FOUR HUNDRED - JIMMY CALLAWAY
“Tell her I love her.”
Those were Donnie’s last words to me as he bled out. Fighting back the tears, I grabbed the swag and hauled ass before the cops showed.
At the funeral, I took Donnie’s wife aside and told her what he’d said. I was too drunk to do anything, but she looked good all in black. As she wailed and beat her chest, I made a mental note to send her some flowers next week.
That night, I went out. The new kid, Charlie’s nephew, came and grabbed me up. Theresa wanted to know where I was going, so I gave her a smack and told her I wanted the fuckin’ place spotless when I come home, don’t worry about where I am.
I went across town to where Donnie’s girlfriend lived. She was drunker than I was earlier, she barely blinked. I went downtown to the restaurant where Donnie’s other girlfriend worked as a hostess. She ran into the back, her sobs squeaking out from behind her hand. Then I went back uptown to the nudie bar where Donnie’s other girlfriend worked. She sighed real heavy, and then offered me a ten-dollar lap dance.
But my night was just beginning.
The various nieces of various bosses and underbosses in town, they had to be handled delicately. Fortunately, they all knew me, knew the situation. The ten or twenty nigger broads Donnie was poking on, they were in unfriendly neighborhoods. Charlie’s nephew had to stand guard outside the car as I went in and out of the ratholes they lived in.
I went back downtown, back uptown, across town, underground, and all around. Donnie had ’em stashed everywhere: apartments, townhouses, duplexes, dormitories, hotels, motels, hostels, and brothels. White, black, Puerto Rican, Russian, Roman Catholic, Irish Catholic, Jewish, and Wasp, and there had to be at least a double handful of post-op trannies in there. Some bawled, some wailed, some set their mouths, some pulled their robes tighter. One broad punched me. I gave her a smack, but not a real one, y’know. She was in mourning, after all.
When all was said and done, I musta seen four hundred broads. When I finally got home around dawn, Theresa asked me where I’d been. I checked under the lampshade and found not a speck, so I told her Donnie’s last words.
Theresa cried a whole lot.
BIO: Jimmy Callaway blah blah blah attentionchildren.blogspot.com
Irish Times Crime Fiction column, February 2018
13 hours ago