The Hard Bounce - страница 28
“Junior…”
“Just cover the dick up with your thumb,” Underdog said.
“No good,” I said. “You’d be hiding too much of the tattoo.” I showed him.
“Oh, man. Just seeing you do that is freaking me out. I’m not putting my thumb over any man’s dick.”
“Come on, Junior. It’s just a little picture.” I waggled the photo in his face.
He swatted my hand away. “Get that thing outta my face. No man, seriously. My rep.”
“Is your rep worth more or less than twenty-five grand?”
He stopped dead, rolling his cigarette between his teeth. “Hmm. Good point. Twelve thousand, five-hundred on the nose, actually.”
I paused. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”
“Damn straight.”
Three days passed. Nothing. Not a word or a trace.
Junior and me hit the ink shops with the picture of Snake and came up with zilch. A couple smartasses claimed the picture was of them. One guy got himself throttled by Junior when he made the mistake of cracking wise about our sexual predilections. The guy sobered up real fast when Junior grabbed his collar and shook the dude’s head like a maraca.
One place had two girls working the needles. They just snickered. I hoped I didn’t turn as red as Junior did.
The price tag on our reps was starting to feel pretty damn cheap.
“This is such bullshit!” Junior protested, slugging down another wine. We celebrated our humiliation the only way we knew how. We sat in The Cellar’s darkest corner and got loaded.
“It was worth a shot.” I was on my sixth round of beer and bourbon. My buzz took hold around the fourth round. The last two were insurance.
“Well, it was a bullshit shot. I can never get another tattoo in this town again. Christ! Probably not even in the whole goddamn state!”
“What’s left to tattoo, your taint?”
“What do you know about my taint?”
“As it is, you’re a walking Louvre.” Across the room, I could see Underdog stumbling through. Scanning the bar. I held my hand up and he saw me, returning the salute. He plopped himself in the chair across from me. “Drink?” I offered.
He waved his hand. “Nah. Prob’ly shouldn’t have any more.” Drunk as I was, I could tell he was on a whole other level of intoxication. I hoped it was just booze. “So!” He smacked his hands on the table, making the glasses rattle. “My buddy ran the picture for you. Got eleven matches on the snake tattoo. Factored in the probable age and hair type. Boiled it down to two.”
Junior and I looked at each other and sat up straight. “And?”
“Okay. First one. Marshall Conigliario-io-io.” Either Dog was having a hard time wrapping his tongue around the name or he was breaking out into a verse of Old MacDonald. “From Brockton.”
“So, what’s the deal? Is he our guy or what?” Junior asked.
“Nope,” said Underdog.
“Why not?” I asked.
“He’s up in Bridgewater doing eight to ten on armed robbery. Been there for two already.” He burped loudly. I smelled grapefruit juice. He held up his finger. “Second guy: Richie Dean in Allston.”
“You’re kidding me.” Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass if the girl had been in my own neighborhood the whole time?
“You got an address on the guy?” Junior asked. “Let’s go over there right now and tear him a new one.”
That would have been just dandy. A rescue at one in the morning by two drunks and a junkie.
“S’not him either. He’s dead. Motorcycle accident back in April.”
I was going to need another round to continue the conversation. I waved at Ginny and circled my finger over the table. She nodded.
“So what th’ fuck you telling us, Dog? You got nothin’ either?” My own words were starting to slip and slur.
“Not exactly. I was getting my copy of the picture back in the Vice office when one of the guys…” Dog blew out another acidic burp. “Yama. Japanese guy. You know him?”
“No.”
“Nice guy. Anyway, Yama sees the picture and recognizes it. Yama!” Underdog banged the table, like we would know him better the second time around. “Japanese guy?”
“Well, who the fuck is it, then?” Junior had had just about enough.
“No name. Just recognized the picture. Dick, too.”
“Yama’s a dick?”
“Noooooo. He recognized the dick.”