One Good Thing

VICTOR FRIED

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

One Good Thing

Copyright © 2011 by Victor Fried

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4620-4231-9 (s)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-4233-3 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-4232-6 (dj)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011917152

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 9/29/2011

Contents

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

chapter 11

chapter 12

chapter 13

chapter 14

chapter 15

chapter 16

chapter 17

epilogue

chapter 1

Thaddeus sipped his coffee as he read over the doctor’s report for the tenth time. Palano, Thaddeus Michael, he read out loud as he perused the pages. Finally, he tossed it down on the coffee table and shook his head. Whole lot of big words to say you fixin’ to die, old man, he mumbled to himself. No big deal; ain’t doing nobody no good being alive anyway.

Thaddeus had never been big on doctors, but he had been having a harder and harder time pissing of late, so he finally broke down and went to have it checked out. The doc sent him for a bunch of tests and found prostate cancer. If that weren’t bad enough, they also found cancer in his colon, as well as his liver, and there were some spots on his lungs too.

He sipped some more coffee. Yep, you fixin’ to die, old man, he repeated as he got up to refill his coffee. He thought about his life as he stood in his kitchen and stared out the window into his past. This was the second death sentence he had received in his seventy-one years. The first he had survived by taking out the best killers the syndicate had to offer until the New York office finally decided to cut their losses and withdraw the contract they had placed on him. That two-week period had made him a legend in that world nearly thirty years ago.

But this was different. This killer was microscopic; he couldn’t just shoot it or break its neck. He smiled. This is an inside job, he said to himself. The worst kind. Thaddeus had no fear of death. It was something that happened to everybody eventually. He had already lived far longer than he would have guessed. He just wanted death to come quickly. He didn’t want it to drag out, leaving him withered and decrepit in some hospital bed, a shell of his former self. He checked the clock: 6:00 a.m. Time to go, he said to himself.

Thaddeus had been running every day since he was a teenager. It was almost like an addiction, along with his sit ups and pushups, which he did every morning. At seventy-one years old, he still ran at least three miles a day and ten miles at least once a week, rain or shine. This morning he was going to do six. It was three miles to The Cooking Pot, the restaurant where he would stop for breakfast, and then three miles back. As he ran, his mind drifted back over his life. When you no longer have a future to look forward to, after all, looking back is all you had left.

He thought about his childhood. He had been raised by his alcoholic mother in a shabby, roach-infested apartment on the south side of Chicago. He never knew who his father was, but then, neither had his mother. When it had come to a choice between buying birth control pills or a bottle, the bottle had won. At least she had enough sense to have her tubes tied after he was born.

He guessed he had gotten his size from his father. By the time he was fourteen years old, he stood six foot tall and had begun filling out. He was the type that didn’t have to work at building muscles. They were just a part of his natural build. It didn’t hurt that he worked in a grocery warehouse nights after school, of course, and through the summer he pulled orders and loaded trucks that would go out early the next morning and deliver to stores all around the Chicago area. But it was more than just the work. Other men who worked there never filled out like he did, so he figured it had to be genetics. It was at this time, age fourteen, that he took his first contract.

One Monday night as he left work to walk home, a man approached him while he was walking along minding his own business.

Is your name Thaddeus?

Thaddeus stopped and studied the man but was sure he didn’t know him. Who’s asking?

Walker’s my name, he said as he reached out to shake hands.

Thaddeus had been approached by queers before, so he took a step back and said, Sorry but I don’t play that way. You just go on now and don’t bother me.

Walker laughed. I don’t play that way either. Sorry if I gave you that impression.

What do you want then?

You a football fan, Thad? Walker asked as he began strolling down the sidewalk.

Thaddeus joined him. Not really, he replied, and it’s Thaddeus, not Thad.

You do know the big homecoming game is this Saturday against West Side, don’t you? Walker went on.

Thaddeus nodded.

Do you know Mike Green? the man questioned.

Mike Green was the high school’s golden boy, the star quarterback. He was going to lead the team to a state championship for the first time in the history of the school. He was also a solid gold asshole.

Everybody knows Mike Green, Thaddeus answered.

What do you think would happen if Mike couldn’t play this Saturday? Walker asked.

We’d lose, he replied flatly.

My thoughts exactly, Walker said, smiling. Then he asked, Do you think you could make that happen, Thaddeus?

Why should I? he asked.

How about doing it for two thousand dollars cash? Walker stopped walking and faced Thaddeus. Could you do it for that?

Thaddeus knew that a lot of gambling went on at high school sports events and that the upcoming game had his school as a ten-to-one favorite for the homecoming game. If they lost, whoever bet on the opposing team would cash in on a lot of money. The best way to ensure a big payoff would be to put Mike Green on the disabled list.

If I did that, Thaddeus pointed out, I’d be expelled in a heartbeat.

Walker shrugged.

Thaddeus thought about the offer for a moment. I’ll need three thousand.

Walker paused before he answered. I can’t authorize that, he replied.

Thaddeus pointed to a pay phone and said, Call someone who can.

Walker dropped a dime in the phone and dialed a number. As it was ringing, Thaddeus said, I’ll want one thousand cash when the job is done and the other two thousand put down on West Side High School to win. He then stepped away to give the man privacy.

A couple minutes later, Walker hung up the phone and said, It’s a deal.

When do you want it done? he asked.

The closer to game time the better, Walker replied. Gives more people more time to bet on your school.

Friday at noon be okay?

Noon Friday would be perfect, Walker said with a smile. If you are successful, he went on, "I’ll be back down here Friday night with your cash. If your not successful and West Side looses, you will owe us two thousand dollars.

Thaddeus had no doubt he could take Green out. He shook the man’s hand and nodded. He then went on home.

Thaddeus wasn’t stupid. Te knew that an education was important, but only if you used it to better yourself. Several of the guys he worked with at the warehouse had high school educations, and a couple even had some college. Still, they were doing the same work he was doing, and he was only in the ninth grade. School had always been easy for him. He could have been a straight-A student, but he didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight. He had always preferred to be anonymous. Often he had purposely put down the wrong answer on a test just to keep his grades in the B and C range. Thaddeus knew that whenever he wanted to further his education, he could just go to the library. It wouldn’t get him a diploma, but it would get him an education, and that was all he was interested in.

On Friday, as classes let out for lunch, Thaddeus sprinted to the cafeteria to be one of the first in line. He then carried his tray to an open seat that gave him a good view of the door. By the time Mike Green showed up, Thaddeus was finished eating and the slow-moving line was backed up clear out into the hall. As usual, Green just walked up to the front of the line and crowded in. Thaddeus watched as he moved down the serving line, and when he reached the end and was getting his lunch ticket punched, Thaddeus made his move.

The tubs for the dirty dishes were right next to the place where you got your ticket punched, and as Green turned to move away, Thaddeus slammed into him, causing him to drop his tray of food all over the floor. Thaddeus stepped back and began laughing at the golden boy. He knew Green couldn’t stand being laughed at.

Green grabbed Thaddeus by the front of his shirt with his right hand and cocked his left hand into a fist to strike. But Thaddeus was too fast for him. He grabbed Green’s right wrist with his left hand and jerked his arm out straight. Then he brought a powerful forearm smash down on the bicep. Everyone close by heard the bone snap. Green went to his knees, holding his arm and howling in pain. Thaddeus stepped back and raised his hands in an I’m through here gesture.

Ten minutes later, Mike Green was on his way to the hospital. Ten minutes after that, Thaddeus was in the principal’s office, along with the superintendant and the football coach. Ten minutes after that, he was cleaning out his locker. Ten minutes after that, he was out of the school with orders to never return, just as he had expected and planned for.

He walked to a park and waited until it was time to report to work. He never mentioned that he had been expelled from school or why. Several guys there had placed bets on the big game and might not be too pleased to hear that he had caused them to lose their money. That night as he was leaving work, Walker reappeared.

Hell of a job, Thaddeus, he said, smiling as he offered his hand.

You got my money? he asked.

Walker pulled an envelope from his inside pocket and studied it for a moment. T. M. P., he said. Thump, is that you? he asked with a grin.

Those were his initials, Thaddeus Michael Palano. Or Pay-laaano as his grandfather, who had been born and lived the first forty years of his life in Italy, used to pronounce it. Yeah, that’s me, he said as he took the envelope and stuck it in his hip pocket. All the time he was wondering how Walker’s boss had gotten his full name.

Aren’t you going to count it? Walker asked.

Do I need to? Thaddeus came back.

It’s all there, Walker assured him. Then he went on, The Pollock, my boss, wanted me to ask if you’d be interested in a full-time job.

Thaddeus had heard far too much about the mob to ever want to be on their payroll. It sounded really inviting, but once you were in, you were in for life. It was not a job you could quit.

Not interested, he said flatly. Then he asked, Where do I collect when West Side wins?

The game isn’t until tomorrow, Walker reminded him. They still have to win for you to collect.

And when they win, Thaddeus asked again, where do I collect?

Do you know of a club called Irish? Walker asked.

Yeah, over on Forty-Second Street, he replied.

Be there Monday morning around nine, Walker told him. Have some breakfast on the house. The Pollock wants to meet you. He’ll have your money.

I’ll be there, Thaddeus assured him.

About the job offer, Walker continued, you thinking about sticking to contract work, you know, being an independent?

Thaddeus was caught off-guard by the question, so he just shrugged. Maybe.

You know what? Walker said thoughtfully. The Pollock might just go for that kind of a setup.

chapter 2

On Monday morning, Thaddeus was sitting in the dining room at Irish finishing a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes when Walker called him to the back room to meet the Pollock.

Pollock, this is Thumper, Walker said by way of introduction. Thaddeus gave him a hard look. He hated nicknames. He’s the kid that took out Green for us.

The Pollock was a small, skinny man with a face that reminded Thaddeus of a weasel. He sat behind a massive desk that made him look even smaller, and he was smoking a fat cigar that would be too large for a big man. They shook hands, and Thaddeus took the chair that the Pollock gestured to.

First things first, the Pollock said and tossed Thaddeus a fat envelope. Count it.

Thaddeus counted out $22,000.

I held your money till Friday before I placed the bet, the Pollock explained. By then the odds had jumped to eleven to one. He smiled. I take care of them what takes care of me.

Thank you, Thaddeus said, knowing full well that he had held the money until he had gotten word that Green was out of commission.

Don’t mention it, the Pollock replied with a wave of his hand. Now, to other business, he went on as he leaned forward. Mr. Walker here tells me that you might be interested in some more contract work.

Depends on the job, Thaddeus replied.

What exactly are your parameters? the Pollock asked.

Thaddeus had thought it out over the weekend, so he responded without hesitation, No women, no kids, no killing. This was not because of some moral code. It was because he was less likely to go to prison if he only beat up adult males.

The Pollock looked at him for a long time before he thoughtfully replied, No women, no kids, no killing.

Thaddeus said nothing.

You did us a good job with Green, the Pollock agreed. Then he paused as if in thought before he said, "Fine, I accept your terms, Thumper. I’ll put the word out to some others