One night stands & lost weekends by Lawrence Block

Author:Lawrence Block [Lawrence Block]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Policier
Published: 2008-11-09T08:00:00+00:00

THE WAY TO POWER

HE OPENED THE DOOR IN HIS BATHROBE and motioned me inside. “Have a seat, Joe,” he said. “Relax a little.”

I took a seat, and it was easy to relax in the soft, plush cushions. I looked around the room and the familiar feeling of awe hit me. I had been to his house maybe a thousand times, but I never missed feeling the lushness of the place.

“Drink?”

I nodded, and went on filling my eyes while he went for drinks. I took it all in, from the Mexican jade on the mantel to the ivory-and-ebony chess table. He had done well. Damned well.

He brought the drinks, and I forced myself to sip mine, rather than throw it straight down. It was Scotch, and straight from Scotland. Nothing but the best for him, ever.

I looked up at him from my drink. He had taken a seat in an equally plush chair across from me, and was waiting expectantly. I played the game.

“Thanks, Chief. What’s up?”

“Lucci. He doesn’t understand.”

I knew what he was talking about, but I also knew how he liked to play it. “What do you mean, Chief?”

“Phil Lucci,” he said. “Remember I mentioned him?”

“I remember.”

His eyes narrowed, until I could hardly see the red veins that mapped them. “He’s making book, still. Three weeks ago he was told to pay off or lay off, one or the other. He wouldn’t join the mob, and he wouldn’t quit taking bets. You know what that means, Joe.”

I knew, of course. The Chief was about as subtle as a Coney Island prostitute. But the Chief ran every racket in Central City, and he had the town in his pocket. So when the Chief wanted to tell me something, I let him tell me.

“He’s gotta lose,” he said. “He has to lose all the way, the big loss.” He paused for effect, but I was so used to the gesture that it was lost on me. “Joe, Lucci’s gotta die.”

I could have dropped it there, but he would have missed all his fun. He was all keyed up for his big speech, and I couldn’t afford to let him down. His eyes were waiting, expectant. So I let him have his kicks.

“Why, Chief? All he’s costing us is maybe ten bucks a day. Why do we rub him out?”

He stood up then. He stood up and threw what was left of the imported Scotch straight into his stomach, and his eyes were shining. “Power,” he said, and the word seemed to come from the inside of a bass drum. “Power,” he repeated.

“Joe,” he went on, “the money doesn’t matter. Oh, it’s nice to have, but if you worry about it you’re through. The money is just the chips in the pot, just a way to keep score. The thing is, you have to be on top. You have to have power.

“There was this German guy named Nietzsche who figured it all out, and for a Square-head he made a lot of sense.

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