Chapter Five: Mooky and Slicer

“I was born for a storm and a calm does not suit me.”

-Andrew Jackson

            “I’m going to have to see about him,” Ben muttered.

            They had left the diner shortly after discovering their unexpected companion. Martha had hailed a taxi to take her back to her own apartment, but Ben had insisted on taking George out to a bar a few streets down for drinks and more talk.

            “I don’t like people spying on me. Who does he think he is, anyway? I’m on the board of directors for Christ’s sake; he’s basically a rent-a-cop!”

            “Easy there,” George said. “Don’t lose your temper.”

            “Who’s losing his temper?” Ben snapped. “I’m just saying, if he was spying on me, he’s gonna regret it.”

            George couldn’t pretend he wasn’t unnerved by the incident as well. It seemed pretty obvious to him that Joshua hadn’t simply shown up in this one out-of-the-way restaurant on a whim. Nor, now that he came to think of it, was it at all likely that he ever had anything like a ‘half-day.’ No, he was sure that Joshua had purposefully followed him there…for what? Just to smile, say a bit of cryptic nonsense and leave him unnerved? What was the point of it?

             Ben took a deep drink of his beer and then, abruptly, changed the subject.

            “So, what’s the deal with you and Martha?”

            George, who had just taken a drink himself, choked.

            “What do you…” he gasped, coughing and spilling Sam Adams all over the table.

            “You know what I mean.”

            It took George a minute to finish choking and answer.

            “Nothing,” he managed at last. “Just friends.”

            “Oh, okay,” said Ben with a shrug. George took another drink to try to wash down the one that had gotten stuck in his throat.

            “Because I was thinking of asking her out myself.”

            This time, George actually spat the whole thing out in a high-pressure spray. Ben shook with laughter. George, temporarily unable to speak for coughing, punched him hard in the arm.

            “Guess it’s not nothing then,” he said, rubbing the spot and still grinning.

            “Alright,” George gasped after composing himself once more. “I admit it; I like her. She’s fun, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

            “What’s below the shoulders isn’t bad either,” Ben pointed out. George glared at him. “Easy there, tough guy, just joking.”

            George scowled, started to raise his beer to his lips again, then thought better of it. 

            “Anyway, we get along, and I enjoy her company, but it’s too soon to tell yet,” he concluded.

            “Too soon? Buddy, you’ve known her, what? Two months? Three? Christ, by that time, she’d have her own drawer at my place.”

            “Yeah, well, I don’t work that way,” George muttered.

            “I know, I know,” said Ben, waving his hand. “You’re the ‘wait for the right girl’ type; I respect that. Just saying; don’t waste time. If you think she might be that right girl, you don’t want someone like me stealing her right out from under your nose.”

            George smirked.

            “Yeah, well, if you did that, I’d have to break yours.”

             “Oh, my; that sounds like you’re about ready to make up your mind.”

            George grunted and risked taking a sip of beer.

            “How about you; you got any plans to take the plunge? Stop being a playboy?”

            “Are you kidding?” said Ben. “I’m just getting started! Unless some really devious temptress shows up and seduces the sense out of me, I plan to stay a rich, handsome, and extremely eligible bachelor for a long time yet.”

            He took another drink, then added “And I’m not to worried about the moral issue, if that’s what’s you’re wondering. Way I see it you’re moral enough to cover both of us. One of the reasons I like having you around. You’re like if a Boy Scout grew up in a convent, and I mean that in the best possible way.”

            “Naw,” George said with a shrug. “I’m just another guy.”

            “Well, yeah,” said Ben. “But you’re the kind of ‘other guy’ who feels guilty because he was rejected from serving in a war that’s pulling in about a thousand casualties a day.”

            “It’s not quite that bad,” said George.

            “Oh, no? What’s the latest casualty count? And I know you know it.”

            George sighed.

            “Latest estimates are about fifteen thousand American casualties.

            “Fifteen thousand in one year, and you feel bad because you’re not in it. I call that Boy Scout behavior, and that’s not even counting all the other noble crap I’ve seen you do. Just last week you made us miss the whole first quarter of the Friars game while you helped some lady change her tire.”

            “It was a bad neighborhood; who knows what might’ve happened if she’d had to do it by herself?”

            “I’m not questioning it, I’m just saying; you’re an absolute Boy Scout.”

            Ben grinned and raised his glass.

            “So,” he said. “If I ever start to go too far, you will let me know, right?”

            George clinked his bottle against Ben’s.

            “Sure.”

            They laughed and drank. George checked his watch.

            “Aw, hell; I gotta get home to bed.”

            “Oh, right,” said Ben. “I keep forgetting you work owl hours.”

            “You’re the one who got me those hours,” George reminded him.

            “No, I’m the one who got you the job,” said Ben. “Your sneaking and spying boss set the hours. Another reason for me not to like him.”

            They drained the last of their beer, dropped a tip, and made for the door. Outside, they decided, as they had on the way in, to cut across the block through the alleyway next to the bar. It had gone fine earlier, and it wasn’t quite night yet. The alley was wreathed in shadows, but had appeared relatively clean and orderly the last time they came through.

            This time, though, it didn’t go fine.

            About halfway down the alley was crossed by another, narrower alley. And as they reached the corner, someone suddenly came around it and bumped right into George.

            “Hey, watch where you’re going, punk!”

In the light of the lamp set in the wall overhead, George saw that the speaker was small, wiry man with a boxy face crisscrossed with the lines of old scars. He looked as though he were trying very hard to grow a mustache, but the feat was proving beyond his power.   

            “Sorry…” George began, but Ben had to butt in at that point.

            “You watch where you’re going, pipsqueak!”

            “Pipsqueak?” the man said. He sounded like he was originally from somewhere in New Jersey. “Hey, Mooky, did you hear that? This college boy thinks my name’s ‘Pipsqueak.’”

            His friend stepped around the corner into the light. No one would call him ‘pipsqueak’ except ironically; he was roughly the size and shape of large refrigerator. His small, dim-looking eyes were set deep in his rather pudgy face, and his hair looked like he had long ago grown out of it.

            “Is that so, Slicer?” said Mooky in a deep, slow voice. “Why would he do such a thing?”

            “Guess they didn’t teach him no manners in his fancy-pants school,” said Slicer. “Looks like maybe we gotta take up the effort, eh, Mooky?”

            “Maybe, Slicer.”

            “Hey, guys, we don’t want any trouble,” said George. “Excuse my friend here; he was just startled, you see…”

            “Doesn’t look all that startled to me,” said Slicer, eying Ben. “How about it, college boy? Did I startle you.”

            “Oh, yes,” said Ben. “For a second, I thought a chimpanzee had gotten loose.”

            George always knew Ben had a bad habit of picking fights, but he had thought that even he would know better than to provoke an obviously unstable man named ‘Slicer.’ He grabbed Ben by the arm and hissed “Shut up, idiot! You’re gonna get us killed!” But Slicer was now screeching like a bat and it was doubtful Ben heard his friend’s admonition.

            “Oh, funny guy!” Slicer cackled. “Ain’t he a funny one, huh? Huh Mooky? Huh?”

            Mooky chuckled sycophantically.

            “Freakin’ hilarious!” Slicer went on. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he produced a long, wicked-looking switchblade as if by magic. “How about that?” he snarled, waving it in their faces. Ben and George took a step back. “You think that’s funny, college boy? Huh?”  

            Mooky chuckled again.

            “Yeah, you’re pretty funny, Slicer.”

            Slicer rolled his eyes and sighed.

            “This isn’t supposed to be funny, idiot; that’s the point.

            “Sorry,” Mooky shrugged. “Sometimes you’re kinda hard to follow.”

            “Okay, okay,” George interjected, taking advantage of the thug’s distraction. “Look, we’re sorry, it was our fault, we’ll be more careful next time.”

            Slicer licked his teeth thoughtfully.

            “What do you say, Mooky? You think we should let ‘em go?”

            “Uh…You really thinking about doin’ it, Slicer?” Mooky asked, sounding surprised. “Just like that? Out here in the open an all?”  

            “We ain’t in the open, Mooky; this look open to you?”

            “Well, I mean, there’s big street right there, and you know we’re not supposed to do stuff that might…you know.”

            Slicer sighed and rolled his eyes. Odds are, he had had no intention of actually knifing Ben and George over such a trivial matter, but he had wanted to be able to scare them a bit longer. He flicked the knife closed and back into his sleeve with the same magician’s trick as he had used to produce it.

            “Looks like it’s your lucky night, boys,” Slicer sneered. “Just be careful, or maybe next time, Slicer’s slicer’ll slice’ya.”

            “Uh…sorry?” George asked.

            “Yeah, you better be sorry!” said Slicer, fortunately misinterpreting his confusion as contrition. “Now you better beat it before Mooky here gets worked up.”

            “Huh? I’m not getting worked up…”

            “It’s just a threat, stupid! Sheesh, we gotta rehearse this better.”

            Ben snorted. Slicer’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Hoping to salvage their fragile truce, George began to pull his friend away from the two toughs. They had made it about five or six steps and George was just beginning to think they’d gotten away with it when Slicer gave a parting shot.

            “Yeah, go on! I bet you hit like a girl anyway!”

            Before George could catch him, Ben wrenched his arm out of his grip, sprinted right at Slicer and slammed his fist into the crook’s face so hard that he was knocked to the ground. It all happened so fast that Slicer didn’t even have time to flick out his knife.

            “BEN, NO!”

            Mooky, though was, just as fast as Ben. Slicer had barely hit the ground before one of his cinderblock-sized fists shot forward and smashed Ben’s nose flat.

            George, who had started after his friend as soon as he realized what he intended, managed to catch Ben as he fell half-conscious from the blow. Meanwhile Slicer, holding the side of his face with one hand, lurched to his feet, switchblade at the ready.

            “That was a stupid move, pal! You’re gonna pay for that! Slicer’s gonna slice y’ah up so much that yer own mother won’t recognize ya! I’ll slice you both up! And then I’ll…”

            “Is there a problem?”

            Slicer whipped around, stabbing his knife threateningly at the new arrival, who stood half-shadowed a few feet down the alley.

            “Stay out of this if you know what’s good for you!” Slicer shrieked. “Or I’ll slice you too!”

            “Uh…Slicer?”

            “Shut up, Mooky!” Slicer howled. He seemed to have lost all reason.

            “I think we all need to calm down,” said the newcomer, stepping forward into the light. To George’s surprise, it was none other than Peter Joshua.

            “Alright, that’s it!” Slicer snarled. “You’re dead, pal!”

            But Slicer had only taken one step towards him before Joshua drew an automatic pistol from inside his coat pocket and pointed it right between his eyes. Slicer stopped dead, suddenly sobered by the sight of the gun.

            “Now, I’m only going to give you one warning,” said Joshua. “Shooting you would involve a lot of very tedious paper-work and meetings with lawyers. At the moment, that prospect is unpleasant enough to offset the satisfaction that would come from putting a bullet in you…”

            “Who the hell do you think you are, pencil-neck?” Slicer snarled.

            “…However,” Joshua continued. “The longer I am acquainted with you, the more satisfying the idea of shooting you becomes.”

            “Do you have any idea who we work for!?”

            Joshua didn’t answer. He only gave a half smile, as though contemplating something extremely pleasant.

            “Uh…Slicer?”

            “Shut up, Mooky.”

            “I’m thinking maybe we should go.”

            Slicer turned to his partner in disbelief.

            “You…you’re thinking?! Why are you thinking? Who pays you to think? Huh?”

            “Uh, no one, but…”

            “Who is the brains of this outfit?” Slicer asked, gesturing between them with his knife. He seemed to have temporarily forgotten about the others in his indignation. George glanced at Joshua who rolled his eyes.

“Who is the brains?” Slicer repeated. “Me or you?”

            “You, but…”

            “Me! That’s right, me! I do the thinking, right? Huh? Right?”

            “Right.”

            “Right!”

            “Well, in that case,” said Mooky. “Do you think maybe we should go?”

            Slicer looked around at the gun pointing at his head and at Ben nursing his broken nose. Finally, it seemed to dawn on him just how precarious his situation was. Struggling to maintain some dignity, he pointed his knife at Ben and George.

            “You…I don’t want to see you guys ever again, huh?”

            He turned to Joshua, obviously intent on delivering a similar threat, then thought better of it and flicked his knife back up his sleeve.

            “Come on, Mooky; let’s get out of here,” he said sourly.

            With a look of pure venom at the two of them, Slicer stalked past George and Ben, Mooky trailing behind him like a huge dog.

            Joshua waited until the two thugs had vanished around the corner out of the alley before lowering his pistol.

            “Well,” he said. “That could have gone a lot worse.”

            Ben managed to get his feet under himself and stood, wobbling, head tilted back and one hand pressed to his ruined nose.

            “Damn,” he groaned.

            George really wanted to tell him that he deserved it for stupidly letting himself be so easily goaded and nearly getting them both killed, but he restrained himself.

            “We should call the police,” he said.

            “No, we really shouldn’t,” said Joshua. “See, those two work for Sonny Scarletto.”

            “Who?”

            “Luigi Morello’s right-hand man. If you don’t know who that is, be grateful.”

            George didn’t and he wasn’t.

            “What does that…”

            “Let’s just say the police probably wouldn’t be very interested,” said Joshua. “And leave it at that.”

            “I think I might need to get to the hospital,” said Ben.

            Peter shrugged and led the way down the alley to the street on the other side, George and Ben following. The street turned out to be deserted.

            “Never a cab around when you need one,” Peter sighed.

            “My cars that way,” Ben said, pointing with the hand that wasn’t trying to staunch the bleeding from his shattered nose.

            “What were you doing here?” George asked Peter as they emerged from the alley and headed for the parking lot.

            Joshua gave him an appraising kind of look. 

            “I told you; had a half day.”

            “Sir, not to be insubordinate, but no you didn’t.”

            “Sure I did,” said Joshua. “I arranged it with Dr. Arnold, then I decided to go grab some dinner.”   

            “And you just happened to pick that restaurant?”

            “Who said anything about happenstance?” Joshua replied. “I went there because I knew you would be there.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “George,” said Joshua, smiling. “You work at a facility that does secret research funded by the military. Not to be rude, but I don’t just trust to the good nature of my employees to make sure they keep their mouths shut.”

            “You were spying on us!” Ben snarled, so indignant that he let go of his nose to better glare at Joshua.

            “No, I was spying on him,” said Joshua. “It’s not my fault you decided to boast about your little coup.”

            “Why, you…”

            Ben took a step toward Joshua, but George caught his arm to stop him.

            “You not a fast learner, are you?” said Joshua dryly. “Relax. Calvan’s job is not my job; I couldn’t care less who runs the company as long as the Birkin Center remains secure and my paychecks don’t bounce.”

            Ben still seemed angry, but he couldn’t forget about his nose for more than a few seconds in order to do anything about it.

            “In any case,” Joshua went on. “George, perhaps we’re not clear on the limits of our classified policy; not telling anyone means not telling anyone; there’s no ‘other employees’ loophole.”

            George felt a sudden dread of a different tone than he had felt while confronting Mooky and Slicer.

            “Oh,” he said. “I…I apologize sir; I was mistaken in that, and it won’t happen again.”

            “Yes, well,” sighed Joshua. “Since it’s not specifically mentioned, I can see where you would get that idea, so I won’t fire you this time.”

            He left them at the parking lot, saying “Now, I would like to assume you boys can make it home without ticking off any more gangsters?”

            “He’s a prick,” Ben said as George drove him to the hospital.

            “He’s just doing his job,” George answered.

            “First thing I’m gonna do once they fix my nose,” said Ben. “Is to call my lawyer and get those two bastards thrown in jail; I don’t care who they work for! Next, I’ve gotta call my plastic surgeon and set up a time to get this fixed.”

            George glanced at the squashed and bleeding nose.

            “You might want to think about leaving it,” he said. “I think it’s an improvement.”

            “Very funny.”

            “No, really; it makes you look like a rugged man of action. Besides, it’ll serve as permanent reminder to think first before you do something stupid like that.”

            “He was asking for it!” Ben protested.

            “Of course he was; he wanted an excuse to cut us into mince-meat. You saw him. You’ve gotta use some common sense, buddy, or one of these days that temper of yours is gonna get you killed!”

            “Yeah, yeah, look, who appointed you my mother? Just shut up and drive the car, will you!”

            George shook his head in resignation. Ben would eventually come around and admit that he’d been stupid and all the rest. Just not right now. He needed a little time to simmer with rage at his humiliation. Then he’d calm down, apologize for being an ass, and things would go back to normal. That was the way it was. Though, George did hope that tonight’s adventure might inspire his friend to practice patience and humility a bit more in the future. It sure would save them both a lot of grief.

Next Week:

Chapter Six: The Huston Gold