The Real McCoy
“The restlessness approached hysteria. The parties were bigger. The pace was faster, the shows were broader, the buildings were higher, the morals were looser, and the liquor was cheaper...”
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Commentary on
Nathan threw the gears in reverse, and with his foot on the brake, guided the screaming truck down the alley. He could see the glow of the taillights in the fog surrounding the cabin and eased his arm out the window to quench his sweating hands in the cold dew of the night till little beads of water glistened off the sleeve of his wool suit. With a hiss, the truck came to a stop and to the music of chiming bottles echoing from the bed of the truck, the fat man sitting next to Nathan reached for the door handle.
“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered under his breath. Nathan could see his double chin shake and hear his grunts as he exited the cabin.
“Unlock the bed,” Nathan commanded.
Nathan kept the truck running and stepped out into the night with grace. In the red glow of the taillights his firm face eased as his eyes met those of a woman in a full length fur coat and a flapper hat, standing emotionless smoking a held cigarette. Next to her stood a man in a pinstriped suit whose face was hidden in the shadow of a fedora hat. The suit’s hand lay hidden in his jacket, probably clutching a loaded Beretta M1915 or Colt .45 or Mauser C96 or Lugar P08 resting in a leather holster belted to his side. Behind them stood an iron door planted in a brick wall. With a smirk Nathan approached the odd couple, wiping a humid sweat from his dark brow.
She smiled in a reminiscing sort of way. “Nathan Casey.”
He nodded. “Suzette. You look as charming as ever,” and he took her hand and laid a friendly kiss on her cheek. Suzette felt the tickle of his mustache and blushed while Nathan’s eyes met the shadow face. “Who’s the stiff?”
“One a Sacco’s torpedoes,” said Suzette. “Just in case you got into a pinch. Insurance, Nathan. Just insurance.”
Nathan shrugged and lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. After stepping in a puddle the Passenger unlocked the hatch of the truck and waddled over till he stood, cursing his luck, next to Nathan.
Suzette extended a hand and smiled a smile of someone with rotten cheese under her nose. “Graham. Chic as ever I see.”
The gluttony that padded his face shook as he stammered out, “P-p-pleasure, Miss Suzette…Pleasure’s always.” Beads of sweat glimmered on his bald head.
The thud of the bass and the roar of the crowd seeped out from under the barred door and rose from the pavement. Nathan could feel the rush, the life, the burn from inside.
“Packed night, eh? Business is good?”
“Berries, Nathan. Berries. But to our business…the hooch…in the trunk?”
“No. I drove all the way to
“No. I’ve been standing out here in the fog all night waiting for the sun to rise.”
He laughed and she passed him an envelope, which he casually stuffed into his jacket pocket. Suzette turned around and knocked three times, and then two more times on the iron door. With a screech the door slid open and four suited men made their way out past the group and towards the trunk. The rush of the club escaped its prison and a wave of energy hit Nathan in the face. He took a few steps back and watched the men unload case upon case of hooch off the bed of the truck and disappear into the red glow of the doorway.
“Come in for a drink, Nathan.”
“Suzette, I’m done.”
“Retired?”
“Retired…My family…”
Suzette interrupted, “All the reason to celebrate! Come on, Nathan. Lets have a drink.”
“You know I don’t drink, Suzette.”
“Well take my arm then. You wouldn’t let a pretty girl walk into a club alone.”
Nathan nodded and took one last look at the exchange. “Graham, take care of the truck once they finish up.”
“‘Course, Nathan. I’ll see you in a few.”
* * * *
Suzette held out her arm and Nathan took it and she led him into the red-carpeted hallway. The walls were of burgundy velvet and gold trimming shimmered in the lamplight and the roar grew louder as they strolled down the hallway in silence. The smell of tobacco intensified with each step and Nathan’s eyes began to burn, but he lit another smoke and pushed through the foggy haze. They reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner and, making their way through a series of locked doors, they entered the speak.
The rustic room had no windows, no covering on the brick walls. Bronze chandeliers hung from the ceiling bathing the scattered tables, stage, and dance floor in a smoky red glow. On stage, under a painted sign, “The Mill”, a jazz band bobbed in full swing—the horns belted out a symphonic roll and the lead trumpet exchanged blows with the African American woman in a sparkling white dress and feathered hat. She reached down to the rolling crowd and held the pain in her hand and lifting it from the darkness she wailed to the heavens…Runnin’ wild lost control…Runnin’ wild, mighty bold…
The flappers danced and the lounge lizards watched from the edge of the dance floor in lust and the sheiks and
Nathan and Suzette stood for a moment, watching in silence. He took his eyes from the stage and to a group of men sitting at a dark booth in the corner, away from the frenzy. The sharks had sleek skin and a burning ferocity in their eyes. In the largest of them Nathan saw the flicker of the candle flame ablaze beyond his eyes and watched as he took a slug of whisky and when the flames turned toward Nathan he nodded.
Nathan nudged Suzette. “The big cheese.”
He felt her arm tighten around his. “I didn’t know Sacco was here. I’ll give him the real McCoy. Grab a drink.”
She left and he said after her, “You know I don’t drink,” but she was gone. He stood and watched her leave and watched Sacco stand up and greet her with a kiss on each cheek and watched his nods as she whispered in his ear.
The discomfort of being alone hit Nathan so he made his way to the bar. As he pulled out a stool and took a seat, the wiry bartender bobbed his head to the snare and reached to the rail to give the people what they wanted. He made his way to Nathan.
“What can I getcha’ tonight, buss?”
“Tonic water.”
“Gin or vodka?”
“Just…tonic water.”
The bartender stopped bobbing his head and slid him a glass with ice and a bottle of tonic. “It’s on the house.”
Nathan sat alone facing the bar sipping his drink. He saw the rails filled with bottles of amber, yellow, brown, and white liquids resting against brass rail guards waiting to meet each other in ice and glass. In the mirror behind the bar he saw himself silhouetted by the madness of the burning youth—people of amber, yellow, brown and white color dancing and sweating and laughing—stupid with the circus. Boomers and busters, flappers and Janes, it didn’t matter—the rush called and the club was bloated.
But behind the smiles and the laughs Nathan saw a worn hardness in the faces as the madness approached hysteria. In the eyes of the youth he saw flat tires. Their movements and speech were lethargic and he knew most of these kids would wear out early, the excitement of their lives drowning away in liquor.
He thought of his wife and daughters and his stomach ached but not from the tonic.
Graham came appeared through a crowd and pulled up a stool next to him in a huff. “Where’s Suzette?”
“Over there with Sacco…Givin’ him the run around.”
Graham nodded and ordered a drink. “The truck’s inna alley two blocks way. It’s cleaned out.’
“Thanks, Graham. I’m gonna get outa here.”
“Now? Whas eatin’ you?”
“Nothin’. Just worn out.”
“Well, lessee that envelope, ‘fore you scram.”
Nathan slid him the envelope under a menu and Graham fished out his half before sliding it back. Nathan took the envelope, not bothering to count the rest, and left the way he came in.
He let the quiet of the alley wash over him and made off into the night.
* * * *
Nathan felt at home once he crossed the
He skipped the first two steps leading up to the door, and opened it with care till he found himself standing in the wood-floored hallway. The modest house was quiet with sleep but he made his way to the basement door. He avoided the eyes of his children and wife—their faces framed in stillness against the shadowed wall. The groan of his footsteps and the shriek of the door opening broke the sense of content but at the top of the steps he grabbed his flashlight and descended into darkness. He moved toward the brick wall behind the stove and slid out a few of the red blocks to reveal a hole. From his jacket pocket he removed the envelope and made the deposit. The subtle sound of paper hitting paper made him smile and he rearranged the bricks till the hole it was hidden well enough.
Upstairs, Nathan poked his head into his daughters’ bedroom. He counted the three lumps under the covers but dared not enter for fear of waking them. He passed the bathroom and stood in the doorway of the bedroom at the end of the hallway watching his wife, her soft skin bathed in the moonlight seeping through a crack in the drapes. She lay motionless but not sleeping.
“Is that you?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s me.”
“Come hold me.”
And he did and her curls felt like satin against his face and her warmth felt like life in his arms and he closed his eyes, letting the moment cleanse him.
“I love you, Mae.”
“Don’t ever leave me again.”
“I won’t. I’m done. I’m sorry.”
“I love you too, Nathan.”
* * * *
Mae stood at the stove in a white robe, cooking eggs and bacon while Nathan sat at the table with his daughters. He read the paper and sipped his black coffee, its escaping drips staining a ring into the checkered red and white table cloth. The sun shown through the window illuminating the yellow ceramic tile and flowery wallpaper of the kitchen. Waiting for breakfast, the three girls chattered on about which juice they liked best while they fidgeted with their silverware. The sight of Mae carrying the steaming pan to the table silenced the girls, and they waited with fork and knife in hand watching the food with upturned heads till it finally came to rest in their plates. Nathan put down the paper and Mae took her seat and the family held hands with their heads bowed in humility. Nathan spoke:
For food in a world where many walk in hunger
For family in a world where many walk alone
For faith in a world where many walk in fear
We give you thanks, O Lord. Amen.
The second the words escaped his mouth he knew they were false. He could feel their sound in his throat and his lips opening and closing in rhythm with his tongue but his mind fell into a darker place. A vein in his head throbbed in tune with his aching heart and his chest burned with guilt. In silence he cried out to the heavens:
You have seen me do terrible things in my life. Terrible terrible things. Like a flame they live inside me scaling my heart and scarring my soul. I see the faces of the people whose fate I held in my hands—the faces of the people who ended up incarcerated or raped or shot up or blown up and dead because of the business. My family sits here and eats this food at their expense. I tried to be a good man…to provide for my family…but to do so I have taken from others and become greedy. To you, Lord, I make this confession and this plea. Please let me and my family live out the rest of our lives in peace. I am deserving of your vengeance but plea for your forgiveness. Forgive me.
* * * *
It was a hot day and the neighborhood was outside. Kids played stickball in the street, couples necked in the back of cars, women strung up their laundry to dry in the sun, and Nathan sat in a white rocking chair on his porch watching his girls play in the back yard. In between smiles he took drags of his cigarette, its smoke rising like a ribbon till it disappeared in the summer air. Mae brought him a glass of iced tea and it chilled the scratch in his throat and the beads of water on the glass cooled his sweating hands. The sound of Queens was in the air. The murmur of a summertime afternoon was occasionally pierced by a siren speeding by; off to some unknown crime or accident or death. But at Nathan’s ears, the rush of the city expired and he only heard his daughters’ laughs and squeals.
The telephone rang, and Nathan shifted in his seat.
Mae cried out from the kitchen, “Nathan, it’s for you.”
“Who is it?”
“Graham.” Her voice died on the name.
Nathan got up and made his way through a dark hallway to the telephone in the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Nathan. It’s Graham. Big things is happenin’. Today. Big things.”
“Talk to me.”
“Cases is comin’ inna
piece.”
“You know I’m done.”
“Sacco’s payin’ big. I mean real big. The hooch’s hot. Cops lookin’ ta bust.”
“How big?”
“Retire big.”
“I’m already retired.”
“Not this retired.”
“Where’s it goin’.”
“The Mill.”
“Suzette?”
“She’s in…Nathan?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t hafta do dis.”
In the window above the sink, Nathan saw Mae’s reflection watch him in the doorway, her hand held her face and her eyes were red. “Grab the truck. I’ll meet you under the bridge.”
Nathan hung up the phone. Mae still stood in the doorway and he walked to hold her and tell her that it was going to be ok but she turned him away.
“I thought it was over, Nathan. I see the fire in your eyes. Still, even after you quit. I still see the fire?”
“Mae, just this one. I swear. We need the money.”
“No we don’t. You retired. You told me you retired.”
“I am retired.”
“It’s never going to stop. Is it?”
“It’s over, Mae. After tonight it’s over. I swear.”
“What’s the use of a swear if it’s already been broken?”
And she left him. He heard the slam of the bedroom door and the click of it locking. He went to get one last look at his daughters and stood in the shadowed hallway, but dared not go outside. The traffic drowned out the sound of their voices, and a siren rang out in the afternoon heat and he left them, deaf to their laughs.
* * * *
Graham drove the truck, his belly resting against the steering wheel, and Nathan sat shotgun, a shotgun resting in his lap. The one-two of the tires, as the truck passed over the
Before long the old partners stood leaning against the rail of the ferry as it took them across the
The drive through the desolate Jersey, but they saw the black smoke of Newark smelting and refining plants rise from the horizon; ushering them into the ashy slums and industrial fog of the harbor city. The sun was out, but shadow settled across
“Container 297,” said Graham.
“Just us on this one?”
“Yeah. Sacco spreddas out since ‘s hot.”
“We doin’ the loadin’?”
“Nah. He gottus some bell bottoms for the loadin’.”
They found them waiting by container 297. Graham parked and Nathan stepped out of the truck and wielded the shotgun with an instinctive grace. “You four, in the bed.”
They didn’t hesitate.
“The rest of you start loading. You drop a case, you answer to Sacco. Understand?”
They nodded and followed the orders.
Graham kept watch and Nathan felt the rush in his chest and the shooter in his hand as he stood among the bell bottoms like a boss among a chain gang. They dared not make eye contact with him but went about their work in silence. Only the steady clinking of stacking bottles could be heard by the party and the bed of the truck sank with the load. Nathan strolled about the work to the beat of the bottles and smoked a cigarette. Before long the load was packed and the truck was hot and the bell bottoms disappeared into the yard.
Graham started the van and Nathan took his seat.
“Take us home, Graham.”
The truck lurched forward into the shadowed alley of stacked containers. The walls of steel closed in on them but the truck continued down its narrow path. Nathan held the shotgun to his chest.
“This ain’t good. We got to get out of this corridor.”
“It’s too narrow. I can’t turn the truck round.” As soon as the words escaped Graham’s mouth, a black jalopy appeared in their path and four suited men with faces shadowed by fedora hats stepped out with choppers in hand.
“Graham, put your foot…!” Nathan’s voice was drowned out by the divine thunder of the choppers raining down showers of lead on the truck.
His partner’s gore dripped down half Nathan’s face and he howled a frenzied cry of wrath and brandished the steel that crossed his heart. He shot out the window of the truck and unloaded the remaining shell into the chest of a suit, who dropped from the sprayed buckshot. But Nathan wasn’t done. He grabbed the Luger from the darkness under his seat and felt the kick of the gun in his hand as he fired a shot into the head of the closest suit, spraying a mist of blood and brains into the air.
The horn of the truck cried and Nathan looked over to see the back of Graham’s head blown open and his lifeless face pressed against the face of the wheel. Steam rose from the engine and the truck lurched to a stop and he knew it was over, so he sat in his seat and waited for the pain. Three bullets sprayed him across the chest and he heard the sound of the Lugar hit the floor of the truck. His mouth leaked blood and his chest and shoulders were aflame with the pain of ripped flesh and bone but with a last effort he opened the door and fell to the cold of the pavement. His blood felt warm against the cold of the asphalt and his body. He heard the thud of Graham’s body hid the pavement and the music of the bottles as the truck rumbled away.
* * * *
Nathan woke to pain and the unfinished cold of a white ceiling. He heard sobbing and thought he was dead.
“Mommy, Mommy! Daddy’s awake!”
Six pairs of little hands and arms wrapped around his leg but in his hand he felt the life and the tears and the heart of Mae. His eyes burned and he gripped her hand till his shoulder screamed in agony and like an angel Mae’s dark curls and bright face emerged from the white void. Her face was stained with tears and she could only whisper his name over and over again as she sobbed.
Nathan pulled her to him till he felt the satin of her hair against his face and in a hoarse whisper he
croaked, “I’ll never leave you again.”
“You already have.”
* * * *
Nathan sat on his porch watching his girls play in the fall breeze. The whisky burned going down but he chased it with a cigarette and enjoyed watching the smoke billow from his fiery exhale. The beat of the city deadened the sound of his girls and he strained to hear their laughs and squeals but couldn’t get past the rush of the traffic and sirens. The phone rang and Nathan gets up and limps through the shadows and into the kitchen. “Hello? Yeah. The Mill? What’s the payoff?
He hung up the phone and went to the stairs and from the foot he saw the closed door of his bedroom, behind which sat Mae, her face aged with tears. She gazed out into the grey clouds of fall, detached from her former vibrancy. He went to get one last look at his daughters and stood in the shadowed hallway, but he dared not go outside. The rush called, and he left them deaf to their cries.
THE END
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