Gun Monkeys

He looked unhappy. “Goddamnmotherfuckshit.”

“I think we’d better go someplace. Figure this out.”

“The monkey cage.” Be

“No,” I said. “I know where. And we can get some breakfast.”

I held a handkerchief to my bleeding side as I climbed into the van. The angry song of sirens chased us into the fading night.

FIVE

The sun was just percolating through the trees when Be

“That you, Charlie?”

“It’s me, Ma. I got Bob and Be

“Hi, boys. I’ll have food for you in a minute.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Swift.” Bob.

“Hope we’re not disturbing you too early.” Be

Ma made a noise in the kitchen like that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

Two things: Ma never slept, and there was always something working in the kitchen.

I stuck my nose in the air. A quick sniff was all I needed: eggs, coffee, Canadian bacon. Ma had probably been up an hour, getting grub together for me and Da

“Let me get a shower, Ma, and I’ll come down for a bite. I’ll get Da

“He’s up,” said Ma. “Punching that bag again behind the garage.”

Da

“It’s too early for boxing,” I said.

“You let him alone. Let him punch. He’s a good boy.” Ma said that because Be

“I’ll get cleaned up.”

“Good. You look like a mess. I’ll feed these boys.” She led Be

I dragged myself into the upstairs bathroom and slumped heavily onto the toilet. I made a point of taking the briefcase with me. The night’s work had finally seeped into my muscles during the van ride, and I ached all over. I peeled myself out of the bloodstained shirt and went to work on the wound. It was shallow and ugly. I fished the first aid kit out from under the sink. I wiped the wound clean with water first then gave it a second going over with the hydrogen peroxide.

I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it, bathed, dried, and bandaged the wound. I probably could have used a stitch or two. I made up for it with a few extra strands of medical tape. I slipped into jeans and an Orlando Magic T-shirt and packed last night’s clothes into the hamper. I shuffled back to my room and found Da

He sat in the window seat, which overlooked the street, his shorts and tank top soaked through with sweat. He’d given the bag a good work-over, and he still wore the gloves. He was a good-looking kid, taller than me, square shoulders and a flat belly. He was a sit-up junky from way back. At twenty-four years old, he was sixteen years my junior, and he’d been a surprise for my folks. Whereas I had a big square mug and a lump of granite for a chin, Da

Da

“Da

“Ma’s got breakfast ready.”

“Yeah. I smelled it. I hope there’s something left when Be

“Ma tell you to tell me to go back to school yet?”

“About twenty times a day.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think school’s for me.”

I tried another strategy. “Ain’t there like ten tons of gorgeous girls ru

“None of them are as good as Amber.”

I couldn’t disagree.

“Actually, I thought I might go to work.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe you could take me on down at the monkey cage.”

I made myself chuckle at him even though it wasn’t very damn fu

“Come on, Charlie. I hear you talking with those other guys. I know what goes on. I’m not a bookworm, okay? I’ve been in and out of college three times. I’m not cut out for it.”

“So what then?”

He flipped back the spare blanket at the foot of my bed. Underneath was my little Mac-10 machine pistol, the spare clips and the flash suppressor. The firing pin was busted, and I hadn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Also, a 9mm Browning automatic, three Marine combat knives, and a stun gun.

“We’ll talk later,” I said. “I’ve got the boys downstairs.”

Around the kitchen table three men frowned around mouthfuls of eggs and bacon. I was one of them. Coffee. Biscuits. More frowning. Ma had gone about her business. Let the boys talk.

We were all thinking the same thing. I didn’t need to be a mind-reader. Dead cops. Now what?

I had the briefcase down by my ankles. We hadn’t opened it. We didn’t know if we were supposed to. I hadn’t told them what I’d heard on the wire during Stan’s meeting with Beggar Johnson. But we knew our instructions. Take the briefcase to Beggar’s man Jeffers. The monkey cage wasn’t supposed to ask questions.

Be

Bob watched for my reaction.

I thought. Scratched my head. Drank coffee. Rubbed the stubble along my chin. Thought some more.

“Okay,” I said. “What’s our job is the question, right?” I looked at them.

They looked back.

Yeah, we were supposed to do what we were told. Sure. But we were also supposed to look out for the boss. If he went under, we were all sunk. “I’m going to call Stan.”

I told them to wait and went upstairs to use the phone in the bedroom. None of the other boys had Stan’s personal home number, so I dialed with reverence. He answered after five rings. Stan always answered his own phone.

“I got news.”

“Tell me.”

I told him.

“I see.” He didn’t really sound too surprised, went quiet for long seconds.

“Stan?”

“I’m deciding.”

I waited, ear glued to the phone. When he finally came back on the line, my heart jerked up in my throat. Anxious.

“Open the case,” said Stan.

“It’s locked.”

“Pry it open.”

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the bowie knife and pried open the latches in ten seconds flat. The briefcase contained two leather-bound ledgers, accounting books. I flipped through the pages. Rows of numbers. All Greek to me.

I told Stan.

“Bring it to my place. One hour.”

“You don’t want me to take it to Jeffers?”

“Who’s ru

I swallowed hard. “Right.”

“Charlie.”

“Yeah?”

“You done good.” His old, old sack-of-rocks voice sounded fatherly for just a second.

We hung up.

I went downstairs.

“I’m going to Stan’s.”

Be

“Listen,” I said. “We got to keep a lid on this. Take the mini-van and ditch it.” It was stolen anyway. “Dump the shotguns.” I handed over the.45s and the.38. “These too.” I had replacements.

“What about you?” asked Be

“I’ll get Da

They got up, and I showed them out. They had their marching orders, and I had mine.

I yelled for Da