Black is the Night by Maxim Jakubowski

Author:Maxim Jakubowski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags:  
Publisher: Titan

INSTITUTIONAL MEMORY

M. W. CRAVEN

The night was wetter than a drunk’s chin. Mean-spirited rain had hammered the city for hours, the pavements plinking and the gutters washing away the cigarette butts and the betting slips. It left an oily dampness, the kind that gets into your joints, makes them click and ache. Reminds you you’re getting old and one day, maybe one day soon, you are going to die.

Nothing good happens on a night like this.

As it was every evening, Normal’s Bar was packed with men nursing gins, hangovers and grievances. None of them were strangers to bad luck. The flashing neon sign, the bulb of the ‘o’ permanently out of sync, somehow managed to make Normal’s appear threatening. It wasn’t, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. You didn’t come to Normal’s for a good night, or to ponder personal development, you came to get drunk and to be left alone.

Two men sat in the corner. Although Normal’s was almost full, no one had taken the vacant seats nearby. One of the men was big, like he was a stevedore or a brickmason. The other was smaller, neater, more exact, like he had trained as a draughtsman, but hadn’t been able to find work. They were the kind of men who called women ‘dames’ and never left their apartment without a hat. The bigger man had a chunk of eyebrow missing and a nose that had been broken and reset by a nervous man. He was called Rollo Leblanc and he was a hit man. The smaller man was called Frank Carter and when he spoke, you didn’t interrupt. He was also a hit man, although, after twenty years, he was finally retiring.

Frank had gotten there early. He was methodically chewing on a reheated grilled cheese, the toast curled at the edges. He was on his second Lucky Lager and was already feeling the buzz. Frank had never been a drinker. Didn’t like the taste, never had. But he was in Normal’s, and Normal’s didn’t serve Hires Root Beer. Rollo was on his third bourbon, two fingers in each greasy tumbler.

“Come on, let’s get outta here,” Rollo said, draining his drink. “Sal’s booked us a private room at Luca’s. Steaks are on him tonight. Wants to see you out in style. Wishes he coulda been here, but you know how it is.”

Frank shrugged. He knew how it was.

* * *

The New York strips were as big as bibles and bloodier than a busted nose. Rollo had ordered off-menu and Luca Mulino himself had served them. The steaks came with creamed mashed potatoes, buttered greens and a side of onion rings. Rollo had ignored the champagne chilling by their table and ordered another two fingers of bourbon. Frank had done jobs with Rollo before, but there was a prowling restlessness to him tonight. He seemed on edge, nervous even. Maybe it was because tomorrow he would be Sal’s fixer. Frank knew Rollo had coveted the position for a long time, but the

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