Wilmington Woman's Club Ch. 53

"Why didn't you shake your dick dry in the bowl? Zit's asked.

"Why don't you raise fuckin' chickens?" Marty snapped.

"Ah, I'm going home," Sammy said once again, this time rising and adjusting himself. "Good night all."

But he didn't go. He stayed there, sitting on the edge of the table, pretending to count his winnings, which weren't much.

Mick stood leaning against the kitchen wall, his lips moving slightly as though trying to figure out the best way to say something.

Toughey waved goodnight, and left without saying another word.

Marty waited until Zits left, turned to face Fat's and asked, "So as I was saying, what have you seen or heard from my old friend, Gentner?"

"Marty, I swear, I don't . . ."

Marty grabbed him by the throat.

"Marty!" Mick shouted. "Don't hurt him, he don't know nothin'."

"But you do, right Mick?"

"Yeah, something anyways," he said, his eyes downcast, embarrassed at being seen as an informant before the others.

The veins in Sammy's neck bulged, and he screamed, "Cocksucker!" and threw himself at the hapless Mick; landing two quick punches to Mick's face before Marty got to him, and pulled him off Mick with his left hand. A split-second later, Marty smashed a powerful right fist into Sammy's nose and Sammy dropped like a stone to the floor, his nose shattered. He lay there unconscious and bleeding.

"Think he'll tell me what I want to know, Mick?"

"Fuck no, least I don't think so. They were tight . . . him and Connie, ya know? If anything, he'll come looking for you and he won't be alone."

"So feel free to let me in on the big fucking secret, Mick," Marty said, giving Mick a winning smile and making sure that Sammy was still unconscious.

"Oh," he added, and don't worry about Sammy here, he won't be doing any talking, or making any phone calls after I finish with him."

"Not here, Marty, not here," said Fat's. "I got a business to run."

"Okay, not here, Fat's," Marty said. "Now take a walk, you don't want to know what happens next."

"I'll take a long shit. Will that be okay?"

"Sure Fat's. That'll be fine," Marty said, and started to pick Sammy up. "Um, Fat's?"

"Yeah, Marty?"

"Sammy left, he was fine. No arguments, no nothing. He just said goodnight, and left."

"That's absolutely right, Marty. He finished up one last hand and left. You and Mick stayed a while longer."

"That's a good story, Fat's. Stick to it."

Fat's nodded, and turned away, waddling into his toilet and closed the door.

"Let's get him out of here," Marty said to Mick. Together they gathered Sammy up, and got him outside. "Where's your car?" Marty asked.

"Sorry, don't have any wheels, Marty. But, Sammy here, he's got a Caddy somewhere's around here."

They found the Caddy around the corner, and dumped Sammy into the spacious trunk. Marty put on a pair of gloves and drove the Caddy several blocks, then parked in a Food Lion's parking lot.

"So what do you know, Mick?"

"Last I heard he was holed up in Asbury Park. Did a robbery in Jersey City, someone picked his face out of the files for the cops."

"You cocksucker!" Sammy yelled from the trunk. "I won't forget this. I'll get the both of ya!"

Marty said nothing, but rummaged in the glove compartment, found nothing but some old maps of New Jersey. Then he felt under the driver's seat and came up with a Glock .45.

"Maybe you will, Sammy, you son-of-a-bitch, but not in this world." Marty squeezed off four shots into the trunk, heard three hit solid meat.

Getting out of the Caddy, he told Mick to; "Open it up, see if I got him."

He had hit Sammy three times, once in the right calf, once in the chest and once through his right eye. Sammy was definitely dead.

Sammy's body was disposed of in the customary manner, his naked body was dumped in the massive garbage dump in Secaucus minutes before a parade of Sanitation trucks lined up to dump their days collections in a gigantic heap. A mere fifty dollars crossed hands to ascertain the exact location of the trucks deposit point, and no questions were asked. Silence was assured in that the recipient of the fifty dollars was known to Marty and Mick, but they were strangers to him.

The following afternoon Marty made several calls and learned that Conrad had not been seen in the area for several months. He was not wanted on any robbery, but had gotten involved in dealing drugs. To what extent Marty was unable to determine. But he did learn that Conrad had stayed in Asbury Park for some time before disappearing from sight. There was an exception. He had been sighted in the vicinity of Journal Square, in Jersey City with a man named Harrigan, who was known to be an intermediary between various facets within the world of organized crime.

"I know Harrigan," Marty told Mick, and then told Mick to get lost after giving him half the money they'd found on Sammy.