This is episode twenty of the novel, From Here To 1137.
Going For A Walk
Tom suddenly appeared in an alley in Brooklyn. He looked down at his feet, and the bag containing the $100,000 of Grasso’s money suddenly materialized.‘Brain?’
‘Yes, Tom.’
‘This place stinks. The alleys are better in Manhattan.’
‘They pay higher taxes.’
Tom walked toward the street. ‘What’s the name of the bar I’m going to?”
“Rossi’s,” Brain said.”It is a really tough bar. Remember, as long as you wear MAS, you can’t be hurt.’
“Except by a nuclear blast,” Tom reminded.
“To be candid, there are a few other exceptions; however, none will come into play tonight,” Brain said.
“Unless Grasso has a competing alien intelligence apparatus,” Tom said.
“He doesn’t.” Brain assured.
‘Does the Instaport ever make a mistake and forget to transport the MAS? I can’t tell whether I’m wearing it or not.’
‘No, however, I checked again to ease your anxiety.’
‘You are quite a fella—ahem, thing, apparatus, machine, whatever.’
‘Your expressions are noted,’ Brain said.
Tom walked toward a neon sign hanging over the sidewalk that said, Rossi’s.
He walked in. Nearly everyone turned, stared, and nudged the person next to them. As soon as they had a look, they went back to their conversations and drinks.
Tom walked toward the bar. He looked for Frankie Grasso’s table. He spotted it just as described. Grasso was a short, round man with a puffy face and a thick, shadowed black beard.
He changed direction and walked toward Grasso. Immediately, his two guards stood and hurried to each side of Tom. They were husky, wearing cheap suits.
“What’s your business?” One of them said.
“My business is with Mr. Grasso,” Tom said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I can see that he’s not busy, so his calendar must be empty.”
“Throw him out of here,” Grasso said.
“I have $100,000 in this bag for you,” Tom said, holding the bag up.
“Check the bag,” Grasso said. “There better be something in the bag besides groceries.”
Tom unzipped the bag, and one of the guards looked inside.
“There’s a lot of Gs in here.”
“Sit down,” Grasso ordered.
Tom sat in the chair across from Grasso. The two guards stood behind Tom.
“You realize,” Grasso said, “walking in here with a $100,000, the money stays, and you go. You ain’t so smart, farm boy. Looks like you just came in on the last load of tomatoes.”
“How are your mother and father?” Tom said.
“Fine, what’s that got to do with anything?” Grasso scowled.
“Just a friendly get-to-know-you type of question,” Tom said.
“Take the hayseed for a walk, fellas,” Grasso said. “Leave the bag.” He laughed.
The guards grabbed Tom and stood him up.
“561 238 2879,” Tom said. “That’s your mom’s and dad’s number on 2189 Sally Drive. You should call and see how they’re doing. I hear the weather is very nice tonight in Boca Raton.”
“Let him go,” Grasso ordered. He nodded for Tom to sit.
“Trust me, Mr. Grasso,” Tom said, “your mom and dad are just fine.” Tom looked at his watch. “About now, they’re playing cards with that couple around the corner from them, the Donatello’s.”
“Okay,” Grasso said. “What’s up?”
“You love your mom and dad—your family,” Tom said. “So you’ll understand. My name is Tom Bales. I’m the brother of Edgar Bales. I love him. He’s the only family I have. Our mother and father have both passed.”
“He owes me a lot of money,” Grasso said.
“Mr. Grasso,” Tom said, “with all due respect, my brother was set up.”
“He got himself in the mess that he’s in,” Grasso countered.
“I’m willing to be fair about this,” Tom said. “There’s $100,000 in the bag. I think that should pay off his debt.”
“He owes about $110,000,” Grasso said.
“I understand,” Tom said, “but I figure ten percent off by paying in full.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Grasso said. “Here’s something else, you know a lot about my mother and father, but if they were in jeopardy, you wouldn’t be negotiating with a bag full of money.”
“Well, you got me there,” Tom said. “I’m a softy. I know a lot about your mom and dad; I’d never dream of hurting them. So that means we’re back to square one.”
“It does?” Grasso said. He looked at the guards. “Take this chump for a walk.”
The guards lifted Tom.
“As you wish, Mr. Grasso,” Tom said, “but after we’re done with our walk, I’ll be back to talk over our agreement.”
Grasso laughed. “Get this clown out of here.”
The guards rushed Tom out the front door.
On the sidewalk, they faced Tom as if they were about to do something pleasurable.
“We can do this here,” Tom suggested, “or there’s an alley a few doors down.”
The one guard belted Tom in the stomach. Tom moved slightly. The man appeared surprised that Tom didn’t fall to the ground.
Tom’s arm hung limp at this side. He made a fist. He felt the MAS tightening it. He swung with his left-handed fist and felt the velocity exceed his expectations. His fist met the jaw of the man. To Tom, it felt like hitting a baseball perfectly. And a crack echoed much like hitting a baseball solidly. The man collapsed. With Ton’s clenched right hand, he hurried a punch into the ribs of the other man. He growled and bent over. He tried to straighten up, but the pain was too great.
“You two should get to a hospital,” Tom said. “That’s a broken jaw and about three cracked ribs. If you like, when I go back inside, I can call an ambulance.”
They cursed and hobbled away.
No comments:
Post a Comment