King Suckerman

Cooper had a seat, put his feet up on Eddie’s desk. He pulled a pack of Salems from his breast pocket, lit one, tossed the match to the concrete floor. He dragged deeply, let some smoke pass through his nose, blew a ring and power-blew another through the first.

“Well,” said Marchetti, “how are we doing?”

“Oh, we doin’ fine. Look here.” Cooper let the cigarette dangle from the side of his mouth, raised his hips, reached into the pocket of his jeans, withdrew a rubber-banded roll of bills. “Can’t get a damn thing out these jeans once I’m sittin’ down. Last pair of these disco blues I’m gonna buy, you can believe that.”

“What’s that?” said Marchetti, pointing his chin at the bills.

“Half your money, Spags.” Cooper tossed the roll onto the desk. “After I took my fifty points, of course.”

“You got the twenty G’s back from Clay already?”

“Like I said, only half.”

“He give you any trouble?”

“He didn’t, no.” Cooper lowered his eyes in theatrical remorse. “Had to kill one of his employees, though. Nice kid, too, one of those Marcus Garvey brothers. Guess you could say that boy was just unlucky to be where he was at.”

“Kill?” said Marchetti.

“B.R. did it,” said Cooper, jerking his head toward Clagget. “Blew the face off the young brother with his shotgun. Those double-aught shells sure did make an awful mess.”

The color drained from Marchetti’s face. Tate stayed where he was, standing behind the desk with his back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, his fists balled tight.

“You okay, Spags?” said Cooper. “You lookin’ as pale as my young friend B.R.”

“I, I’m all right.”

“Sure you are. I mean, you did want me to recover your money, didn’t you?”

Marchetti spread his hands. “I’m just... Look, I’m just doing a little business in this town. Brokering a few deals, understand? I don’t know anything about killing—”

“Now you do,” said Cooper.

“But—”

“Here it is. You deal with men like me, you gotta deal all the way. I mean, you want to run with the big elephants, you gotta pee in the big bushes. Right?”

Marchetti shook his head. “This is over.”

“Naw,” said Cooper. “Not yet. Got to recover the rest of that ten thousand for you, Spags.”

“I don’t need any more money.”

“Funny thing is,” said Cooper, “neither do I. Got a whole suitcase full of it back where I’m stayin’. Know what else? Got a shitload of blow, too. Got everything I need and more. But, regardless, I’m gonna get the rest of that money from Trouble Man. ’Cause right now? I’m just plain having fun.”

Marchetti glanced over his shoulder at Tate, then back at Cooper. He squirmed in his seat. “What do you mean you got the money and the blow? I thought—”

“You thought. Ain’t you read the paper today, Spags?”

“We don’t want to know about that, man,” said Tate.

“Know about what?” said Marchetti.

“Your boy Clarence — excuse me, I mean Clarenze — he reads the newspaper, I bet. There’s this story in this mornin’s edition, you ought to check it out, ’bout how all these bikers got themselves doomed out on some Howard County farm.”

“You—”

“Oh, yeah. Killed ’em like animals, Spags. Larry and his woman and all the rest.”

Tate pushed off from the wall. He put a hand on Marchetti’s shoulder. “Why you tellin’ us, Cooper?”

“ ’Cause we’re partners, that’s why. I’d call us partners, anyway. The law, they’d probably call the two of you ‘accessories.’ But I’d like to think of all of us as bein’ on the same side.”

“Ain’t too careful of you,” said Tate. “The more people you tell, the better chance that someone’s gonna talk about it later on.”

“You’re smarter than that, Clarence. Way smarter than your boss, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, Mr. Spags. You recognized the kind of person I was the first time you laid eyes on me, man. You know that if I ever even had a notion that you turned me in... well, you know what I’d do. Even if I were to be incarcerated, I’d find a way. Always someone on the outside owes an influential inside nigger like me a favor. And it wouldn’t be just you I’d rain on. I’d find your kin, too.”

“I ain’t got no kin,” said Tate.

“Oh, yes you do. You got ‘Daddy’ written all over your face.” Cooper smiled. “What you got, man? Little boy? Cute little girl?”

Tate said nothing. But his face betrayed him.

Cooper said, “Girl, huh?”

Again, Tate did not respond. Cooper looked at him and laughed.

“Well,” said Cooper, getting out of his chair. “We best be on our way. Just thought we’d stop by, give you one of them progress reports.”

“What’re you going to do now?” said Marchetti, a catch in his voice.