Chapter XXXVIII: Things Can Only Get Better

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Things Can Only Get Better

A man in need of advice naturally arrives at the doorstep of the Monahan brothers. I'd gone to school with their younger brother, Napper, and that put me tight with the team, though we drank from different kegs. These were not the type of people to fix their own car brakes by sawing off the emergency brake cable. While Cristo was kissing ass through college, Roddy and Moony Monahan were hiring research assistants to keep them on top of the Seacoast's needs. While Evan Squidly was sweating to make a dime selling stolen beer, the Monahan brothers were taking bets, keeping book, making more money than god. While I was beating off under the Bone Harbor High bleachers, clutching Darcy's sock, Moony Monahan was operating a luxury limo/drug service, keeping the Seacoast's elite in air conditioned, euphoric comfort as they were driven from one drug den to another. While Vance was leafing through old yearbooks looking for dirty girls to pimp, Roddy had opened the Seacoast's first Gay and Lesbian club. Roddy wasn't gay. “Them faggots need a place to party too,” he reasoned. The Brothers, as they were known, welcomed a visit.
The Brothers owned a house, a duplex on Richards Avenue, with a hot tub for each side and luxury sedans parked in the JFK lot near Kurt's old house and the Whiffle Ball courts. Now that I knew Poncho was cursed, I biked the few blocks to their house. It felt good to bicycle again. If I had just stayed on the bike I never would have been sued. I didn't even have the heart to go see Fort Stark again. Kurt's house had years ago been converted into a home for mentally disabled kids. I'd fit right in now, I thought. Kurt had stayed in California for the holidays, though he called me once to say that everything was “Falling into place”, whatever that meant.
The bouncer showed me into a back room where the two sat on a wrap around leather couch. I showed them the bottle of wine I had borrowed from my father. The brothers were watching a college football game on a huge television in their living room.
“Shawn, bring Oggy a Ginger Ale, please,” said Roddy.
It always bothered me that the bosses in gangster movies needed to ask if a player wanted a drink and what it would be. Any Goodfella knows what each person on his team likes to drink. Roddy knew I didn't drink beer unless it was a special occasion, such as hitting rock bottom, and he knew I liked Ginger Ale. Furthermore, it was a sign of respect to give it to me and let me decide to drink it rather than make me decide if I wanted one at all. I felt this sign of real leadership was missing in Hollywood versions of the mob. We were family.
Moony addressed me while his twin brother watched television. Their easy manners always calmed me. Moony's teeth were beautiful and his naturally wavy hair gave him a look like a Guess jeans model. Roddy was just as striking with golden brown hair and a leaner frame.
“You don't come around enough, Oggy.” They'd hosted a New Years Eve party, but I had been two houses away when I passed out.
Said Roddy, “Thanks for the wine, Oggy.”
“Wine for game day.”
Roddy laughed. “Times are changing, but we always have time for the old gang.”
Times were changing but I had no idea how but these two brothers not only knew the times were changing but were probably responsible in some way. It was just one more example of why I needed to leave town. It was moving on without me and I was becoming an anachronism, the freak that lived in a hut by the dump and shit in a hole while everyone else lived in duplexes with hot tubs.
“I didn't make it here New Years. Wish I had. Heard you threw a crazy bash.”
Moony swore at the television and reached for the phone.
“We have a strict policy about not shitting on the rug.”
“Ugh.”
“It's a small town,” he smiled. “People talk.”
“Sticky told you didn't he? That Greek twat! It was a twisted night. Huggy was there.”
The Brothers both made gestures to suggest that if Huggy had been involved then there was no need to explain myself. Then Moony asked, “Still hung up on that Devins chick?”
“Her and about a million other girls. I get so stupid when I'm drunk. So stupid. I think I bit Rose McCorley's hair. I called her a slut. Horrible. What was I thinking?”
“Live and learn, right Oggy? New Years is the time to party. Hey! If you're going to shit on a stranger's rug then New Year's Eve is the night to do it. Right?”
“I was just so trashed. I was sick.”
“It's good for your soul. Get over Darcy. She's trashy, Oggy. I got videos of her and what's-his-name?”
Roddy was fishing for a name. He snapped his fingers. Moony looked at the ceiling. I was horrified.
“Frankie?” offered Roddy.
“No, but that's close. Freddie.”
“Freddie. That's it! Freddie from Whaleswood. Huge cock, Oggy. Unbelievable! You don't need that tramp. You need a good girl, Oggy.”
This was an awful image to be forced into visualizing. Darcy needed to be rescued more than ever.
“No,” I said. “I want a really bad girl. I want to do bad things to a bad girl. I do.”
Moony nodded.
“Well, there are plenty of those around Bone Harbor, huh Jim?”
Roddy smiled knowingly. The brothers made a toasting gesture with their drinks. I picked up my glass. Roddy cleared his throat.
“If I had a magic wand I'd wave it and Darcy would want to jump your bones, but I don't. What're you gonna do? Here's to a fahking good new year, huh? I love you guys. Seriously. This is gonna be a great year. We're gonna start a new business and really start living!”
I said nothing as I sipped my Ale.
Moony sang, “Down the hatch and out the door, I'm sure glad that I ain't poor!”
Moony sipped a glass of what looked like Brandy. I drank the ginger ale and watched the football game. A ref called a false start on the offense and Roddy threw up his hands.
“I swear to god, Moony, I will kill that ref's family if they lose this game. Look at this crap! They have to score right here or we are going to lose our shirts. It's like V-Tech is trying to lose by seven.”
“Hey, calm down, Jim. Get Bobby on the phone.”
“I'm going to murder that ref. I'll murder his whole family. Everyone!”
“Roddy! Roddy! Call Bobby. Get 'em to call a time out. Come on. Second and long. Get Bobby on the Phone.”
Moony turned to me calmly.
“Sorry, Oggy. We got some business to take care of. We've got Miami minus seven and a half points and Virginia's cocksucking QB decided to have the worst game of his whole life. He's playing like a sissy bitch, Jim. I told you he can't be counted on. Every other book in the country has Miami minus fourteen or fifteen and we got a lot of suckers taking Miami for the points. Roddy here had the inside steam on this sissy bitch of a quarterback for Miami. A real Wise Guy. We set him up with a pro last night, right Jim? So we know he didn't get any sleep. This sophomore running back had an Economics test yesterday and we had him stressing about the notes we stole. Then Mr. V-Tech QB decides to shit his pants on that last sack and fumble. Now we are looking at a five digit loss if this punk doesn't score right here. Miami has to win by less than seven. Why do we take chances on college football? This happens every time.”
“You've got money on the game?” I asked just to appear hip. I had enough heartbreak without losing money.
“Suckers make bets. We take bets now. It's a lot more challenging. More exciting. Right, Jim?”
Roddy glared at Moony. I spun my glass in circles on my knee. The Virginia Quarterback dropped back to pass.
“Throw the fahking ball up the field. Throw it! Get in the Zone.”
The Virginia Quarterback didn't throw it. He stood there amid the crushing pocket of bodies and hardly raised his arm. Then he ran towards the sideline, got his legs clipped from under him and fell for a three yard loss. Roddy's teeth cracked in his jaw as he held the phone to his ear.
“That is a dead man. Shawn, remind me to kill that monkey...cripple him...ruin...” Into the phone, “Hey, it's me... Listen! Call time out... Call it! No, you listen. I don't care if it's fifth down. I don't care. Call it.”
A Virginia player called time out on television and the teams separated to their sidelines. Roddy yelled into the receiver.
“Good. That is the first thing you've done right all day. Now, you are going to reverse option right or we're done for good. This is the last time you take rice outta my bowl. I mean it...Yeah, that is exactly what it means. Reverse Option right and that quarterback might earn the money I'm paying him by running thrity yards for six. Can he do that without tripping on his own lips? That's right.”
Roddy redialed and seemed to calm down.
“Yeah, it's me. Look, remember when you said that you owed me a favor? Yeah, well, I'm gonna have to collect on that right now. I know. It's tough luck. Look. Just set up for an option left and we'll call it even. Hey, what can I tell you? You played a good game but there are more important things than winning or losing. Such as not covering our spread. What can I tell you? Tough luck. So sweat it out you big pussy! Look, their you're fahking team. I don't give a shit what you tell them. Option left. Got it? Good man. To the kids too.”
Roddy sighed and put the phone down. The teams gathered on the field and after a brief huddle they lined up again. The ball was snapped, the quarterback ran right with his running back trailing behind. When the tailback realized the defense had lined up heavily on the left he blocked for the quarterback, who ran thirty easy yards into the end zone. The point after was good. With a minute and a half left, a Miami win by less than seven and a half was assured, unless the on side kick was muffed.
Roddy drained his glass. Shawn refilled it from an ornate decanter.
“It gets harder and harder to make a buck. I just wanna make a dime and a dollar, but there's always some punk tryin' to break my shine box. We can't trust these guys to do it themselves anymore. That was too close, Mart. “
Moony shrugged. The money was already spent as far as he was concerned.
“It makes the game interesting. Remember in '86'? Now that was close. Good old Johnny Mac came through for us. Schiraldi and Stanley. What a team!”
Roddy spun around before I could ask what he meant. “Enough about the good old days, Moony. How can we help you Oggy?”
“I made some mistakes and they won't go away.”
I pulled out the pink court summons and got up to give it to Moony.
“We know, Oggy. Twenty-five hundred. Truth is, she will probably sue for another two grand if she wins.”
“She can do that? Isn't that double jeopardy?”
“Not in a civil suit. Right, Jim? If she wins the first case then she can sue again and claim the first one hadn't covered the loss. Even though her car was a shit box like yours. It's happened before.”
“Yeah, Feinstein sued Holland for breaking her windows and when she won she sued again. I remember that. When was that? Eighty-Eight?”
“Summer of Eighty-Eight. That cost Holland six grand in the end and he's still paying us the juice.”
The brothers smiled and made another silent gesture with their glasses. I held up the court summons again.
“How did you know about this? I just got.”
“We know, Oggy. We knew a week ago. Why did you sign for it? I thought you would know not to sign for it. We should have done something, Jim.”
“And I told you I know what I'm doing, Moony. I decided you needed it, Oggy.”
“The shit I did. I don't have that money.”
“You want the money? Shawn!”
Shawn came back in.
“Bring me Twenty-Five hundred dollars.”
“I'm not taking your money.”
“Juice free?”
“Juice?”
“Interest.”
Although this seemed like the smart thing to do, just take the money, pay Madame Divine off, then leave the country, I decided owing money to The Brothers was not much worse than owing the State of New Hampshire money. Either way, I was owned property.
“I didn't come here to back out of this. I don't want anyone taking the heat for me.”
“Never mind, Shawn. See, Oggy, that is why you are going to make it. You want to take the heat yourself. You're a chump, but you're an honest chump. You'll make it.”
“Well, I didn't say I wanted to take the heat either. I just don't want anyone else taking it for me. I'd prefer no one take it. I'd prefer it just went away.”
“How is that going to happen?”
“I was hoping you would know.”
Roddy sat down and got comfortable in the leather couch. He picked his nose openly, the way someone does when he feels no guilt.
“Oggy. The question isn't how you are going to get out of trouble, but how you are going to live your life so trouble is your friend.”
“Trouble will never be my friend. I don't have your style. You remember me in High School. It's those damn Red Sox. If they would just win the Series then I'd get better.”
“You aren't listening. The Red Sox can't help you. Dewey's gone. Barrett is gone. Rice is gone. You're putting all your whores in one house. You have to be smart. Find your own style. I think you know what you have to do.”
“Kill Divine?”
“You want Divine dead? Shawn!”
“I didn't mean it that way.”
“Oggy, don't joke about killing people.”
“I mean I'm at the end of my rope. If I leave and miss the court case then there will be a warrant out for my arrest and I can never come back. If I stay and lose the case then I lose more money than I have. I can't win.”
“I never thought winning was what you wanted.. You never seemed to me like a guy who wanted to be number one. Maybe I was wrong.”
“I don't know what I want. That's why I'm here. Can you help me?”
“Sure, we'll help. Right, Moony.”
“Absolutely. We're on your side, Oggy. We only want to do what's right for you. In this case, I think, you need some time alone The case date isn't set yet. It's true you agreed to appear in court, but you still control the date. You just have to send the summons back within a month and agree to a court date that they set. Even then you can get an extension. Right? So you have over a month to figure out what you want. Go see Mexico. There's a wicked strip club in Juarez. If you decide to stay then, hey, you'll be missed. If not, then you come back and we fix your rice bowl.”
“You aren't happy here, Oggy, and it's eating you up and you are getting in trouble. I hate to see you in trouble when you could be out exploring and making a name for yourself. You should always do what you want, no matter what the situation is. You want to explore? Go. Life is short. You care too much about what people back here think. Forget this town. We'll take care of everything on this end. Just let us know what you decide. Or tell Sticky. That is my uneducated opinion. Take it or leave it.”
“I'm with Moony,” said Jim. “even though we could've avoided this with a little preventative smack down. As it stands, you aren't happy here. You've been spinning your wheels here ever since you got back from Florida. I think the weather down there agreed with you and you never called that guy about that job.”
“Why don't you come with me? We could explore together. Remember when we were at Ogden's Point? Remember the fires you guys used to come to? We could do that again.”
Roddy poured a shot of brandy for himself.
“The mark of a fool is someone who is content but keeps on searching out of habit or tradition, or reputation. The mark of a coward is someone who refuses to search even though they are restless. A wise man stays where he is content.” He waved his arms around the Ikea decorated house. There was a CD jukebox in the corner, near the Hot Tub and exercise room.
“This is what I want. This is home. I don't need to search anymore. You do.”
Moony agreed with a tip of his own glass. The phone rang and Roddy answered it with a devilish grin.
“Business or pleasure? Who? Cristo? Do you know a Cristo, Moony?”
Roddy was having his fun.
“Sticky? Oh, yeah. I do know a Sticky. But the Sticky I know owes us a dime and some juice. You wouldn't be calling to pay up, would you? No? You mean you can't pay? What about the Miami game? Really? Fixed? That is a mighty strong accusation, Sticky. Strong indeed. Do you have any evidence? You just sense something was wrong with that last play? Well, I sense something was wrong when you doubted the athletic ability of Robinson and got greedy with those Miami points we gave up. We were the ones taking a chance there because we wanted to help some of you kids out. Got to hand it to those Virginia boys. Miami won didn't they? Yeah they did look like they ran out of gas around the third quarter. Blame the coaching is what Moony always says. The first rule is to execute the fundamentals. Don't get fancy. You say you were trying to dig yourself out of a hole? Well it looks like you just dug yourself into a deeper hole, my friend. Your rice bowl is almost empty. So when do you want to hook us up with the doe re mi? You need some time, do you? Hey Moony, are we in the time lending business?”
“No, we are not, Roddy. We have not, and will not lend, sell, lease or give time to our customers. Time is their problem, not ours.”
Roddy gracefully lit the end of a cigar he had pulled from his shirt pocket. He was in his element. At least one of us was.
“Sticky? Moony says that we aren't in the business of lending time. Sorry about that. Its nothing personal, you know. We're just trying to earn a dime and a dollar. You know how it is, buddy. What was that? I couldn't hear you? You didn't just say that you were going to have trouble meeting your financial commitments, did you? Because I don't want to think what Moony would do if you were going to have trouble meeting your financial commitments. Do you want me to ask him? I didn't think you did. Would you hold on, Sticky? Thanks buddy.”
Roddy put Cristo on pause and looked over at me.
“I don't want you to have to sit around Oggy. Cristo made some bad decisions. Do you want Shawn to give you a ride home? No? Well, keep yer nuts warm. Believe in yourself. Don't be a stranger, Buddy. You need something just let your fingers do the walking.”
I got up and shook both their hands. Some say that a handshake tells you a lot about the other person, but I think it tells you more about yourself, and what the other person thinks of you. In that case, Roddy's handshake suggested I was a once important person whose time had passed; Moony's handshake suggested I had never been important.
Shawn handed me a hundred-dollar bill as he escorted me to the door.
“In case,” he said.
I knew arguing was useless so I pocketed it and biked home in the January slush. The chain slipped off when I passed the empty Little Store. In the arcade corner of the store, where the video games had once awaited my after-school arrival, a dusty newsrack was tipped over. No Twinkies for sale. I heard the same calling from the Jones Avenue dump, the longing from the west, whispering to me through the trees. This is not your home. This is not your life. It had been growing for a month now and I couldn't ignore it. The season had shifted. I had the urge for goin.
Instead of fixing the chain I walked the long route to my house, past Mack's old house, through the downy white cemetery. There on the hill overlooking Bone Harbor I saw a gravestone covered in snow, “Mack Wynter”. I dropped my bike and kneeled in front of it.
“Wynn. I finally found you. I'm sorry I stole your baseball cards. I'm sorry you died, but the Sox lost and I never had sex with Rose. She...”
I paused suddenly as I brushed the snow off the gray granite headstone. The worn words read: “Mackie Wybird 1913-1944 Loving Brother.” My right knee rested on a small plastic flag pole, one of those put on Veterans graves for Memorial day and Veterans day.
My back hurt and I was hungry. I had the hundred dollars.That could buy a lot of tacos. I resisted the sugggestion by the Wraiths to pedal down the winding road to the Jones Avenue dump. The gates were locked shut on that place and roads less travelled were what I needed, not roads travelled by lesser ghosts. A greater urge led me past Cloguh Field, past the puffed up sheep and geese, past Gentle Gena's silent porch to my house, possibly my home, and my trembling magic carpet.