DO-GOODER
Pure luck, that’s what it was. A minute earlier or ten seconds later and he woulda missed him. As it was, Perry reached the corner just as the guy opened his door and stepped inside. Yeah, it was dark, but no mistaking him.
He’d called himself Jack when he’d set Perry up, but who knew if that was his real name. Perry had had a sweet scam going on the old lady circuit, relieving old bitches of their excess cash. This Jack had come along and said he had some flush marks but wanted a cut for the info. Fair enough. But turned out the first one he delivered had an NYPD sergeant for a son. Perry’d been busted and busted up, but good. And Jack? Jack was gone like he’d never been.
Perry beat it back to his apartment for the sawed-off twelve he kept around for protection. When he returned to the block he peeked in the townhouse window and spotted the guy with a good-looking blonde and a kid. Thought about busting in but that was stupid. Be patient.
The block dead-ended at a little park hanging over the FDR. He hid in the shadows there, took the sawed-off from under his coat, and listened to the traffic below as he waited.
Sutton Square. Ritzy block. What was this guy, some rich do-gooder getting his jollies by screwing up things for working men like Perry? Well, his do-gooder days was over. When he came out Perry would get close, cut him in half with both barrels, and keep walking like nothing happened. And then –
“Hello, Perry.”
Perry jumped and started to spin at the sound of the soft voice so close behind but stopped when the muzzle of a pistol pressed against his cheek. He recognized the voice and his bladder clenched.
“Jesus, Jack. Hey, what’re you doing here?”
“That’s my question.” He took the shotgun from Perry’s hands.
“I’m hidin. Got on the wrong side of a shy and he’s got some boys lookin for me.”
“You’re watching that townhouse, Perry.”
“No, I–”
“I saw you peek in the window.”
Shit!
“No, I swear I was just–”
“Shhhhhh. You’ve got a sawed off. Isn’t that against parole?”
He’d just finished his jolt in the joint. Last thing he wanted was go back inside. But that would be the do-gooder thing to do: drop a dime on him.
“You ain’t gonna turn me in, are you?”
“No, Perry. Nothing like that.”
“Really?” Thank God. “Hey, Jack, that’s really–”
He started to turn again but the muzzle jabbed his cheek. Hard.
“The shotgun’s for me, isn’t it.”
That soft voice, so calm, so cold . . . giving him the creeps.
“No way. Look, you can take it.”
“Already have it. But seems we have a problem, Perry. You’ve got a hard-on for me and now you know where people I care about live. That can’t be.”
Can’t be? He didn’t like the sound of that. But wait . . .
He forced a laugh. “You tryin t’scare me, Jack?”
“Nope.”
“Yeah, y’are. But it won’t work. Y’know why? Because you see yourself as a do-gooder. Better’n me. Helpin old ladies. The Equalizer. Batman without no cape.”
“Wrong, Perry. The daughter of one of your marks hired me to get you.”
“Hired? Bullshit.” He steeled his guts and grinned as he rose to face him. “You’re a do-gooder and you ain’t gonna do nothin.”
Perry saw a blur of motion and then pain exploded on the left side of his head as Jack’s pistol smashed against his skull. His knees went Jell-O. A second blow left him face first in the dirt, the world tilting.
Then he felt himself lifted, carried toward the barrier overhanging the highway.
On, no! Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no!
“But . . .” His lips wouldn’t move right. “But you’re a do-gooder.”
“Wrong, Perry. I’m more into doing the right thing. And when I see myself and my two ladies threatened, the right thing to do is eliminate the threat.”
Perry felt himself hoisted atop the railing. When a break in the traffic came, Jack pushed him over.
All the way down his mind screamed that this couldn’t be happening. This self-styled, bullshit do-gooder had…
