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pielcanelafollows the previous part immediately.
Dickie showed up during rehearsals with the band two days later. He called F over to him with a glance.
F excused himself from Dennis and the boys, finished off his second shot of scotch in a single gulp, and headed over to Dickie's "office": the broom closet in the Swan Dive that he'd set aside for himself for counting cash.
There was little room in the "office" for more than a chair, another chair, and a small desk between them. Dickie sat in the chair farther away from the door. He didn't invite F to sit, but an invitation wasn't required in this case. F was glad he wasn't any taller, or his long legs would've pushed his back straight up against the wall.
"Was that a drink I saw in your hand?" Dickie's voice was low and flat. "Little early in the day for someone your age, ain't it?"
"You're not my mother either, Dickie," came out friendlier than F had expected. He was too buzzed to be truly spiteful. "What do you want?"
Dickie didn't say it right off. This pause was usually reserved for when F had done something very wrong - like that time he failed to count the cash he brought in from the Livingston party, and Dickie claimed it was thirty dollars short. Or that time F picked a fight with one of his thugs and nearly broke his nose; Dickie withheld his cut for that night's performance and yelled what was he going to do with a singer with a broken nose.
"You know what I learned a couple nights ago, F? This gentleman I brought in to see you sing - everyone and their sister knows him as Sid - his new girlfriend, she's a Brit. Did you know that?"
"Why would I?" Absolute nonchalance. "First time I met her. First time I met this Sid, too, since you failed to mention."
"Really, kid? Really, the first time you met her?" Dickie leaned forward over the desk. "So how'd you explain the way you looked at her just before singing?"
The questioning was beginning to make F's buzz fade and his blood run colder. But he had long learned to deal with this happening.
"This the first time you've seen me around a gorgeous dame, Dickie?"
Dickie really didn't like the tone F was taking. His own voice rose. "So you just happened to remember that song when she was around?"
"What're you talking about?"
"That Brit song you opened with. Turns out it's her favorite. I ain't never even heard it before, so how come you know about it?"
F, still playing the annoyed innocent, rubbed the back of his neck.
"I heard it played on a machine somewhere," he said matter-of-factly. "And it popped into my head as soon as I looked at her. Okay? Happens sometimes."
"Kid... I'm the one person in the world you don't want to play dumb with." Dickie's stare had turned dangerous. "Stinkeye Sid may be stupid about dames, but I ain't."
F held his stare. He could see Dickie had made up his mind that F had a thing for Sid's new girlfriend, and that it was bad for business. Never mind that she was probably old enough to be his mother. Or that F wasn't exactly world-famous for chasing skirts.
But to his surprise, Dickie didn't dwell on it. "You keep your wet stinkin' nose out of other people's lives," he said coldly, as he straightened up in his seat and leaned back. "Just remember you work for me."
F lowered his head. He wished he didn't have to. But it was way too risky picking a fight with Dickie over this particular issue. "Sure, Dickie," he mumbled.
His suspicions confirmed, Dickie put on a smug look and kept it on during the remainder of their conversation.
Then he moved on to something more serious. It would appear that Sid had in fact liked F's performance of the night before. He thought Dickie had planned the first song to impress him, knowing that his girlfriend liked it. He even believed his girlfriend was in on it, which was fortunate for everyone involved.
And with Dickie's glowing endorsement of his find's "discretion and tact," Sid agreed to partly sponsor using him and Dennis' band as cover. As F did with Dickie, he'd travel to distant locations with Sid's goods in tow, and personally manage the transfer to Sid's contacts there.
The big difference was, Stinkeye Sid's goods were even more volatile. F had a feeling Sid was experienced with using high-visibility runners, which gave him some comfort...though he was aware that drug-running came with even more serious risks, and it was going to be harder to weasel out if he got caught.
His age wasn't going to protect him; younger boys than himself had gotten mixed up in the stuff, and some of them ended up in a sewer with their faces pumped full of lead - if they were lucky.
But it meant more money. And it was a good thing the liquor kept him brave. Otherwise he would've hesitated when he said "Okay" to everything Dickie was saying. The quickness of his response pleased his boss.
Business concluded, Dickie waved him off. But as F was stepping out the door, Dickie called him back.
"She's a looker, that Brit. You got an eye on you. That's good to know." He chuckled, "For a moment there you had me worried you were a fag."
F spat an expletive he didn't consciously formulate. What mattered was that the tone of his voice was offended enough to send Dickie into full-fledged guffaws.
F slammed the door on his way out. It didn't catch and remained ajar, and the echoes of Dickie's repulsive laughter followed him all the way back to the stage.
Dickie showed up during rehearsals with the band two days later. He called F over to him with a glance.
F excused himself from Dennis and the boys, finished off his second shot of scotch in a single gulp, and headed over to Dickie's "office": the broom closet in the Swan Dive that he'd set aside for himself for counting cash.
There was little room in the "office" for more than a chair, another chair, and a small desk between them. Dickie sat in the chair farther away from the door. He didn't invite F to sit, but an invitation wasn't required in this case. F was glad he wasn't any taller, or his long legs would've pushed his back straight up against the wall.
"Was that a drink I saw in your hand?" Dickie's voice was low and flat. "Little early in the day for someone your age, ain't it?"
"You're not my mother either, Dickie," came out friendlier than F had expected. He was too buzzed to be truly spiteful. "What do you want?"
Dickie didn't say it right off. This pause was usually reserved for when F had done something very wrong - like that time he failed to count the cash he brought in from the Livingston party, and Dickie claimed it was thirty dollars short. Or that time F picked a fight with one of his thugs and nearly broke his nose; Dickie withheld his cut for that night's performance and yelled what was he going to do with a singer with a broken nose.
"You know what I learned a couple nights ago, F? This gentleman I brought in to see you sing - everyone and their sister knows him as Sid - his new girlfriend, she's a Brit. Did you know that?"
"Why would I?" Absolute nonchalance. "First time I met her. First time I met this Sid, too, since you failed to mention."
"Really, kid? Really, the first time you met her?" Dickie leaned forward over the desk. "So how'd you explain the way you looked at her just before singing?"
The questioning was beginning to make F's buzz fade and his blood run colder. But he had long learned to deal with this happening.
"This the first time you've seen me around a gorgeous dame, Dickie?"
Dickie really didn't like the tone F was taking. His own voice rose. "So you just happened to remember that song when she was around?"
"What're you talking about?"
"That Brit song you opened with. Turns out it's her favorite. I ain't never even heard it before, so how come you know about it?"
F, still playing the annoyed innocent, rubbed the back of his neck.
"I heard it played on a machine somewhere," he said matter-of-factly. "And it popped into my head as soon as I looked at her. Okay? Happens sometimes."
"Kid... I'm the one person in the world you don't want to play dumb with." Dickie's stare had turned dangerous. "Stinkeye Sid may be stupid about dames, but I ain't."
F held his stare. He could see Dickie had made up his mind that F had a thing for Sid's new girlfriend, and that it was bad for business. Never mind that she was probably old enough to be his mother. Or that F wasn't exactly world-famous for chasing skirts.
But to his surprise, Dickie didn't dwell on it. "You keep your wet stinkin' nose out of other people's lives," he said coldly, as he straightened up in his seat and leaned back. "Just remember you work for me."
F lowered his head. He wished he didn't have to. But it was way too risky picking a fight with Dickie over this particular issue. "Sure, Dickie," he mumbled.
His suspicions confirmed, Dickie put on a smug look and kept it on during the remainder of their conversation.
Then he moved on to something more serious. It would appear that Sid had in fact liked F's performance of the night before. He thought Dickie had planned the first song to impress him, knowing that his girlfriend liked it. He even believed his girlfriend was in on it, which was fortunate for everyone involved.
And with Dickie's glowing endorsement of his find's "discretion and tact," Sid agreed to partly sponsor using him and Dennis' band as cover. As F did with Dickie, he'd travel to distant locations with Sid's goods in tow, and personally manage the transfer to Sid's contacts there.
The big difference was, Stinkeye Sid's goods were even more volatile. F had a feeling Sid was experienced with using high-visibility runners, which gave him some comfort...though he was aware that drug-running came with even more serious risks, and it was going to be harder to weasel out if he got caught.
His age wasn't going to protect him; younger boys than himself had gotten mixed up in the stuff, and some of them ended up in a sewer with their faces pumped full of lead - if they were lucky.
But it meant more money. And it was a good thing the liquor kept him brave. Otherwise he would've hesitated when he said "Okay" to everything Dickie was saying. The quickness of his response pleased his boss.
Business concluded, Dickie waved him off. But as F was stepping out the door, Dickie called him back.
"She's a looker, that Brit. You got an eye on you. That's good to know." He chuckled, "For a moment there you had me worried you were a fag."
F spat an expletive he didn't consciously formulate. What mattered was that the tone of his voice was offended enough to send Dickie into full-fledged guffaws.
F slammed the door on his way out. It didn't catch and remained ajar, and the echoes of Dickie's repulsive laughter followed him all the way back to the stage.