Chapter One Of My Memoir

I have this book subbed out to some big houses by my agent. This is who I was, not who I am, It was 1985. But just in case one of ya gets the time, you should check it out. The first editor to reject it says he wishes he could sell it, but kids don't buy gangster stories anymore. He did like it though

Anyway, I hope its worth your time




The Driver:
A Hell’s Kitchen Story
A memoir













Chapter One


The last thing I want to do on a beautiful fall day is help someone I hate rob dead people. I was done for the day, double parked in Midtown Manhattan waiting for a parking space. Fall was in the air, bringing the camouflage of early darkness to the sins and sinners of Hell’s Kitchen.

I put the car in drive and checked my rearview mirror. “I gotta get this cab back soon, or it’s going to cost me some serious money.”

What I really wanted to do was get rid of George Kelly.

George was a scumbag; there were no two ways about it. He was also a thief, though it wasn’t his larcenous nature that bothered me, it was his choice of victims. He robbed dead people. There was a friend downtown he called ‘The Judge’ who gave him power of attorney over people who were dying of AIDS. We had just spent the day emptying their bank accounts, which gave me a sickly feeling, so I was looking forward to getting rid of him.

A taxi pulled out of the Forty Second Street stand, so I pulled in, turned off the engine and took the key out of the ignition. The warning system dinged as I waited for some idea of what we were doing.

Tommy said, “Let’s go get a drink.”

I flinched my shoulders because he was talking to George.

“Sure,” George said, “I could use a cocktail.”

When we were out of the car and out of earshot I poked Tommy in the ribs, “Look man, I don’t like this fucking guy. I’m a little particular who I drink with.”

“Wayne, we just cleared eight grand for a few hours work, how am I supposed to tell him we don’t want to drink with him?” He looked resigned.

“We were supposed to get him safely in and out, so as far as I’m concerned, the job is over. I don’t want to hang out with him in one of these places, because he acts fucking poufy. He’ll get us killed with that ‘cocktail’ shit.” I thought for a second. “Let’s dump him on Eddie.” Eddie was my friend and coke dealer in the Camelot building on Forty Fifth Street and Eighth Avenue. “And then we can go for a few beers at one of the Irish bars, and I can get something to eat.”

“That ain’t a bad idea,” Tommy said, “He does want to cop. All we have to do is get him there and get him high, and then we can go to old lady McHale’s place.”

“I’d like one of those corned beef sandwiches.”

“You can have whatever you want,” he laughed. “We’re loaded.”

McHale’s Bar was a popular neighborhood hangout on the corner of Forty Sixth Street and Eighth Avenue. I’d heard a lot of stories about old lady McHale, but never met the woman myself. Still, I had a good opinion of her, because people, no matter how good or bad, spoke highly of her.

McHale’s had a better clientele than most of the other Irish bars in midtown. It was clean and well lit, plus they served food. You could get a sandwich and fries anywhere, but McHale’s served steaks and potatoes and shepherd’s pie. The drinks were a little more expensive, but that kept customers safe by keeping the hustlers and con artists out. In McHale’s, you didn’t have to be hyper aware of your surroundings.

We walked into a bustling crowd of businessmen and working class drinkers. It was a bit loud because the workday had ended and everyone was on their way to drunk.

“Give us a couple pints of Guinness,” Tommy said to the bartender, “and let me get a menu.” Then he looked at me, “Are you real hungry?”

“A little bit.”

“They have great rings and fries here, if you want something with your sandwich.”

“Good,” I said, “I’ll have both.”

All that, and a few beers later, I was in the middle of telling a prison story—a friend and I had set fire to my family’s house in April of 1982, leading to a two and a half year sentence—when I heard a voice behind me. I must have been louder than my usual obnoxious decibel because the fellow who asked the question came across the room.

“So, you’ve been to prison, huh?”

He had a ruddy look to him and a tough demeanor. He was dressed well, and though he wasn’t very tall, he was big. He looked like he could take care of himself. I was cautious because it was more of a confrontation than a question and I didn’t recognize the face. The hush that came over the crowd told me that he was someone to be bargained with.

“I did a few years in Connecticut,” I said.

I was careful to show some respect but not too much. Congenial, like I was answering a curiosity seeker. He looked like he didn’t believe me when I answered him, so he said, “I had a friend who did time in Danbury.”

“Federal time, huh,” I said. His doubt seemed to ease a little, “I was in Somers, a hundred miles away from your friend, doing state time.”

He was starting to realize I was telling the truth, so I kept going. “I wish I did my time in Danbury, though. I hear the food was twice as good in a Fed joint.”

He smiled. “Then you should have been a counterfeiter instead of a firebug,” he said, “They feed you better and they give you less time.”

“Am I really that loud?” He nodded and pointed to the table where his friends were laughing.

I noticed Tommy spinning his drink glass nervously. He was a liquor salesman and McHale’s was a popular spot, so if my inquisitor was the owner or manager he would have known him. He could get a little overbearing when he was drinking, but he was unusually quiet. It didn’t scare me, but it did make me a little more leery.

“I’m Wayne,” I said, offering my hand. “And this is my friend Tommy.” I motioned to him and he offered his as well.

“I was actually going to head out,” Tommy said, “I have a few bars to hit on my way home.”

Tommy and I did the rounds together sometimes, but this wasn’t one of those nights, so it was obvious he was nervous. He got up.

“Whoa,” the stranger protested. “Don’t I even get a chance to buy you guys a drink?” He was being insistent so Tommy sat back down.

“I’m not in that big a rush.”

I looked back to the stranger hovering behind me. “So, what’s your name?” Before he could answer the table of toughs he was sitting with broke out laughing again. “Did I say something funny?” It was obvious I was the only one who wasn’t in on the joke.

The stranger waved at his pals and put his hand on my shoulder. “Pardon my friends,” he said, “but they have no couth.” He smiled his wry grin again. “I’m Jimmy. They call me Jimmy C.” And this time he offered his hand.

I pressed the flesh and changed the subject. “I didn’t realize I was being so loud. It’s just that I’m a little hard of hearing.”

He leaned in and said, “You need to keep your business quiet in this neighborhood. Believe me.”

I nodded.

I started to get a little nervous, because as good a guy as Tommy was he had a propensity for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time when he had too much to drink. Usually it didn’t bother me, but I could tell from the general heaviness in the air that these were the wrong guys to fuck with. That fear increased when Jimmy settled onto the bar stool next to me.

To my delight Tommy pushed his drink forward in a resigned fashion and announced his departure.

“Jimmy, it was nice to meet you, but business calls. I have some vodka to sell. Thanks for the drink, though. Maybe I can return the favor someday.” He shook Jimmy’s hand again and turned to me, “You coming?”

Jimmy cut him off. “I’m not done with Wayne here yet. I like this kid.” He put his arm around my shoulder and said, “You can hang right?” I saw no way out, nor did I want one.

“I’ll see you back at the house,” I said to Tommy. “I won’t be long.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll see you later then,” and he made his way towards the door.
I felt oddly secure sitting there with Jimmy. People seemed to be afraid of him and I liked that. When I was young my father owned a bar, and among the customers there were gangsters and killers. I played cards with the killers and ran errands for the gangsters, so it had a familiar feel to it.

Within a few minutes of Tommy’s departure, Jimmy’s boys got up from their booth and headed straight for us. Instead of joining us, two of them said their goodbyes and left. The other sat at a stool about ten feet away, ordered a drink, picked up a newspaper and settled in like he was staying a while. I figured I would be blunt.

“Your friend there, is he antisocial or something, Jim?”

It must have struck the right chord, because Jimmy started laughing. “He’s a lot more than that, kid,” he said. “He’s a lot more than that.”

“Whatever he is,” I shook my head, “it’s bad manners.”

Jimmy took a swig of his drink, and from his expression he agreed with me.

“Hey Kevin, this here is Wayne. Wayne, this is Kevin.”

We nodded to each other, and I sensed his immediate dislike. I also realized I was getting drunk, not hard for me to do since I rarely drank, so I blamed the feeling on that.

The question I feared came out of Jimmy’s mouth next. “How about your friend Tommy there, is he antisocial, or is he some kind of fag?”

I laughed, “I’m not sure Jim, but it doesn’t really matter.” I looked around and lowered my voice. “He’s a casual acquaintance, but a real good customer. I don’t discriminate when it comes to money.”

He looked like he was sizing me up. “So what’s with the ‘see you back at the house’ stuff then?”

I looked around, “I deliver. I’m waiting to re-up, and he’s the first of a couple of stops for me when I do.”

Jimmy didn’t ask any further questions. By this time I knew he was in the drug business. You could always spot the drug dealers in New York City. They were the ones not talking about it.

“When you were ranting before, this friend, the guy who you said laughed about you for not ratting him out, is he still alive?”

He was observant enough to have figured out that I wasn’t the killing type, so I laughed at the query and started in on Mike Refalo, my partner in crime and the guy the State of Connecticut really wanted. The detectives in my case offered me a deal to help them put Mike in prison.

“That scumbag,” I stopped for a second, “People told me he was going around town telling people I was an idiot for not taking a deal to rat him out.”

I picked up my beer, “And to top it all off, he said he would have ratted me out in a second.” Jimmy didn’t interrupt me when I was done with my sip, so I continued.“My brother Kenny went to his house drunk once while I was locked up, and started firing his shotgun in the air screaming ‘Come out you motherfucker.’”

He started to laugh out loud now. “I would have loved to be there for that, kid. I like your brother, there ain’t enough people like him in this world.”

I agreed. “Yeah, my brother is a good guy, Jim. He’s loyal if nothing else. That’s not something you see a lot of anymore.”

“No it isn’t.”


We sat there as I nursed my beer for the next hour talking about football, baseball, and the neighborhood. We exchanged war stories and laughed at ourselves until I really had to go. I tried to get away by making different excuses, but Jimmy wasn’t buying any of them.

“I like you kid and I don’t know why.”

I downed my drink and said, “Maybe it’s my boyish good looks,” I regretted saying it until Jimmy laughed.

“That’s it,” he said “I’m queer for you.” He laughed again. He got his friend’s attention and threw him a quarter, “Hey Kevin, put on a show tune,” he said, motioning to the jukebox. “You are a funny motherfucker, though.” He sat back down, “I do like a guy who knows how to keep his mouth shut, too. That loyalty thing you talked about must run in the family.”

“They fucked me though, Jim. They lied and sent me to prison when they promised they wouldn’t. I was twenty years old, and I had no record, but they sent me to prison,” I shrugged. “Tell ya the truth, I don’t think they would have honored their agreement if I did rat Mike out.”

He clapped me on the back admiringly, “But you didn’t know that, and you kept your mouth shut. That takes a special kind of person, kid. I could use a guy like that.”

I could see that the booze was having an effect on Jimmy, so I told him flat out that I had to go, and insisted when he started to reject it.

“I have business to attend to Jim, in fact I have good customers waiting on me, and so I gotta go.”
“Have one more beer.”

“I really have to go this time,” I said, “I have three stops to make on the way home, and my old man gets crazy when I come in too late and wake him up. Besides, I’m a little drunk and a little tired and I have to work tomorrow.”

I got up to leave and Jimmy grabbed me by the arm. “Give me your phone number kid, I may have some work for you,” he said. “I gotta ask you something though, and don’t get defensive.”

He paused and looked like he was trying to think of a nice way to ask the question.

“That story you were telling about your friend…is it true?” Then he added quickly, “Listen, I don’t want you to get insulted. I’ve told a few lies in my day. I just need to know, kid… Maybe I can use a guy who knows how to shut up when he’s in trouble. You can make some serious money with me.”

I wasn’t insulted at all. I had Jimmy pegged as a guy with work, and I knew he had to ask the question if he was offering me a job. I knew gangsters from my father’s bar and I knew from Jimmy’s demeanor that he was connected to something. I heard a lot about the Hell’s Kitchen Irish mobsters, and even though I didn’t know who he was yet, I knew he was money.

I looked him in the eyes and said “Jimmy, I swear on my mother’s life that it’s true. Of course I tell a lot of lies, man, everyone does. But check it out if you want.”

I looked at the clock and said “I really gotta go pal, but here’s my phone number.” I wrote it down and handed it to him. “I live with my dad so if you can be discreet I’d appreciate it.”

“I was going to ask you about that before,” he said. “Why do you live with your old man?”

I was in a rush, so I didn’t want to get into the complexities of my past living situation. It was a strange enough story to get him asking more questions, so I decided to lie.

“I just broke up with my girl.” I said, “Fucking Spanish broads are crazy.”

“They’re sexy as hell though, huh?”

“That they are.”

“You need to stay away from those Spanish broads.”

“Uh-huh, them and booze, and cigarettes, and breathing…”

I said it as I started walking away, but he called me back. I stopped for his parting words. “Do you know who I am?” He asked.

“No I don’t Jim, but I do know what you are.” And with that I walked to the door and waved. “I have people waiting for me…”


I was greeted outside by the freaks and the insanity. The cold air cleared my head a little. Being a seasoned street person, I felt comfortable in the madness. I felt the bustle and rush of nighttime New York energy, and I was home. The darkness and the red neon lights of the bars and peep shows were scary or obscene to a lot of people, but to me it was familiar and warm. I made it to the taxi stand, got into my cab and drove to the East Village.

When I saw Tommy standing outside the Centre Pub he didn’t look happy, but when he punched me in the chest and grabbed me by the neck it caught me completely off guard.

“Don’t say a fucking word, just get in the backyard.” I resisted the urge to hit him back as I pulled myself away.

He wasn’t as drunk as he seemed back at McHale’s. I followed him, ready to get pissed off, when he spun around.

“Do you have any idea who that motherfucker was?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Your new friend is Jimmy Coonan, you idiot!”

The name meant nothing to me. “Who cares,” I said, “Who the hell is Jimmy Coonan, anyway, a gangster?” I scoffed. “Jesus, Tommy, I’ve dealt with tougher guys than him before I was in grade school.”

Tommy looked concerned, “Wayne. This guy is more than a tough guy or a gangster. He’s Jimmy fucking Coonan. He’s a psycho killer. He kills his friends and cuts them into little pieces. You gotta stay away from him.”

“I don’t care who he is, I’m not going to see this guy again as long as I live. Tommy, I don’t even hang out in midtown.” I could see him soften up somewhat when it seemed like I was telling the truth.

He pushed me against the wall and said, “Don’t entertain strangers in a place like that, you never know who the hell you’re dealing with.” He slapped my face lightly but pointedly, “He’s a real bad guy Wayne, and I’m not fucking around about that. You have no idea how scared I was when you decided to stay behind with Charles Manson there.”

I laughed and pushed him away. I started walking back into the bar knowing I was going to hear from Jimmy Coonan again. I didn’t care who or what he was, I liked the way he carried himself. I knew Tommy wasn’t exaggerating, but there was a lot to consider.


Eddie gave it to me with both barrels as I got to the bar. “I told him and I’m going to tell you, don’t bring people like George Kelly to my house. It took me two hours to get rid of him.”

“Sorry, Ed,” I said, “I was the driver, not the navigator.” I motioned to Tommy. “It was his idea.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Tommy spit out. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Hang on a sec,” I said, and turned to Eddie. “Did he unload some of his ill gotten gains on you?”
“Oh yeah,” his eyes lit up. “He was very generous.”

“Then it was all good, and no one got hurt, and I need a fucking Coca Cola. Can I have a drink as we discuss this?”

“I’ll take a vodka cranberry,” Tommy said.

“Tommy’s buying,” I announced.

“Bullshit,” he said.

“Fuck you, O’Hara,” Eddie said. “You shanty Irish cocksucker. You haven’t bought a drink in this place, including your own, for months. Kick up huh?”

Tommy pointed to me, “He has as much money as I do.”

“He,” Eddie said, “spends money in this place.”

“So do I.”

“Yes you do, but you spend in spurts, so I have to get you while you have it. Wayne spends money all the time.” Then he turned to me, “Where the hell do you get your money from, anyway?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to hear the answers to,” I said.

Eddie knew from my tone I was trying to change the subject, so he did. He went after Tommy for not calling before coming over to the house and dumping off George. I started thinking of the cash flow that was about to start with my new friend and mass murderer, Jimmy Coonan.
I had four grand in my pocket, and a job waiting in the wings. Life was good.

I read it o_o
I like it so far... you should have had part 2 and 3 already posted lol D:

I have 320 pages written. I'm hoping an editor wants to read on too

Chapter Two

I busied myself with other things for the next few days, which was hard for me. There was a growing cocaine problem, and the main trigger for the craving was boredom. Distraction was the only relief that worked for me, and that relief came one day in the way of a telephone call. I knew it was Jimmy as soon as I picked up the phone.

“Hey, I’m glad I got you kid, how ya doing?”

“I’m glad you got me too,” I clasped the phone between my head and shoulder, “I’m bored out of my fucking mind, is how I’m doing. I’m sitting here waiting for the grim reaper to show up. At least dropping dead would be something to do.”

“I think I have something right up your alley then,” he said. “I can use someone to escort me tonight. I have a few errands to do, and can use someone to stand there and look scary.”

“I don’t know how scary I can look on such short notice.”

He laughed.

“You stand next to me, and you’ll be scary enough for these mugs.”

There was no doubt in my mind about that. I wasn’t exaggerating about being bored out of my mind and was actually looking forward to seeing Charlie Manson again. I liked the guy.

“Meet me at the Blarney Stone in an hour, and we’ll do what I need to do, and then we can go get something to eat.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “I’ll see you there.”

My brother Kenny and my father were home. They looked comfortable, like they weren’t going anywhere, so I put on my jacket.

“I’ll see you guys later, I have a date,” I said, and whisked out the door before either of them could ask me about it. They were good about not being nosey when it came to my activities as long as I wasn’t coming home wasted. We got along pretty well considering the tight quarters.

My father always said, “All you have to do is put your hand in the air in this neighborhood, and you can be anywhere in the world in a few hours.”

I hailed a cab, and got in.

“The Blarney Stone on Eighth Avenue, near Madison Square Garden,” I said, “anywhere near that is good.” I knew from my limited taxi driving experience, that it was a bad neighborhood for traffic. “Even Seventh Avenue would be good. I can walk from there.”

The city was jumping, the traffic was deep, and I started getting anxious before we got to the bridge. I didn’t want to keep Jimmy waiting, dreading the idea that he might get impatient and go about his business without me. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get down to business, to find out what I could do to make some money. I had a plan, and if Jimmy was in, it was genius.

One night a man hailed me, and put a bunch of luggage in the trunk. He gave me the address to a building and said, “The doorman will hold the luggage for me, I’ll pick it up later.” Then he handed me a twenty dollar bill and off he went.

Since my encounter with Jimmy, I thought about how easy it would be to run drugs, guns, whatever, with a taxicab. If the police pulled me over, I was clean. The bags belonged to someone else. “Who?” “I didn’t know. Some man hailed me and…” There were details to be worked out, but it was a good idea. It was a way around an intent to sell charge.

Making small deliveries on foot, or with the cab, was making me chump change. If I had enough weight on me or had it packaged up, it was more than just a possession charge. If I was caught, it was a felony. This way I was just a dumb cab driver who got duped. There would be hell to pay, but I wouldn’t go to prison.

The cocaine explosion that hit New York in the early 1980’s was a huge money maker for the people who were dealing. I watched Eddie make tons of money selling at The Centre Pub. Crack cocaine was the new thing, and there were people selling it on practically every street corner. I wanted to get out of my father’s apartment, I wanted to get away from New York, but I knew I would never be able to do that driving a cab for a living. Therefore I wanted in on the drug business. If I played my cards right, Jimmy Coonan was going to be the ticket out of my life.

The driver cut down to Forty Fifth Street on Second Avenue which wasn’t too bad, but when he turned to head west it was a mess. “I’ll get out here and walk,” I told him, then threw him some cash and got out.

During busy times in the city, I was faster on foot because I could fly if I needed to. I hated to stiff the driver on the distance of the ride, but tipped him well to make up for it. I headed west through the chaos, intent on getting to The Blarney Stone on time.

By the time I got to Eighth Avenue sweat was pouring down my face. It was cool outside, but between the anxiety and the sprint across town I looked like I’d run a marathon. When I threw the door to the bar open Jimmy was still there, huddled over his drink talking to a pretty blonde. She looked a little drunk and he looked like he was on the make, so as happy as I was to see him I hated to disturb the man.

He must have already noticed me, because he motioned me over before turning around. I walked to where he was and he clapped me on the back and said, “How are you, pal?” Then he hesitated, looked at the girl and asked her, “What was your name again, darling?”

“Michelle.”

He touched her cheek, said, “Sure it is,” and then looked at me again and said, “Wayne, this is Michelle. Michelle, Wayne.”

I shook her hand, “Hi, Michelle,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She smiled back. “Likewise.”

It was apparent Michelle was a call girl or a dancer. It was her mannerisms more than a brashness of any kind. She had a quiet bravado that I liked in a woman. My thoughts were interrupted by the man I had come to see.

“You look like you came from the gym, kid, what were you doing, working out?”

“I had to run across town, Jim,” I wiped my forehead, “Traffic was a real bitch.”

He wasn’t disturbed by it. “That’s okay, kid, at least now you look like the scary motherfucker I need tonight.”

He laughed, turned his attention to Michelle, and said something to her that I couldn’t make out in all the noise. Then she touched my arm, waved ‘goodbye’, and made her way to a small group of women a few feet away.

”So, what’s going on, kid?” Jimmy asked over the music.

The noise was overbearing and I didn’t like to shout, so I leaned in close to his ear and said, “I’ll be better when we get the hell out of here.”

“Give me a minute to finish my drink, and we’ll go.” I caught a glimpse of the bartender coming over, waved to him and ordered a Coca Cola, “What are you, wimping out on me tonight?” Jimmy asked.

“Business first, right?”

He smiled and took a swig of his drink. “I like a guy with discipline.”

He drained his glass and got up from his stool.

“C’mon, we better get moving.”


Out in the fresh air, I felt better. Jimmy headed for a blue LTD parked at the curb, and got in. The same guy he called Kevin when we met in McHale’s was sitting behind the wheel. From the vibe he was giving off, it looked like he still hadn’t warmed up to me. He was high from the looks of his eyes. I didn’t like anyone driving me around stoned, but I got in the back seat anyway. Jimmy turned to his driver.

“Kevin, you remember this face from old lady McHale’s place, right?”

Kevin turned to me with his stoned blank stare. “Hi,” and that was it.

“So, where to?” Jimmy asked me. I had no idea what he was asking. I thought he was asking Kevin the question but he was looking at me.
“What do you mean, Jim?”

Jimmy turned around and asked again, “Where to?” I started to get nervous because he didn’t seem jovial the way he had a week ago in McHale’s, or the way he seemed a few minutes ago in The Blarney Stone. He was a little cold, and he wasn’t fooling around.

I thought about how to ask, and then ended up asking again, the exact same way. “What do you mean?” I got a bad feeling from his reaction.

“Your guy,” he said, “where does he live? Where does he operate out of?”

He wasn’t kidding around. I thought about the prospect of showing up at Eddie’s apartment unannounced with a gangster in tow. I didn’t know what to say, so the panic began. Jimmy must have read my train of thought because he said, “Don’t think about it kid, just say it. Where are we going?”

I still didn’t know how to answer him so I blurted out, “Jim, this guy isn’t just a drug dealer. He’s my friend. We can’t rob him.”

As soon as I said it, the two of them started laughing. “Just drive, Kev,” Jimmy said.

We pulled away from the curb and started uptown on Eighth Avenue towards Central Park. Jimmy turned around to look at me when he had composed himself.
“I’m not going to rob your friend, kid. I just want to talk to the guy.” He softened his tone, “Ya see this is my neighborhood and nobody deals in my neighborhood for free, plus, I get to check out your story and make sure you’re who you say you are, it’s that simple.”

“So, you’re going to tax him?”

“It’s business.”

Tommy was right. I was regretting my friendship with Jimmy C. already.

“Forty Fifth Street and Eighth Avenue, the Camelot building,” I said, “He lives in apartment 4D.”

Kevin started to cut over to the right but I interrupted him.

“Go around on Ninth Avenue.”

He hesitated so I repeated myself a little more firmly.

“Go around on Ninth Avenue. I do this all the time, the traffic is better on Ninth.”

“Listen to the kid, he knows what he’s talking about,” Jimmy cut in. “All that theater traffic on Broadway is murder.”

Kevin started to cut over to the left then and said, “What about the tunnel traffic, that’s just as bad.”

“Just stay to the left when you get to Ninth, and you’ll be fine,” I said. “It’ll still be tough, but nowhere near as bad as Broadway at this time of night.”
Kevin nodded grudgingly and swerved over, then turned left on Fifty Third Street and headed to Ninth.

“The kid here is a cab driver, he knows of what he speaks.” Jimmy smirked, “I have friends in high places kid, and I found out a lot about you.” He looked with disdain at a double parked police cruiser, “I also checked into the fire you lit in Connecticut. I’m impressed with you, you really could have cut a deal and you didn’t, and that makes you a stand up guy.”

“I wish he saw it that way, the fucking scumbag,” I said.

I was wondering who he had been talking to about me. My record was supposed to be sealed, so even if he had a friend who had a friend, this was tough information to get your hands on.

“It doesn’t matter how your pal sees it kid,” Jimmy said. “It’s the guy in the mirror you have to deal with. It’s also a good reputation to have in the street. No one will ever question you around me.”

When I saw the chance to confront him I jumped on it. “Then why are you going to fuck with my friend Eddie?”

He laughed again.

“I’m not going to hurt your friend. I’m going to help him. If he’s not buying from one of my guys, he’s getting low quality shit, and his money is going to niggers and spics.”
He turned to face me.

“Besides, if he gets from my guy, he keeps his spot and I don’t charge him a dime for it.”

Ninth Avenue was empty, so we cruised down to Forty Fourth Street and cut across back to Eighth Avenue again. Jimmy was quiet the rest of the ride, so I followed suit and didn’t say a word. I didn’t know how Eddie was going to react to me bringing a stranger to his house, and I was praying his roommate Ernie wasn’t home. The whole thing was bad, but it was going to get worse if he was. Ernie was a tough guy as well as a drug dealer, and that was maybe about to get him killed.

As much as that worried me, I also wanted to get my foot in the door with Jimmy. I started to feel uneasy about that tradeoff as Kevin pulled over to the curb in front of The Camelot.

“Let me talk to the doorman,” I said to Jimmy as we got out of the car. “I know this guy.”

I actually didn’t know the doorman all that well, so he didn’t recognize me. I asked him to ring up to Eddie’s apartment, and he picked up the phone. “Tell him it’s Wayne,” I said, and we waited for a response.

He got one obviously, because he looked up and said, “Wayne is here with?” It was a question. He was asking Jimmy his name.

Jimmy said, “A friend.”

The doorman said into the receiver, “Fred.” Jimmy kneed me in the back of the leg playfully when he said it, and I started laughing.

The doorman didn’t seem to notice, and said, “Go ahead up.”

I signed the guest log, but Jimmy walked past it.

“Listen Jim,” I said when we got on the elevator, “with all due respect, I’ve known Eddie for a long time, and he’s like a brother to me. If this can be done nicely, I’d really appreciate it.”

He lit a cigarette, “I’m always nice.” The elevator reached four and the door banged open, “Unless someone gives me a reason not to be.”

We walked down the hall and I knocked on the door. Eddie answered and looked at Jimmy a little surprised. He knew someone was coming up with me, but I don’t think he knew it was going to be a rough looking mother like him. He was immediately apprehensive.

“Hey, Wayne,” he said in his gravel voice. He looked at Jimmy and said, “Hi Fred, how are you?”

We both started laughing as soon as he said it. “No Ed, this is Jimmy,” I said. “Your doorman is deaf or something. Jimmy was fucking around, and said ‘a friend’, and somehow it translated into Fred.”

Eddie waved us in. “That doorman is a fucking moron is all there is to it. It’s okay though, he’s nice enough.”

He was alone and that was good, because if Ernie was there it certainly would have been confrontational. I didn’t know how Jimmy reacted to confrontation yet, but I assumed it wasn’t passive aggressive. We got inside.

“Do you guys want something to drink?” Eddie asked.

We both declined and got to the matter at hand.

“Wayne tells me that you’re in business for yourself,” Jimmy said, “and I was wondering what kind of deal you have. I think we can do business if you’re willing to listen.”

Eddie was small, but he wasn’t small statured. He was a tough Vietnam Vet, and he was standing his ground with his casual responses. I loved that about him.
“I’m pretty happy with the deal I have, but if you’ve got something better, I’d be glad to listen.”

I saw the opportunity to break away from the conversation and took it.

“I’m going to leave you guys to talk,” I said, “since this is between y’all.” I looked at Eddie, “As long as that’s okay with you?”

Eddie said, “Sure, we’re good.” So I went into the living room to sit on the couch. I turned on the TV set, settled in, and took the opportunity to roll a joint and take a few whacks of it. It wasn’t five minutes before Eddie and Jimmy called me back into the bedroom. I heard an excited tone in Eddie’s voice, so I started feeling better about the whole thing. I got up and went to the doorway to greet them both as they were coming out.

“Are you guys good?” I asked no one in particular.

“Your friend here is okay with the powers that be kid,” Jimmy said. “He’s hooked in with the right people.”

I knew Eddie dealt with a guy named Caesar, and that Caesar was connected, so it all made sense. He must have been hooked in with Jimmy’s crew, and that made everything good all around. I chalked it up to it being a small world, and sensed that Jimmy wanted to get out of there.

“I gotta go to the bathroom quick,” I said, dismissing myself, and went to take a piss.

When I was done Jimmy was standing near Eddie’s TV set, holding up a VHS tape that I recognized. It was a movie called Lipstick starring Margaux Hemingway as a woman who kills her rapist after he sexually assaults her sister, played by Mariel Hemingway.

Jimmy was saying, “This is a fine fucking piece of cinematography, but it’s Hollywood,” as I came out of the bathroom and turned into the bedroom. “I know people who are into real hardcore porn, it’s a sick business.”

I looked at Jimmy, “I thought we were going?”

He put the tape down and said, “Let’s go then,” and we headed out the door. I gave Eddie a manhug as we said goodbye, and then Jimmy and I went down the hall to the elevator.

“Those movies are strange shit,” I said to break the silence. “I’ve met people who were into that shit in prison and on Forty Second Street. They were different than other people.”

He laughed. “That kind of shit is more normal than you think, kid. It’s the fucking biggest moneymaker in porn. And, porn is making people a lot of fucking money. I’m not into it myself, but I know a few people who are.”

I could tell he was talking about illegal porn, and he wasn’t kidding around with me. “How dark does it really get?” I asked him.

His voice made my blood run cold.

“Black dark.”

Yeah i really would like to just have this in book form so i can keep reading it.. lol im enjoying it. Im into books like this.

+rep

wait what... awesome read. keep it coming!!

I think if you have all this written on your computer you need to send me a copy cause id prolly end up blowing right through it...haha

reads great man keep it coming!

Thanks guys. I have twenty more chapters. I'm glad you're enjoying it

Chapter Three


We walked through the lobby, bid goodnight to the doorman who was a moron but nice enough, and strode out into the street. Kevin was fast asleep behind the wheel, leaning back with his mouth open like a passed out drunk. He was the antithesis of a wheelman; like he had pulled over to the side of the road to sleep it off.

Jimmy slammed the side of the car as hard as he could, “Look at this asshole,” he said. “He’s out of control with that shit.” He smacked the car again, “I can’t trust anybody anymore.” He looked at me, “Never surround yourself with druggies when your life is on the line, kid. They’ll just fuck you up.”

I considered that too much information to be shouting in the street, but wasn’t about to try to shut the guy up. As I quietly got into the back seat Jimmy smacked Kevin in the back of the head from his position in the front. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Kevin acted indignant. “I’m tired Jim, I was up all night.” He started the car and pulled out onto the street. “I can’t be expected to keep these kinda hours.”

I stayed silent. I had no idea where we were going, but sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.


“Listen,” Jimmy started again, “if you can’t lay off that shit, I’ll do you the favor of putting a bullet in your head myself. Between you and these other assholes around me, I’m fed up with this shit.” He wiped his eyes hard with his thumbs, “C’mon, we’re headed to see The Yugo.”

I had no idea what The Yugo was, but at least we had a direction. It was nice to be getting away from the scene of the incident. Moving meant moving on, and I wanted Jimmy as far away from his anger as possible. I lit a cigarette and settled deep into the seat.

“What’s The Yugo?” I was as surprised by my voice as either of them.

“The Yugo isn’t what,” Kevin said. “The Yugo is who.”

“Who?”

“The Yugo is a who. He’s a person.”

“Then why is it ‘The’ Yugo?”

Jimmy laughed. “It’s not his name; it’s ‘The Yugo’ as in ‘The Yugoslavian’. I don’t even think he’s Yugoslavian if you ask me, I think he’s from one of those Eastern European shitholes, and he just wants people to think he’s from Yugoslavia.”

Kevin looked at him, “Yugoslavia is an Eastern European shithole.” We laughed.

I was confused by all of it.

“Cool,” I said.


We drove in silence for a while. There was a lot of traffic between us and the furthest end of the west side, most of which was heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.
“Goddamn Jersey traffic!” Jimmy said.

Then his mood changed.

“And by the way kid, your friend’s father is hooked in with some of the guys I know in North Jersey.”

People in Connecticut, where I set my family’s house on fire, talked about Mike’s father being connected to the mob, but I didn’t think about it much then. I had heard the mobbed-up claim from so many people that it usually just went over my head. “You were really checking up on me.”

“I check up on everyone,” he answered.

I was impressed by his ability to get information, but also a little freaked out by how easy it was for him.

“How the hell did you find out anything about my case?” I leaned forward, “The record is supposed to be sealed. That was what I was told when I pleaded out.”

“I’m a man of great means, kid.” He rolled down the window, and flicked his cigarette out. “I didn’t need to dig real deep.” Then he slapped his knee, “Oh, I know that you weren’t lying to me about getting fucked on the deal they offered you, either. I’m really starting to think you’ve got character.”

“Thanks, Jim.”

Kevin cursed, frustrated by the traffic, and because he was so stoned it was comical. Finally, he said, “Fuck this shit, I’m pulling over, you guys can walk from here.”

Jimmy clearly didn’t like being told to walk, but he let it go with a groan. “Just be awake when I get back,” he said, as we emptied out onto the sidewalk. Kevin grumbled something inaudible as we got out, so Jimmy waved his hand at him as we walked away from the car. “Fucking junkie,” he muttered.


We crossed the street, and I followed him towards a warehouse that looked like it had been abandoned for some time. “I hope your friend doesn’t live here. This place looks like the rats moved out.”

“This isn’t his house. It’s his place of business.” It looked like one of the old brewery buildings that my father pointed out to me years ago, wide and tall, dull grey from the smoke and dirt. There were signs and graffiti, warnings and notices posted here and there, and it all blended into the background of the large ugliness of the far west side of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Where’s the entrance?” I asked.

“Down,” he said, reaching for the metal basement door. It screamed open when he pulled on it. He gestured into the darkness, “After you.”

The stairs creaked under my weight, but when Jimmy followed close behind they shrieked like they were going to cave in. “I hate this place,” he said.

The step groaned louder.

“I’m not impressed with it, either,” I said.

There was a crack of light behind a large wooden door, and I could make out someone’s shadow moving behind it. A muffled voice verified that whatever it was, it was human, so I knocked.

“Who’s that?” a man’s voice yelled.

I looked back at Jimmy and shrugged my shoulders. “It’s Wayne,” he said.

“Who?”

“Wayne,” Jimmy said, sterner this time.

“Who the fuck…” He opened the door to Jimmy’s smiling face, and he smiled back. “Jimmy baby, where’ve you been, my friend,” the mean looking fellow smiled at me and said, “You must be Wayne.” I extended my hand which he shook. “C’mon in guys, I hate having this door open.”

We had to duck to get through the door, but once inside the ceiling was pretty high. It was dreary and dark, and it smelled like bad plumbing. There were two street punks sitting at a table in the middle of the expansive room, bagging up powder from what looked like a few kilo pile. There were two handguns on the table, one positioned next to each of them, like they were getting ready to shoot an intruder named Wayne.

“Jim, we’re right on schedule,” The Yugo said. “It’s just a matter of getting the word from one of these greaseball friends of yours.” He looked at me. “Is it cool to talk in front of this one?”

“This kid is cool as they come,” Jimmy said. “He’s my new protégé.” He motioned for me to come over, “By the by kid, this mannerless prick is The Yugo,” then he motioned to the two at the table. “And the two mooks over there, are Mike and Mike.”

I saluted to the two at the table.

“How am I supposed to tell you two apart?”

“They’re both assholes,” Jimmy quipped, “so I have no idea.”

I laughed, even though the two at the table didn’t. “See what I mean?” he asked.

“We need to talk about that thing…” The Yugo cut in, “and I need to show you something in back.”

“Yugo and I need to have a private conversation kid. You hang here with these two mugs and try to behave yourself.” Then they went through a door to the left and disappeared.

A conversation with the two at the table was a waste of time since they didn’t show me any love when Jimmy was in the room. Besides, they were occupied with what they were doing. So instead of trying to make friends I crossed my arms and tried my best to look bored.

After a while Jimmy and The Yugo came back from the other room, and Jimmy called me over.

“Listen kid, if you want the job, I can use a runner.”

I nodded yes and he continued.

“Yugo, this kid is as good as gold. I had him checked out, and he passed.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “He’ll only show up here on my orders, and you know I never give orders, so he’s cool.”


The Yugo took the piece of paper.

“He’s going to be our new territory connection. This is important,” he looked at me intently, “you don’t talk to anyone, and I mean anyone, about this. You’ll get us all killed or thrown in prison.”

I should have been nervous about my new position, but I was too busy beaming. I felt like I was part of something. I did have one question, though.

“Jim,” I started, “I have a question that may or may not piss you off, but it needs to be asked.”

“Go ahead kid,” he answered. “There are no stupid questions.” He indicated the two at the table. “Except for the ones these two ask.”

“Okay,” I said, “if, and I do mean if, I do get popped with one of these deliveries, what do I do? I mean, you have to have a lawyer I can call, right?”

Jimmy turned to me and got real serious.

“First things first, kid. I need you to know that if you rat on me I’ll kill your whole family. I’m not kidding you about that. It’s all business until you start talking to the cops, then it’s more than personal.” He smiled, “I got a nice Jew lawyer for you to call and he’ll take care of you.” He looked at The Yugo. “Tell the kid how good The Jew is.”

The Yugo said, “This Jew prick would have gotten Charles Manson off. If you get in trouble, you shut up and wait for the cavalry. The Jew is the cavalry.”

“On another note kid,” Jimmy said, “I’m glad you asked that question, because it shows that you’re thinking, and it shows that you like to be prepared. People who don’t prepare for shit end up talking, and inevitably dead.”

He put his hand on my shoulder.

“It also shows me that you’re thinking about not talking, which I expect from you.” He pushed me playfully. “But I will kill you if you change sides on me.” He grabbed me by the ears and looked as serious as I had seen him, “I like you kid. So don’t make me do it.”

“I don’t rat,” I said, “but I understand where you’re coming from.”

I looked at The Yugo.

“I met a lot of guys in prison who were there because their partners ratted them out. In fact I met a guy whose kid ratted him out,” I shook my head, “so I hope you understand that the question had to be asked.”

I looked back to Jimmy.

“I also know that the longer they have you in custody, the better the leverage they have on you.” I lit a cigarette. “Eddie’s guy gave him a number to call, and I thought it would be a good idea to have someone to call in case of emergency.”

Jimmy feigned a punch to my stomach. “You’re pretty smart for a fuckin’ cab driver.”

The Yugo patted my back. “So, do you need a pick-me-up?” He motioned to the table full of powder. I did, but I didn’t want to say so.

“No, thanks.”

“You don’t do?”

“Oh, I do,” I said, “I just don’t mix business with pleasure. Besides, I do drugs, I don’t need them.”

Jimmy looked proud as I said it. “That’s my boy.”


When we finished our business and climbed up out of the basement it had been at least an hour since we left Kevin alone in the car. I was convinced he was going to be fast asleep again, but I was wrong. Jimmy’s angry rant had an effect on him. He was leaning against the car smoking a cigarette. He’d done the smart thing and decided to stay on his feet.

“Let’s go pal,” Jimmy said, “we’re going to run Wayne over to the Fulton Hotel, and then you can go home.”

“The Fulton Hotel?” I asked.

“Yeah kid, I need you to stay in town tonight,” Jimmy said. “I wish I could offer you better accommodations, but it’s not too bad.” He closed the door. “At least they leave you alone there.”

I got into the car and settled into the back seat again. I wanted to know why Jimmy needed me to stay in Manhattan, but was afraid to ask. It was better not to when it was obvious that he didn’t want to talk. I wanted to smoke the half joint I had in the back of my cigarette pack, so I leaned forward and asked, “Do you guys mind if I smoke?”
Jimmy turned to the back, and said in his best Ralph Kramden, “I don’t care if you burn.”


When we got to the Fulton Hotel Jimmy went to the man behind the desk; there was recognition in the man’s eyes before he said hello. They had a conversation I couldn’t hear, but I wasn’t really listening because of the distraction in the high heels. She was flirting with me, and though I usually wasn’t attracted to white women, I liked her.

“You want a double room?” Jimmy asked when he noticed.

I looked at her and she nodded. “Sure, Jim,” I said. “Can you lend me a few bucks?”
“Relax kid, this is on me.”

He took her off to negotiate, leaving me with the guy behind the desk. I tried to look bored, as I did in The Yugo’s office, but that was hard because I was stoned from the pot. I stared at the walls for a few seconds, until I was interrupted. “I don’t want these hookers in my place,” the desk man said.

“Then you’ll need to close the place down, my friend,” I retorted. “Who else is going to stay in this dump?”

“I have rules to follow.”

I knew he was pumping me for money so I pointed to Jimmy and said, “Tell him that, he’s paying for the room.” He gave a timid “no” response to that.
Jimmy came back over to us and addressed the desk man again. “Give the kid a double room, I’ll take care of it when I get back.”

“Hang on, Jim,” I said. “There seems to be a problem with bringing up guests.”

He looked at the desk jockey again, and said, “It’s okay, they’re married.”

Then he turned to me.

“I give this marriage about three hours the way you’ve been treating her.”

“I’m such a cad.”

“Anyway,” he said, “I’ll be back in a few.” Then he winked at me. “She’s a hot piece of ass.”

“I can hear you,” she said from where she was.

“I wasn’t whispering, tuts. You’re a good looking girl. Give the kid here some idea of how you and me can meet up somehow.” Then he looked at me and said, “You’re a lucky dog,” and left.

Her name was Desiree and she was incredible to look at. She was lean, but not druggie skinny, just naturally thin, with the curves all in the right places. She was wearing a skimpy red dress that screamed Fuck me, with the high heels to match. Her long black hair went off to the sides to reveal her perfect face set off with red lipstick and blue eye liner. She looked more like a geisha girl wannabe than a prostitute. When we got to the room she said, “I don’t do anal.”

I laughed. “You would if I wanted to. I’ve turned many a girl into a three way woman.”

It was her turn to laugh. “So then you’re hung.”

“Who told you?”

“Nobody, it’s just that ladies don’t do anal with little fellas. It hurts too much.”

“Well, I don’t know a lot about the sex practices of little fellas, but I have a treat for you if you’re tired. We’re not going to have sex at all.”

She got defensive. “Oh damn it, you’re a freak.”

“Worse than that,” I said, “I’m asexual since AIDS started killing all my friends.”

“What do you want to do then?”

“I’m going to watch you from the bathroom, and you’re going to take your clothes off like you have no idea I’m there.”

“That’s not so freaky.”

“Can you act?” I asked.

“I do this for a living.”

“Good, then we’ll get along just fine.”

“Do I at least get to see your cock? I need to see if the rumors are true about you.”

“What are you willing to do for it?”

“What do you want?”

“I’ll let you touch it if you run down to the store and get some pantyhose. There’s nothing sexier than a woman taking off her pantyhose.”

“I like you,” she said.

“Yeah,” I smiled at her, “people keep telling me that.”