Lovers in the Cold Read online

  The first flakes of snow were starting to fall, the wind blowing them against the hotel room window, when Jimmy Aloha showed them the gun.

  Eddie watched Billy take it, turn it over in his hand, weighing it. The gun was blue steel with a short barrel, checkered wooden grips.

  “Thirty-eight Special,” Jimmy Aloha said. “Just like we talked about. Five-shot. Snub-nosed. Cops here in the City use them as backup guns, ‘cause they’re easy to conceal. Here.”

  He reached out, and Billy handed the gun back. Eddie felt himself take a step away, almost involuntarily. Jimmy Aloha squinted at him through the smoke from the cigarette that hung between his lips. He popped open the cylinder, rotated it to show the chambers empty, thunked it closed. He lifted the tail of his Hawaiian shirt – middle of December and he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt – and tucked the gun into the small of his back.

  “Look,” he said. He took the cigarette from his mouth, turned so they could see the fall of the shirt hid the gun completely. He faced them again, reached up and under and brought the gun out easily, smoothly. “What I tell you?”

  He reversed the gun, held it out butt-first. Billy took it, snugged it into the right-hand pocket of his leather jacket, turned to look at himself in the mirror above the narrow bed. It fit without showing.

  “How much?” he said.

  “Like I said. Two hundred.”

  Wind rattled the window, snow swirling against the glass. Outside, street lights began to go on.

  Billy took the gun out, hefted it. Jimmy Aloha watched him through cigarette smoke.

  ”Shells are extra,” he said.

  “Just the gun for now.”

  “Whatever.”

  Billy pushed the gun back in his pocket. From the other he took a wad of folded cash. Eddie knew where it had come from. Billy handed it over and Jimmy Aloha took it, unfolded it, counted the bills, nodded. The money went into the pocket of his Hawaiian shirt.

  “You want anything else,” he said to Billy. “You know where to come.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Billy zipped up his jacket pocket, the gun still inside. He put out his hand. Jimmy Aloha looked at it, then at Eddie. Billy let his hand drop.

  “Where you two from? Staten Island?”

  Eddie shook his head.

  “Jersey.”

  “Jersey. I should have known.”

  “What’s that mean?” Billy said.

  “Nothing, kid. Nothing at all.”

  ††††

  They were driving down Ninth Avenue, Eddie at the wheel of his cousin Mikey’s Ford Torino, watching for signs for the Tunnel. Snow flitted in the headlights.

  “It’s not too late,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To forget this whole thing.”

  Billy looked out the window, didn’t answer.

  “We can go back up there,” Eddie said. “Ask for the money back.”

  “You kidding? He’d laugh at us. Besides, he’s probably not even there anymore. That kind of place rents by the hour.”

  “Just an idea. How’d you meet that guy anyway?”

  “Rafer knows him.”

  “I should have figured.”

  Eddie turned onto 40th Street and they joined the queue of taillights crawling into the Tunnel. Above them, a floodlit billboard advertised “Pippin” on Broadway. The commercials for it were all over TV. It occurred to him he’d lived his entire life an hour south of the City and never been to a Broadway play.

  “What did you tell Cherry?” he said.

  “About what?”

  “All this. What’s going on.”

  “Nothing. What, do you think I’m crazy?”

  “She’s worried about you.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Not in those exact words maybe.”

  They crept along. Billy shook his head slowly, looked back out the window.

  “She’s always worried about me. She’s told me a hundred fucking times. But sometimes she just doesn’t ... oh, forget it, man. It doesn’t make any difference anyway.”

  The snow was sticking to the windshield now, and Eddie turned on the wipers. They thumped back and forth, the only sound in the car. He wanted to be home, out of this traffic, out of this city. He heard a siren, looked in the rearview, saw a police car fly by on Ninth Avenue, lights flashing. He thought about getting pulled over on the Turnpike on the way home, about the gun in Billy’s jacket. And him driving his cousin’s car. If the cops searched them, they’d all be fucked.

  Horns beeped. The cars in front of them crawled forward, brake lights flashing. Above the arch of the Tunnel entrance, Christmas lights in the shape of sleighbells and holly leaves. The smell of exhaust filled the car.

  “Even if I told her ...” Billy said and trailed off.

  Eddie looked at him.

  “What?”

  “Even if I told her. She wouldn’t understand.”

  And then he was looking out the window again, lost.

  ††††

  As he made his way up the stairs he could hear their voices through the apartment door. Billy’s, loud, then Cherry’s, then silence. A door slammed somewhere inside.

  He stood on the landing, took a deep breath. The stairwell smelled of cooking, mildew, the wallpaper here peeling and water-stained. A cold draft blew up from the ground floor, where the front door was propped open by a cinderblock, summer and winter alike. He knocked, waited. Knocked again.

  Billy opened the door a crack, saw him.

  “Hey. Come on in.”

  The door opened wider and Eddie stepped through. He could smell her perfume. To the right, off the living room, was a short hallway that led to the bedroom. The door was closed.

  Billy shut the door behind him. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, jeans, was barefoot.

  “Everything okay?” Eddie said.

  “Yeah. For now. Come on in the kitchen.”

  Eddie followed him in. The radiator against the far wall clanged, the heat in here oppressive. He unzipped his jacket while Billy took two cans of Schaefer from the refrigerator, handed him one.

  “Fucking heat,” Billy said. “Thermostat’s shot. Landlord keeps saying he’s going to replace it, but never gets around to it, the prick.”

  Billy leaned back against the counter, opened his beer. Eddie popped his, siphoned off foam.

  Billy nodded toward the hallway.

  “She’s pissed at me,” he said.

  Eddie said nothing, drank beer.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Billy said. “We just go round and round.”

  Eddie looked at the hallway, the closed door.

  “So tell me,” Billy said. “Is it going to be a problem, the car?”

  “That’s what I needed to talk to you about.” He put his beer on the counter.

  “Come on, man. Don’t fucking let me down now, please.”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Feel right? We’re way beyond that, man. If you don’t do it, I’ll have to find someone who will.”

  “Who? Rafer? Like that guy hasn’t gotten you in enough trouble already?”

  “I’ll find someone. This is too good to let pass.”

  “I don’t know, man.”

  “Listen,” Billy said. “We talked about this. It’s all set up. I heard from the guy and he’s ready to go. We can’t back out now. I’m already two months behind in rent. Another month and we’re going to be out on the street. And that’s the least of what I owe. At this rate, there’s no way I’m ever going to get ahead.”

  “There’s other ways. There has to be.”

  “On what I make? And you think I want to work at a body shop for the rest of my life? I’ve g
ot primer in my fucking bloodstream, man. I cough it up sometimes. It’s in my lungs.”

  Eddie picked up his beer again, looked off into the living room. There was a blacklight Jimi Hendrix poster tacked on the wall above the couch, its edges frayed. Billy had taken it with him every place he’d lived, from the time his parents had kicked him out of the house until now. When he and Eddie had shared the apartment in Belmar, it had gone up in the place of honor above the TV. Eddie knew Cherry hated it, knew Billy would never take it down.

  “I didn’t say I’m backing out.”

  “You’re sounding like it.”

  “You think I’d let you go alone?”

  There was a noise from the hallway, and they both turned to see the bedroom door open. Cherry came out. Eddie could see she’d been crying, her eyes puffy and red. She wore a flannel shirt, patched jeans, her long dark hair tied back. She walked barefoot into the living room, got her cigarettes off the coffee table. She shook one out, looked at him.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey, Cherry.”

  Billy took a lighter out of his jeans pocket, held it out. She came forward, took it, got the cigarette going, handed the lighter back. Billy slid over to make room for her against the counter, and she leaned beside him. He put an arm across her shoulders. Eddie looked away.

  Billy pulled her tighter, and she shifted, uncomfortable.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you,” she said. “How’s your mother?”

  “She’s fine. She’s good.” He felt her watching him, wanted to be out of there. Billy handed her his beer and she took it, sipped. Eddie met her eyes, the redness there she hadn’t tried to hide.

  “I’ve gotta go,” he said. He put his half-finished beer by the sink. “I’ve got to take my brother to band practice at St. Rose.”

  “Tell your mother I said hello.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Billy said.

  Eddie zipped his jacket, walked by Cherry without looking at her, smelled the faint musk of her perfume.

  Out on the landing, Billy leaned back against the closed door.

  “So,” he said. “I need to know. You okay?”

  Eddie looked at him.

  “With what?”

  “With this. This thing.”

  “I told you I’d watch your back. You think I’d punk out on you?”

  “No, I never thought that. I guess I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  “Go back inside, man. You’ll freeze your ass off out here.”

  BIlly watched him.

  “You won’t regret this, you know,” he said. “When it’s all over. You’ll see. Cherry too. Things will be different.”

  “Yeah, I guess they will.”

  “The way I look at it, if we don’t do it, someone else will. Sometimes you just have to grab those opportunities, you know? Because they might not come around again.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Take it easy driving, man. I need you.”

  “I know,” Eddie said and started down the stairs.

  ††††

  He waited in the phone booth, bundled against the cold, watching waves roll in hard on the empty beach. Gusts of wind blew trash along the boardwalk. A sheet of newspaper slapped against the glass, clung there for a moment, blew away. The phone rang.

  “Yeah?” The receiver cold against his face.

  “What is it, Eddie? What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He won’t tell me, but I know something’s up. The way he’s acting. And you coming here last night ... .”

  He looked out at the ocean, grayness that stretched forever.

  “I have a right to know,” she said. “He keeps things from me all the time. I’m used to it. But this is different, Eddie. I expect that from him, not from you.”

  “What’s he told you?”

  “Not a lot. But he has a gun.”

  “I know.”

  “He kept it hidden at first. Then one night, he took it out and showed it to me. Like he was proud of it, showing it off. I don’t like it in the apartment, I don’t want it around.”

  “He doesn’t have any bullets for it.”

  “That supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I just wanted you to know.”

  “He tell you about the radio? And the other things he’s taken, sold?”

  “Some of it, yeah.”

  “What’s happening, Eddie? What’s gotten into him?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you think he knows about ... ?”

  Silence on the line. Both of them considering it. He thought about Billy on the landing, wanting to make sure he was in, wanting to hear him say it.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think he knows.”

  “Thank god for that, I guess.”

  “But I’ve been thinking a lot lately ... .”

  A pause, then: “Don’t do this to me, Eddie. Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I was just thinking ... maybe we should take a break for awhile.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit, Eddie. Not after all this. Not after all I’ve gone through.”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “You feel bad for him, is that it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “You think I don’t?”

  He left that there.

  “He promised me things, Eddie. He promised himself things too. And it’s like he’s forgotten all of it. We were going to get out of here, go down to Florida. He knew someone that had a job for him. We could start over, forget all the things that happened before. And he didn’t do it. He knew I wanted to, but he didn’t do it. It’s like he says what he thinks I want to hear, but then it never happens. It’s like he thinks saying it is enough.”

  Wind whined around the booth.

  “It’s been four years, Eddie. I know him. He isn’t going to change. But I’ve changed ... .”

  “Cherry ...”

  “I’ve given up a lot, Eddie. I’ve put aside everything I ever wanted, to be with him. And now I’ve got nothing. No love, no future, no hope. And I’m too young for that.”

  “Things will work out.”

  “Will they? We could leave, Eddie. We could leave tomorrow. I could borrow the money for the plane tickets. My cousin in Jacksonville will put us up. We could get a job easy, both of us.”

  “I can’t leave him. Not like this. Not now.”

  “You’re feeling guilty, after all this time? Is that it?”

  “Maybe. But it’s something else too. Something that’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “I can’t do anything more for him, Eddie. Believe me, I’ve tried. And all he’s done is drag me further into his bullshit. I don’t blame him. It’s the way he is. But it’s time to cut our losses, all of us.”

  “I don’t know if I see it that way yet.”

  “I’m going to leave, Eddie. Regardless. I can’t stay here. I wake up in the mornings sometimes, and I can’t breathe. It’s like there’s a weight on my chest. I’m going, one way or another. With you or alone. But I want it to be with you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “And I guess I need to know if you want that too.”

  He closed his eyes, heard the blood in his ears. Wondered how his life had gotten so fucked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What?”

  “It’s what I want too.”

  Silence on the line again.

  “I can wait, Eddie. I’ve waited a long time. I’ve waited for Billy. I can wait for you. But I can’t wait forever.”

  “I know. I don’t expect you to.”

  “We should leave. It’s the right thing to do. And if we don’t do it now, we may never get the courage to do it again.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “It’s just that simple. I don’t want to hurt Billy. But I can’t help hi
m anymore either. I realize that now. And you know something, Eddie?”

  “What?”

  “Neither can you.”

  ††††

  “It’s tomorrow,” Billy said.

  Eddie looked at him. The sky was a bright blue, the ground covered with snow, the sun flashing hard off it.

  “What’s tomorrow?”

  They were walking along the bottom of Cemetery Hill. To their left, traffic droned by on Route 36. Up on the slope to their right, a half dozen kids with sleds took turns riding down the narrow patch of bare hill, laughing, tumbling into the snow, getting up again. Dragging their sleds back up to the top.

  “That thing,” Billy said. “It’s all set.”

  They crossed over into the cemetery. Billy brushed snow off a headstone, sat down.

  “I talked to the guy again last night. He’s on tomorrow, he made sure of it. But they have a security camera in there. We’ll need to make it look real.”

  “Camera?”

  “Yeah, like TV, you know? Closed circuit. Some stores have them now. They record everything that goes on inside. The old man who owns the place, he won’t be there. Just our guy.”

  “You trust him?”

  “As far as it goes, yeah. Why not? He gets his share, twenty-five percent off the top. We split the rest, fifty-fifty”

  “Then why do you need the gun?”

  “For the camera. And in case there’s anyone else in the store. There might be someone in the back I don’t see, or someone could come in, who knows? Somebody might get stupid, try something. Better to have the gun, make them think twice. What’s some guy gonna do, gun in his face?”

  “No security guards?”

  Billy shook his head.

  “That’s why it works. In and out. Two, three minutes at most. Guy says five, six grand there at least. Some in the register, the rest in a strongbox underneath.”

  “Why so much?”

  “It’s an electronics store. Sunday afternoon before Christmas. People buying gifts all weekend, but they can’t get to the bank to deposit until Monday. Guy says the owner comes in Sunday night at closing, brings the money home with him, puts it under his mattress or something, takes it to the bank the next day.”