Smell the Roses - The Wheelman
By Duane Swierczynski
SATURDAY P.M.
“Here’s our credentials.”
—HARRY PIERPONT, MEMBER OF THE DILLINGER GANG, SHOWING A PRISON WARDEN A GUN
* * *
RAY PERELLI WAS PLEASED WITH HIMSELF. WITH ONLY word of mouth and a quick phone conversation, this bank robber guy was coming to him. Russian pricks were looking all over the city for him, and nothing. Perelli had him. Or was going to have him, in a manner of minutes.
Now. What the hell was he going to do with him?
Perelli had told the bank robber, “I’ve got what you’re looking for.” He knew the guy had to be looking for something. Otherwise, he would have lammed out of here long ago. Was it money from a recent heist? Is that what the Russians were holding over his head? Nah. Couldn’t be. Smart bank robber wouldn’t hang around for that, would he? What were the odds of recovering money from the Reds? Something else. C’mon, Ray, let’s pull an answer out of our ass.
After ninety seconds of deep thought, Perelli decided to make a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, yeah, Evsei?” Perelli pronounced it evsee. This was not the correct pronunciation.
“Who is this?”
“Ray Perelli.”
“Who?”
Perelli wanted to say, Hey, fuck you, you vodka-slurping Russian cocksucker. But this was an information-gathering phone call. Insults would get him nowhere.
“We had breakfast, just a little while ago.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Perelli. Forgive me. I’ve been distracted, this business with my son.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. I can only imagine.”
“What do you want?”
“I seem to have somebody you’re looking for.”
“What did you say?”
“That bank robber guy. One of my men rounded him up. I’m going to be seeing him soon.”
A pause.
“That is very good news, Mr. Perelli. I cannot tell you how much this pleases me.”
“Yeah, it’s great. Only problem is, I need a little something from you.”
“Ahhh,” the Russian said. “Cash.”
“No,” said Perelli, insulted for the second time this morning. “Just some info. See, I lured this guy here under what you might call false pretenses. I told him I had something he wanted. Only, I don’t know what he wants. Can you tell me?”
The Russian chuckled. “Oh, I have something he wants.”
“What’s that?”
“His pregnant girlfriend. You tell the bank robber I have a loaded gun to his girlfriend’s belly.”
Jesus Christ, Perelli thought. These Red bastards don’t fuck around.
“I guess that’ll work,” he said quietly. “But how do I prove it to him?”
“Hmmm. Hold on a minute.”
Perelli held. He had waved off the cash thing, but only temporarily. Yeah, this thing was going to come down to cash. He wanted to see how far the Russian prick would go, how high a price he would affix to the forehead of his son’s murderer. It wasn’t going to be $650, Perelli knew that much.
“Okay. I have something. If the bank robber doesn’t believe you, tell him, ‘Smell the roses.’”
“Say what?”
“It will mean something to him. Between him and his girlfriend.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve got a source here.”
Weird. But Evsei had no reason to lie about this. It would give Perelli something to work with.
“Great. And since you brought it up, what kind of price is on this guy’s head, anyway?”
“We can discuss that later.”
“Yeah. Well, you see, I kind of wanted to get that ironed out now.”
“When I see the bank robber, you will be amply rewarded.”
Amply. What the fuck did “amply” mean? What, was he going to kick in another $650?