I figured for sure it'd break this G.o.dd.a.m.ned heat."

"Yeah," Sweeney said. "Too bad this building's so old, doesn't have air conditioning. What is it, two, three years?"

"Least that," Roscommon said. "And thank you very much, President Carter. Always did like to work in a nice warm place. What'd you guys get besides wet? Mickey?"

"It looks to me-it looks to us, right, Don?" Carbone nodded. "Looks to us like our old friend Lieutenant Billy is getting himself into a hod of s.h.i.+t the Lord couldn't save him from."

"Ahh, s.h.i.+t," Roscommon said. "I like Billy. The h.e.l.l's he have to f.u.c.k things up like this, can you tell me that?"

"It's the broad," Mickey Sweeney said. "The c.u.n.t down at the Registry. He's got the stars in his eyes for her. You were right. He's gettin' fifteen hundred."

"Marion Scanlon," Carbone said.

"Oh, for Christ sake," Roscommon said. "Didn't the dumb son of a b.i.t.c.h have trouble enough just with that drunk he married? That broad's been all over the place like horses.h.i.+t ever since she was fifteen, for Christ sake. Honest to G.o.d. There's only three men in the United States that can honestly claim they never f.u.c.ked her, and they're all sittin' in this f.u.c.kin' room. He can't keep up with her. She's been making out with wired guys for years. Vegas, Mexico, San Juan. Jesus Christ, a cop can't afford that kind of ginch."

"Malatesta doesn't know that," Sweeney said. "He thinks if he does a few favors for Leo Proctor, he can have the best piece of a.s.s between here and Portland."

"He probably could," Roscommon said, "but he hasn't got the right one this time. Jesus Christ, I bet you could drive one of those G.o.dd.a.m.ned trucks up her and she'd thank you for the happy time." Roscommon stood up and turned his back on Sweeney and Carbone. He stared out over the Government Center. "I swear to G.o.d," he said, "I got no idea whatsoever what the G.o.dd.a.m.ned h.e.l.l makes women tick, but compared to men like Billy, they're at least sensible. Jesus."

"He's had a rough time of it," Sweeney said. Roscommon turned around. "That won't do it," he said. "I know he's had a rough time, but that won't do it. Everybody's had a rough time. My wife's had rheumatoid arthritis for six years now. She can't get around, most days. The poor woman's all crippled up. There are times when she has to use a wheelchair, and I have to feed her. I do the cooking and I do the cleaning and on my way home, I do the marketing. She's in pain about every minute. G.o.d knows what's been spent on treatments, and thank G.o.d for the medical plan.

"We can't go away," Roscommon said. "What the h.e.l.l would we do? We can't have the furniture done over and we can't do anything we worked so long for. I'm fifty-eight years old. My last physical I got better grades than men fifteen and twenty years younger than I am. I'm a healthy man. Just as healthy as Malatesta in the body, and a lot healthier in the mind. I don't go around fooling with wh.o.r.es and a.s.sociating with the likes of Leo Proctor.

"I know that son of a b.i.t.c.h," Roscommon said. "I've known Leo Proctor's name for a hundred years. I know who he is and I know what he does, and the b.a.s.t.a.r.d is no d.a.m.ned good. I know his sidekick, Dannaher, and I know the other one, the Carroll fellow there that they all call Clinker. They're nothing but a bunch of hoodlums and thugs. They steal and they cheat and they'll do anything to make a buck and then whine at you when you catch them at it. They didn't mean anything. Then they get some liver-lipped lawyer to come into court and whine some more, and they hit the street again.

"You guys," Roscommon said, "you guys don't do that. You go out on lousy nights for lousy pay and no overtime and get yourselves all wet, and you aren't going to sit there and tell me you don't have problems paying your bills and taking care of your families. You're not going to sit there and tell me you'd do the same thing Billy's doing, because if you did, I would laugh at you. And if you went out and did it, I'd throw you in the can.

"I've got no respect for a s.h.i.+t-heel like that," Roscommon said. "I've got no sympathy for him, either. I'm going to do the same for him that I would do for you, if you guys were the sc.u.mbag he is, that rotten son of a b.i.t.c.h. Mickey, you tail that f.u.c.king Proctor, everywhere he goes. Don, cover Billy as close as you can. We're gonna nail those two b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, plus anybody else they're hooked up with, and we're gonna nail them d.a.m.ned straight good, once and for all. What else they say?"

"Lemme back things up a little here," Carbone said. "We found out what Leo and Dannaher were up to in the woods. They were catching rats."

"Rats?" Roscommon said. "What the h.e.l.l they want to catch rats for? You got a rat in your house, of course you'd want to catch him. But go into the woods looking for rats? That doesn't make any sense. The h.e.l.l they want rats?"

"I dunno," Carbone said, "but that's what they were doing in the woods."

"s.h.i.+t," Roscommon said. "It's still Fein's buildings, right?"

"Right," Sweeney said, "far as we know."

"Fein's buildings're on Bristol, right?" Roscommon said. "The brick three stories there?"

"Right," Sweeney said.

"Jesus Christ," Roscommon said, "they are not going to drive those tenants out of those buildings with rats. That's coals to Newcastle, for the luvva Mike. There's more rats in that neighborhood'n there is in Boston Garden. Importing rats won't do them any good. I thought we had an arson thing here, not some G.o.dd.a.m.ned exercise for the New England Anti-Vivisection Society."

"Well," Sweeney said, "that's what they were doing. They were catching rats."

WILFRID MACK WENT to visit Jerry Fein without calling ahead for an appointment. Jerry Fein's secretary was Lois Reynolds, a plumpish lady with strawberry hair who had returned to work in her fifties after the children left home, in order to help her husband buy a Winnebago. She was on the phone about the Winnebago when Wilfrid entered the office.

"I don't care about that, Philip," she said. "You told me that last week and I told you then that I didn't care about it, and I still don't. You told me you had this nice clean Winnebago Brave coming in that was only one owner and we could have it for fifty-seven hundred dollars. Now you are telling me that it didn't come in, and I just don't believe you.

"You're just telling me that now," Lois said. "Last week you didn't think you'd be able to sell it. Then somebody came in and looked it over and you sold it to them for more money, and so now you're telling me that it never came in.

"Now look, Philip," she said, "I've been working three years now again, so Harold can get his Winnebago and we can go down to the Cape and go out all the way to Provincetown and he can fish his b.u.t.t off and we won't get our b.u.t.t taken off paying for motel rooms, and you told me that we had it. Next week is Harold's birthday and he is a hardworking fellow that never bought anything for himself and now, by Jesus, it is Harold's turn. You hear me, Philip? It is Harold's turn. He has paid for the bikes and he has paid for the house and he has paid for the schooling and everything else, and he even bought me a fur coat and a watch. Now it is Harold who gets the first bite out of the apple.

"You promised me that bite, Philip," she said. "You absolutely promised me that you had the Winnebago coming in and it was nice and clean and in good shape and everything, and you had d.a.m.ned right well better get that Winnebago in, or I will use a little influence that I happen to have with this lawyer that I happen to work for, and I will sue your lying a.s.s from here to Buffalo and back." She paused.

"Right now, Philip, I don't know. But Mister Fein is a very smart man and he will think of something that will drive you absolutely nuts, if you let me down like this. He will dribble you up and down the court like you were a basketball. He will make you wish that you had never been born." She paused again. She nodded. "That's better, Philip," she said. "That is very much better. Yes. Thank you. I certainly will. I will call you tomorrow. Yes. That will be fine."

Lois Reynolds hung up and looked inquiringly at Wilfrid Mack. "You're dressed pretty good," she said, "but I don't recognize you. Least, I don't think I do. You dance or something?"

"In a way," Wilfrid said, "I dance all the time. In another way, I don't dance at all. But I've got a great natural sense of rhythm. Jerry Fein in?"

"He expecting you?" she said.

"Nope," Wilfrid said. "I knew him a long time ago and I was in the neighborhood and just thought I'd drop in on the off-chance I could see him."

"You're a lousy gambler," she said.

"You're in a lousy mood," he said.

"This is true," she said. "And it is probably not your fault. So, I apologize. What's your name?"

"Mack," he said, "Wilfrid Mack."

"What do you want?" she said. "No offense meant."

"None taken," he said. "I'm a State Senator and some of my voters live in some buildings he owns, and I thought it might be helpful if I saw him and talked to him about the conditions in those buildings, and maybe he could do something about them."

"Bristol Road," she said.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "yes."

She nodded. "Good," she said. "You ever see one of those moon rockets take off? You ever see the flame come out of the tail and all that? You didn't, and you mention Bristol Road to that guy in there, you are going to. You want to do it?"

"Yes," he said.

"Okay," she said, "take a seat under Milton Berle, there. He's got somebody with him. When that guy comes out, you can go in, and then I am going to get under the desk, and I will wait there until one of you comes out. Because it is for d.a.m.ned sure both of you will not come out, not with what you're planning to say to him."

Mack sat down on the blue plastic chair next to the picture of Milton Berle on the wall. "He's a little grouchy about those apartments, is he?" he said.

"You could say that," she said. "You could even say that he is kind of teed off about those apartments. You could say that he thinks it was probably the worst day in his life, when he decided to buy those apartments. I mean, this man is angry, you know? He is just about beside himself. He is liable to strangle you, you go in there and start telling him anywhere near like what you just been telling me. Try to strangle you. You're bigger'n he is. But he's so mad, he probably'll try anyways."

"What kind of guy is he?" Mack said. "I met him once or twice, but I don't know him real well."

"Well," she said, "let me think. He is the type of guy who will get desperate, you know? I worked for him, let's see, about twenty-three years ago, and then I went and had babies and I brought the kids up and Harold worked down at the Navy yard and supported us all, and then I came back. And, Jerry didn't change in all that time. He is still the same kind of guy, that will work all day and part of the weekend and will not complain about it. But those apartment buildings drive him crazy."

"Why?" Mack said.

"Because he can't get any rent," she said. "There's about three of his tenants, and he's got nine, that pay him any rent. And the city keeps coming after him. 'You got to do this. You can't do that. You better do the other things or we come after you and this and that.' He doesn't like it. He really doesn't like it at all."

"There's rats in those buildings," Mack said.

"Sure there are," she said. "There's rats in most buildings, I know about. There're rats in this building. There're rats where I live. The rats're taking over, mister, in case you didn't hear. They've got us outnumbered. They breed faster'n we do. They've been around longer and they're not so choosy about what they eat."

Mack began to laugh.

"You can laugh if you want to," she said, "but I mean it. I know from rats. If you can laugh, you don't."

Mack stopped laughing.

"You know something?" she said. "You want to know something? There is nothing that Jerry Fein or any other mortal man can do about rats. If that's what you're here for, Senator, you are wasting your time."

"Who's with him?" Mack said.

"None of your business," Lois said. "This is a law office, even if it does have a picture of Milton Berle up. I'm not allowed to say."

"NOW," PROCTOR SAID to Fein, "I got the rats, right? I got the guys to help me, right? Because there is no way I am going into this swamp you got for a cellar there with a cage full of rats and a can of gas and I haven't got a guy to hold a flashlight."

"Where the h.e.l.l're you getting gas?" Fein said. "That f.u.c.kin' Seville, you can hear the G.o.dd.a.m.ned gas going through it. I got a flush at home that runs. h.e.l.l, I got three flushes at home that run. Sounds like Niagara Falls in my house, everybody goes the bathroom and all the flushes run and run and run. The people down the Water Department? I am their pension plan. 'You want a nice condo down Daytona, Sadie? Wait till Feins get home from vacation. Sooner or later they go to the bathroom, and you'll be set for life.' "

"See?" Proctor said. "Should've hired me to fix them, too. Any fool can fix a leaking flush."

"Sure," Fein said. "Twenty bucks an hour, door to f.u.c.kin' door, you come there and you jiggle it, same as I do. Then after it stops you put in what you say's about thirty dollars' worth of parts, and you screw around with it for an hour or so, and I end up doing the same thing I was doing before. Which is jiggling the handle. The fools I hire cannot fix toilets. What I need is a new set of fools, and I would think with all of them around that I'd be able to locate two or three."

"Jerry," Proctor said, "why'ncha calm down now, all right?"

"I am not going to calm down," Fein said. "I want those buildings gone, and I want them gone last week. I want those n.i.g.g.e.rs out of there. I haven't had any regular rent out of those G.o.dd.a.m.ned buildings in three months, except for one woman named Davis that pays on time. I'll be f.u.c.ked if I know what's the matter with her. Must be she doesn't talk to her G.o.dd.a.m.ned neighbors. Doesn't know she can live for free off of Fein. Dumb broad pays her rent on time every month and she's the one out of three of nine families that pays at all. The other two pay late. Must be nuts. Doesn't know I'm running a hotel there and I just take people in. When the h.e.l.l're you going to clear those joints out, so's I can get some insurance money and some rest from all these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds that're driving me nuts: that is what I want to know."

"Jerry," Proctor said, "I can't do it tonight. You and me, remember? We got to be in court tomorrow, out in Framingham. I got a little problem with the Staties, and you have to represent me."

"Oh, yeah," Fein said. "I forgot about that."

"Yeah," Proctor said.

"I did," Fein said. "Look, I been booking dates all over the place. I've been as busy as a s.e.x maniac in a women's prison. Gimme a break, will you? I'll represent you. I said I would, and I will."

"That's good," Proctor said. "Because if I haven't got a lawyer there in court tomorrow, I am going to get convicted and then I am going to go to jail, and it's kind of difficult to transpire the jail and go light off the buildings, you know?"

"You are not going to jail," Fein said. "Not on those charges."

"You know what the charges are?" Proctor said.

"You drove the car in a lake," Fein said.

"Wrong," Proctor said. " 'Driving Under, Driving So As To Endanger, and Drunk.' Plus 'Attempted Manslaughter.' Them is no Christmas cards for a guy with my record. And I didn't think you knew what they were, either. You're yappin' at me all the time about your problems and you haven't done a f.u.c.kin' thing about mine. But, you don't do something about my problem, there is no way I'm gonna be able to do anything about yours. My arms're too short, light off a building in Boston from the old jailhouse."

"I'll get right on it," Fein said.

"When?" Proctor said.

"This afternoon, of course," Fein said.

"Isn't hardly good enough," Proctor said. "You should've been on it two weeks ago."

"I been busy," Fein said.

"Everybody's busy," Proctor said. "G.o.d's busy, cops're busy, Proctor's busy, Fein's busy. Fein ain't busy on the right f.u.c.kin' things. You oughta be running the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Red Sox: 'Whaddaya mean, pitching? The h.e.l.l we need pitchin' for? You mean the guy that throws the G.o.dd.a.m.ned ball up the G.o.dd.a.m.ned plate? We got guys that hit the G.o.dd.a.m.ned ball, other guys throw it up the plate. Don't need no pitchers. All you need is guys with bats, win the pennant and all that stuff.'

"Nuts," Proctor said. "You want me to do something for you, and in order to do it, I have got to have you do something for me, and you haven't done it. a.s.shole. I go to jail, I might have a couple, three things to say about you. Keep in mind, Jerry, I know what you got in mind for those buildings, there. That's a conspiracy."

"Now look," Fein said.

"Now look, nothing," Proctor said. "This here is not a game that the cops play with Monopoly money, all right? Those guys know who I am, and I don't think they like me. They think I am a no-good guy, and a fellow that's a bad influence on the young. They take a look at me and they think that here is a guy they would like to see wearing stripes, you know?

"This makes me nervous," Proctor said. "It makes me nervous because those guys can fit me out for stripes, if they get a good grip on my nuts, and right now they have a good grip on my nuts and I haven't got anybody who looks to me like he can make them let go right away. Which makes me even more nervous."

"Take it easy," Fein said. "I'll think of something."

"Bulls.h.i.+t you will," Proctor said. "You'll f.u.c.k around here all afternoon tryin' book some stripper into an American Legion hall, and then when it comes time, drop the shovel, you will, and it won't be till after you get home and you had your dinner and you seen the ball game and you're watching the G.o.dd.a.m.ned eleven o'clock news with some clown who talks like the Lone Ranger, and then you'll think of it. Which will be too late, because I bet you haven't even read the complaints yet."

"Well ..." Fein said.

"You don't even know where they f.u.c.kin' are," Proctor said. "I am not a betting man, but if I was, I would bet the f.u.c.kin' ranch you don't know where the complaints are."

"Lois does," Fein said.