S2: | | Quiet guy...keeps to himself. You look at 'im and
it looks like you could knock 'im down by starin' at 'im. Always dressed in a suit and
tie. Sittin' all day long in that shitty office on 33rd street. I think he's the only
tenant in the building. I went down there once to pick up a contract. It was late
day...winter...maybe around 6 at night...already dark. The elevator's out so I had to
take the stairs. Can't hardly see what I'm doin', half the hall lights been busted out
by bums and gangbangers. Trash all over the place, trippin' over my own fuckin' feet. I
get to the top and walk to the door but it's locked. I see a light through the glass so
I knock. Nothin'...but I'm hearin' voices on the inside. I can't make out what they're
sayin' though. So I knock again, nothin' again so I knock a third time and I'm about to
leave when I hear somebody walkin' toward the door. It opens up...some guy I never seen
before..not from around here...some stranger. He lets me in, doesn't say shit and points
to a chair...the only thing in the fuckin' room. I start to say somethin' but he just
walks away, goin' into Henry's office, closin' the door behind him. More talkin'...I
hear somethin' about a shopping mall in Des Moines, a chain of jewelry stores along the
West coast...crazy shit. I'm sittin' there like half an hour and I make up my mind to
get the hell out when I hear chairs movin' around, sounds like the meeting breakin' up.
A couple of minutes later two guys walk out. One of 'em is the stranger who came to the
door an' the other is Danny Logan from the Lounge. Crazy as hell. Word is, back in the
day, this Danny ran half the bookie joints in the Midwest. I did work for him years
back, treated me good. I know he recognized me but he didn't say shit. He came out of
there lookin' like he'd got a death sentence...sweatin', shakin'...that stranger behind
'im. Both of 'em walkin' out the door I came in. Soon as they was gone, out comes Henry,
real slow, standin' in the doorway with the contract in his hand. No hello, no how are
ya, just lookin' at me with those cold dead eyes. He hands me the paper, I sign it and
I'm gone. Couldn't wait to get outta there. Fuckin' place was all wrong. A couple'a
weeks later I hear somebody found Danny hangin' from a rope in the basement of his chop
shop over on Franklin and 45th. Never heard a thing about it after that...like it never
even happened. |