The Middlemen

By Chris Kosmides

Phillip roughs-up yuppies for his bookie boss when they fail to pay their debt, but he's no killer. He wasn't surpised that sleazy bookie Richard was found dead, but had no idea why he was being framed for the murder. He turns to his friends ( a bar owner, a stripper, and a bouncer) to find his way past the detectives that are sure he is in the middle of this killing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Kosmides
• Release date: Apr 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301454846

Book preview

THE MIDDLEMEN

by Chris Kosmides

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013

Cover Photography by John Waire

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication: To my wife Kristin

Acknowledgements: I'd like to thank my mother for giving me the motivation to create and to my father for showing me the importance of hard work. I'd also like to thank the Hampden Writer's Group for giving me support needed to complete this novel.

Chapter 1

Gerald was a prick. I'm on an important call, just wait in the lobby, help yourself to some coffee. He barely looked up at me when he said this, as I stood outside his glass-enclosed room. I told him to meet me in the lobby, but when I called him he asked me to come up to his office. Fuck you, asshole, this isn't a sales call and I am not investing money, buying anything or listening to your pitch.

I hated these offices, they're all the same. There's always a pretty receptionist, a big, wooden desk, some kind of phone, computer, and a big sign with the firm's name. Occasionally there were people coming and going, but they always looked the same, dark suit, dark shoes, glasses. Do these people really need glasses or are they just trying to fit in? Did they get the receptionist from a strip club because she doesn't exactly look like the people in the MBA catalogs that were sitting on the table in the lobby. It's October so unless she goes to Florida every weekend, I'm guessing the tan is fake, as well as the perfect nails and straight brown hair. The glasses are a nice touch, though; she probably has them in four different colors to match the nails.

The huge glass walls looked out over the harbor, where there were a few small boats but mostly large, empty skeletons of shipyards, along with some cranes that looked like they hadn't been used in awhile.

He came out about ten minutes later. I told him Jacob was waiting outside. He started to say something but I just walked ahead down the stairs, not giving him an opportunity to make some stupid excuse as to why we should stay in his office. I didn't try to fit in with these office types, but I liked wearing a dark suit. It made a statement and was nondescript at the same time. I wore three-button suits with a dark shirt, no neck tie. I followed the sometimes, always, never rule of buttoning my suit, since someone once told me that is the rule of thumb. You sometimes button the top button, always button the middle one, and never button the bottom.

As he approached me, he looked like he was taking me to a meeting or something, his suit blazer swinging open a bit, tie neatly knotted. His watch, a Rolex I am guessing, was prominently displayed on his wrist. His tailor probably hemmed his shirts so the watch stuck out. He pressed the elevator button, made eye contact with some people, and continued to swagger along his way, like I was his client or, even worse, his employee.

Finally the elevator brought us to the first floor and we walked out through the lobby to the large, revolving door. The sun immediately came through the walls of the building. It seemed like it was always bright here because of the way the sun reflects off the water and the light filled the open lobby. Even when it rained, it seemed bright. But it was cold. As we walked outside and crossed the newly laid cobblestone street, I could feel the cold from the street bite through the rubber soles of my black ankle boots. I imagined the buckle to be freezing, not that I would ever touch it anyway; it was just for show.

Rounding the corner of the new building, the frigid harbor air whipped across my head and woke me up. Gerald walked in front of me, still clicking the heels of his expensive black loafers. They were probably some fancy, custom-made British type, not the ones I would have gotten from a discount shoe store. Jacob was around the corner, off the sidewalk, in a little alley next to the parking garage. This whole section of the city was new. There must be ten new buildings between the offices, hotels and condos. It's hard to tell which is which, especially from the ground because they all have shops or some kind of retail operation in them. Between the gyms, clothing stores, coffee shops, and furniture stores, these people never had to leave the block. You could catch a movie, grocery shop, grab a burrito, drink a smoothie, and do some yoga, all before work. Everything was just dropped in here. The offices, the condos, the people. We were all just props.

Jacob was standing next to a parking garage. There wasn't a piece of trash in sight. Everything looked like it had just been cleaned and disinfected. He was wearing corduroys, sweater, down jacket zipped all the way up, and a skull cap pulled over his ears. He looked as intimidating as a puppy Chihuahua.

Hey, Jacob, good to see you.

Do you have the money or not? We've been carrying your bets long enough, pay up.

Come on, man, don't be like that, I will certainly settle my obligation in the near future...umph. He doubled over as I punched him hard in the stomach, just under his sternum, knocking the wind out of him. He looked up at me like a kid who didn't know why he got a time out, not sure if he should cry or just pout for sympathy.

I hate listening to your mouth. Just pay Jacob so I can get out of the cold. Punching him in the stomach was like hitting a pillow, partly because he wasn't expecting it and partly because he was soft. Watching him double over was sad. Any self-respecting man would hit me back but guys like this were not self-respecting. I didn't have to make much of a fist, but I let my middle finger sink into his gut, hoping he could feel the stone on my ring just a little bit.

We collected money during the day whenever possible. Evenings were different, people were on guard much more, and the whole idea was to be a little different from the other people in our business. We dealt with guys like Gerald because they were intimidated easily, and Jacob knew they had money. He did background checks on his clients before he took their bets and made sure they had good credit. Most of them didn't need the money, it was a game for them. As a rule, we didn't rough people up too much; it's bad for business. Some of them probably even liked this part a little bit, it made them feel like a bad ass. Gerald had a ton of cash. He carried an American Express Black Card, so Jacob knew Gerald could get the money out of the bank machine, and we were not about to leave without it.

He kept trying to get one over on Jacob. There were lots of bookies in this town, but most did not look like Jacob; that's why he was successful. Most looked like thugs and gangsters. They would scare this guy shitless. He would stop doing business with them out of fear. But Jacob seemed like a nice Jewish boy. Someone you could knock around a little. That's why I went with him on collections like this.

All right. I have half, I don't have the rest right now.

Walk ten feet to that bank machine and get it or Jacob and I will take you for a drive. I wanted to punch him in the nose but had to make sure he could go back to work and didn't want his blood to drip all over him. We did have to maintain our reputation with our clients. Fear was usually enough to motivate guys like this.

Gerald was betting on football, and he got a little carried away. He went to some big school, like Penn or something, and would go out drinking with his old buddies. He makes more money than most of them and when he starts drinking he likes to play the big shot and calls Jacob to place bets. Jacob doesn't usually take bets that close to game time but he's always ready to make some money so he lets Gerald play. Jacob doesn't set the points and the odds; he has another guy that just does that and sends the spread to Jacob, so as long as his clients play the set odds, Jacob is happy to take the bet. Gerald is just a little prick who lets his mouth run his wallet when he should have kept both of them shut.

He scurried to the bank machine and got our money. He handed Jacob five thousand dollars, five hundred of which would be mine. Then Gerald walked back to his building, looking more like a hurt child than a successful portfolio manager. His ears were bright red from being in the cold and his nose and eyes were running.

You want some coffee, Phillip? Jacob wasn't great at eye contact, and often missed social cues. We were at a bar one time and this guy was surrounded by women. Jacob straight up asked if he was gay. He might have been, and Jacob didn't mean anything by it, I don't know what he meant, but the guy was pretty mad. Later that night, Jacob said he didn't understand why the guy shaved his chest and tanned, and just thought he must be gay. That's Jacob.

We have any more today, Jacob?

No, that's it, but we have another big one tomorrow, hopefully in the morning. I still need get ahold of the prick.

Let me know if you want me to help.

No, it's cool, I gotta work the phone a little more today anyway. Jacob used to work in insurance. Apparently, he was pretty bad at it. He understood how to cold call but just had trouble talking to people about their money. His boss thought he was slow or something because Jacob would ask the same questions over and over. Problem with Jacob is that he thinks out loud, and people mistake that for stupidity. Why did you get a shot of coffee with your coffee, isn't that weird?

I don't, Jacob, I just like the taste?

I didn't think coffee had a taste, except bad.

Yeah, it does, but I need to kick-start my day, so I get the extra juice.

Why do you call it juice? It's coffee.

Just a saying, man.

It's queer, juice!

We headed back to the car. For collections we drove together. It was just better to we stay close, not that anything has ever happened, but you never know. I drove the Tahoe out of the city and towards Jacob's house in the burbs. Listening to music was my preference but Jacob was on the phone, so I just focused on driving the big vehicle with the tinted windows onto the highway.

We pulled up to his small, suburban house. His wife was waiting for him after her shift at the hospital. His daughter was playing in the front of the house, wearing her favorite pink dress and she picked rocks up from the dirt in their garden.

Can you come by around ten tomorrow?

Of course, see you then. I drove off and waved to his daughter. It never occurred to Jacob to invite me in or talk with his wife and girl, I liked that about Jacob.

It was about three when I got to my house. I lived outside of the city as well, but on the East side of town. I pulled into the driveway and saw my father pulling something out of the bushes in the front of the house.

These vines will take over the bushes if you let them, Phillip.

Thanks Pop, but I think those are branches.

No matter, they're still bad for growth. My Pop lived with me for three years now. My mother died ten years ago, and he did fine for awhile but then went downhill. My brother moved away for a good teaching job and it seemed best for Pop to move in with me.

You take Chi-Chi out, Pop? She was a rescue Chihuahua I got from the pound two years ago. After Pop moved in it seemed like he got lonely when I went to work. At that time I had a job in sales for a car dealer. It was all right but I never really fit into the nine-to-five routine. Chi-Chi kept Pop company.

Yeah, I took that rodent out. She tried to pick a fight with a retriever down the street. That's the dumbest dog I ever seen.

I went up the concrete stairs of the bungalow-style house I purchased when I was in sales. Now I probably couldn't get a mortgage, since I don't have a verifiable income. The wooden porch needed a paint job and the front door was weathered. Exterior house work was one of the few things I enjoyed so it pained me that I had let these things go. Before the door could open, Ch-Chi was already barking. She recognized the sound of the car, or maybe it was my footsteps, but she was always right there as my feet hit the hardwood floor.

The newspaper Pop had delivered was chewed and shredded up in the living room. It looked like a boxing ring, framed by the L-shaped sofa and entertainment center. Chi-Chi had clearly won the bout and the paper shavings were all over the floor. She probably did the dance of victory with the rolled-up paper in her mouth, shards projecting from her jaws, head held high in celebration of her victory. I had seen her do that dance many times, once a day for the past two years to be exact.

Pop, can you please take that paper from her? I used to ask my dad every afternoon.

I don't know when she does it, maybe it's in the afternoon when I'm asleep. Truth was, he got a kick out of it. I was pretty sure he worked her up every morning after he read the paper, then threw it to her so she could finish off her foe. She's your dog, for Christ's sake. Can't you train her?

Okay, Pop, I'll work on it.

I took her for a walk around the block, usually with the clothes I had on from the day. One of the neighbors would always smile at me, and say, Big guy, little dog. He was referring to my six-foot frame. I wasn't all that big but had been graced with wide shoulders so most people thought I was larger than I was. I didn't feel all that big until I stooped down to pick up her shit with a folded-up paper towel. Plastic bags are generally more popular for this act, but her crap is so small it seemed like a waste of plastic; besides, she just liked fucking with people. She would pretend she was shitting and would almost gloat as she was in a full stoop, daring people to look at her. Then she would ramble off and kick up as much dirt as her little paws would allow, feigning some kind of cover up for shit that had remarkably disappeared. I pretended like I was picking up something or else people would say things like, Curb your dog asshole, so I just did my part in her routine.

Chi-Chi was gnawing on my ankle, which meant it was feeding time, and I hadn't seen Pop for a few minutes, which worried me just a little, so it was time to get this house in order. I went into my bedroom and my clothes were all over the place.

Hey Pop, any reason why my room is a mess?

I don't know, ask that damn dog of yours. She was in your room for awhile. I started to pick up my shorts and socks, they were the main mess. It looked like a bomb went off in my drawer; there was stuff everywhere. Clearly the work of one very mischievous dog. As I was putting things away, Chi-Chi came running around the cornet and took my things out as I put them away. It took twice as long to get anything done and I forgot whatever it was I was supposed to be doing before I started this whole routine. When I went to chastise Chi-Chi, she went running out of the room with a sock in her mouth.

Chapter 2

My uncle, Benny, called me and asked if I could come by the bar. His place, the store as he often called it, sat on a busy street in a solid, working-class neighborhood. There weren't many other bars on the block but there were other businesses. A bowling alley was next door, a supermarket was across the street. Most people drove by this place a hundred times and never noticed, but the people that lived around here came in all the time. It was a typical single storefront bar that extended much further back from the street than most people realized. Just about every time someone new came in he or she would say things like, Wow, this is really long. The oak bar stretched back the length of the room, and had two splits in it. There was a rail that ran under it, and the lines of the rail and of the bar made it look like a train was coming at you as soon as you walked in. There was also a mini wall that split the room longways. The side opposite the bar had tables, just for drinking.

There were no waiters here and Benny didn't serve food. He would gladly give you pretzels or chips, but did not want to mess with diners. He said drunk people were hard enough to please. Between the mirror behind the bar and the window in the front, this place was pretty bright, even though it was made up almost entirely of dark wood which just