Fish with crooked smiles

- You see, for us it’s not so much about whether Sammy needs to die… it’s about how loud the gunshot needs to be.

Walsh punctuated his sentence with an impressively long draw from his last half inch of cigarette. Like everything Walsh did, he did it a little too loudly for Thomas’s liking.

Still, there was little danger of being overheard. As Walsh had assured him, the park formed a perfect cloak of July exuberance. Playing children, the rhythmic steps of a jogging group, tinny music ringing out of phone speakers – stitches enough to suppress even the sinister notes of Walsh’s smoker’s cough from the bench behind him. Walsh could have just been old man taking some air, Thomas just another overdressed office worker sweating through a lunch break.

Thomas allowed his attention to settle on the fountain facing him until Walsh was recovered. Water speared toward the sky in precision choreography. Foaming tips glinted brilliantly in the midday sun, before falling as scattered rain to the pool below.

A metaphor for his law career, thought Thomas. An age spent scouring the depths for obscure precedent, searching for his fleeting moment of opportunity. Rafts of unwilling case law lashed together at his hand; an argument new and shining enough for victory. Then, the inevitable fall. Back to the pit from where he had come, his creation picked apart by pernicious appeal judges.

Yet, despite himself, Thomas knew he missed the fountain. Some lawyers called themselves sharks, but Thomas knew better. He had met the real sharks. Lawyers, well, they were just fish with crooked smiles.

- You still with me, Zahn?

Thomas realised he had allowed the silence to stretch too long.

- Publicity is never good for business, Thomas replied, trying to disguise his distraction for thoughtfulness.

- We’re agreed on that. But the boys will take out Sammy nice and quiet. Everyone’s happy.

- I doubt Sammy would be, replied Thomas drily, and that sort of thing isn’t good for business either.

- Might have to disagree with you there, Zahn. A little bloodshed is necessary to keep the peace.

- Some peace… Every time we make a deal like this we end up back within a week. The same debate with different names.

Walsh’s nonchalant shrug was almost audible.

- Cost of doing business.

Thomas didn’t say anything.

- Look, said Walsh, do we have a deal? Because if we don’t, I’m gonna go get an ice cream.

At one point Thomas would have found the energy to at least roll his eyes, but he had become accustomed to Walsh’s gluttonous ticks.

- I’d advise getting an ice cream, then.

The bench behind Thomas sighed relief as Walsh rose. Despite his outward display of stiffness, Thomas held no dislike toward the man. For a crooked lawyer he was surprisingly straight. The deals they brokered were morality’s mockery, but Walsh could be trusted to keep to his word. Thomas could respect that. Though, perhaps he had no choice but to allow a grudging liking for Walsh. After all, was he himself not just a variation on the same theme.

- I bought you a cornetto, announced Walsh, the wood jolting at his return.

- We’re not supposed to know each other, remember?

- I know, that’s why I went with a cornetto, it’s subtle. I couldn’t slide a cone through the slats, could I?

- I suppose not, said Thomas, not touching the cornetto that appeared through the back of his bench.

- So, you have a problem with retiring Sammy.

Thomas noted Walsh slipping back into their agreed coded language; it was something he only bothered with when he felt he needed to stay on Thomas’ good side.

- The firm has a problem with it.

- I didn’t realise Sammy was that important.

- He has become important.

- That’s news to me.

- I suppose it would be.

Walsh’s lighter snapped open with a metallic ring. He didn’t know how Walsh was multitasking another cigarette with his ice cream, but Walsh wasn’t one to let practicalities get in the way of his desires.

- It’s gonna be tough to do this without letting Sammy go. The boys are awful sore after what he did to Murph.

- We do recognise the unfortunate nature of incident, said Thomas, though we might suggest that Sammy’s role in it was rather minimal, and that if you wished to take up a complaint then it might be better directed towards Muzzie.

Walsh let out a low whistle.

- Wow, Muzzie… you got a full brass band playing in those pinstripes, don’t you, Zahn? Muzzie… for goodness sake, take out your own garbage.

Thomas said nothing. Muzzie had been a low anchor, but there was a chance Walsh might not try to lift it much higher.

- You see, ventured Walsh, we think Harpo and El were involved a lot more than Muzzie.

- You can’t have either and you know it.

- I was asking for both.

Thomas let out an exasperated sigh.

- We’re far apart.

- Seems that way, agreed Walsh, but I’m sure we’ll find a path forward without blowing daylight through each other’s skulls like they used to. It’s why they pay us. Cooler heads will prevail.

- If only they were bullet proof as well.

Walsh grunted a laugh and Thomas listened to him tear into his cone.

- How long do you think we have? asked Thomas.

- Before what?

- Before our services are no longer required. I don’t think staff retention is a priority of either of our firms.

- They respect us, replied Walsh as his teeth crunched through his sugar cone.

- They don’t respect anything.

- They respect our deals. They hate each other too much to do what we do. We deliver what they can’t.

- For now, perhaps.

- What are you trying to say, Zahn, that we should get out before we’re in too deep?

Thomas weighed his next word alongside the man he’d never looked in the eye. If it didn’t land, it would probably get him killed.

- Maybe, said Thomas.

Walsh didn’t say anything for a beat. Thomas could no longer hear him eating his ice cream.

- You been talking to someone?

- No, replied Thomas truthfully. But I am concerned about my long-term prospects.

Walsh paused.

- I want to tell you something. And I want you to listen to me carefully, because I don’t like the way you’re thinking.

You’re in this. We’re both in it. Maybe there was a moment where you could have said no. Maybe that moment never existed. It doesn’t matter. It’s done. We’re not standing in court with plausible deniability. We can’t pretend our guys were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We know. We’re a part of this. We’re the goddamn architects of it. And your only remaining option is to embrace that, and everything that goes with it.

Thomas had to stop himself breaking his own rule and turning to look at his counterpart.

- What do you mean?

- I mean, Zahn, that you gotta eat the damn cornetto that life gave you.

- Excuse me?

- You heard me. Start eating. I ain’t saying a word more until you get that in your gob.

Thomas seriously debated abandoning this tack and trying to steer the conversation back toward negotiation. Yet, perhaps because he knew this was the truth that had been chasing away his sleep, he found his finger slipping inside the lip of the foil wrapping.

- Good lad, came Walsh’s voice. Thomas couldn’t tell if he was now watching him or just listening to the sound of the wrapper.

- You have to stop pretending you’re above this, Zahn, that you’re above me, and above them. You’re not a lawyer anymore. You’re a no-good hood, with death is coming to you just as fast as any riches.

But, let me tell you a little story that might help put that into perspective. Last week I went to visit my old man. He’s 89, bedridden, burning through money in the box room of a care home. Even his nurses are ugly. Of course, he don’t know much about it. Sometimes there’s a guy staring out his eyes that looks a bit like the man who raised me, but most of the time it’s not even his ghost in there.

Thomas said nothing, keeping his eyes on the tiny beads of sweat clinging to his ice cream.

- Now, here comes the kicker, Zahn, my old man’s been lying in that same bed for seven goddamn years, and the doctors don’t see any reason why he might not go on for another seven more. Hell, maybe he’ll even bring up his hundred.

Walsh released a long sigh.

- He hustled his whole life, Zahn, worked three jobs just to give me and my brother a chance. He finally retires, gets his well-earned rest, only to discover my mam has been having an affair from damn near his wedding day, Finds out my brother ain’t his son, loses more than half his money in a divorce he can’t possibly understand, then loses his mind and body. And to cap it all, his one true son, the lawyer he liked to tell his drinking pals about, well, he falls in with the mob just to help pay for his goddamn bed with goddamn plastic sheets.

Walsh fell into silence. Thomas wasn’t sure when to speak but it seemed he was now expected to comment.

- You’re trying to tell me that life isn’t fair?

Walsh barked out a laugh.

- You never did dance around the crux of it, Zahn. Yeah, life ain’t fair. You and I, we’re sitting here with cruddy hands, but somehow we got seats at the high stakes table. You can cash out now, sure, but I don’t think you’d get very far, do you?

- So what? Keep playing until you feel the muzzle pressed against the back of your neck?

- I’m saying, Zahn, that when someone gives you a cornetto, you better damn well take it. And after that you find another one, and another after that. You take as much as you ruddy well can. Then maybe when you think your ice cream man is gonna switch out his cones for bullets, well, a sharp man might have the means to disappear. Somewhere hot, with white, sandy beaches, you get me?

Thomas felt melted ice cream pool on the top of his index finger. He couldn’t help but make a scoffing noise before licking it clean.

- The dream of every gangster… one last score and then disappear to tropical paradise. A fantasy just as guaranteed for you as it is for them.

- Were you even listening to me, Zahn? I know there ain’t no guarantee. In anything. But I reckon once you sit at this table, your chances are better staying put than they are leaving it. And, if you do lose it all, well, I think you still might have had more than my old man ever did.

Walsh allowed the silence to sit for a minute. Thomas had nothing to say in reply. He realised the only reason he had floated this was because he had reached the same conclusion. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. Thought that Walsh might have found a trapdoor or side exit he’d missed. But no, there was only way forward.

- So, said Walsh, swallowing the last of his cone, this sharp man thinks there’s at least one more deal here to do. What do you say, Zahn?

Thomas allowed himself one more lingering glance on the fountain, then sucked his own melting ice cream into his mouth.

- Take Muzzie out, do it loud, make an example… for your trouble, we will also quietly cede all business south of Avery Street.

- South of Mulder.

- South of Finch.

- Done.

Thomas heard Walsh slap his thigh and rise from the bench.

- Always a pleasure, Zahn.

- Thank you for the ice cream, Walsh.

Thomas sat for a further fifteen minutes after his counterpart’s footsteps had faded into the noise, slowly finishing his cornetto. Once he was done, he rose and walked over to the edge of the fountain. The ripples from the latest burst of water were just settling on the surface; distorting the silver and copper circles that lay beneath them.

Thomas dipped his hand below the surface, letting the water take the stickiness of the ice cream from his fingers. Then, without giving second thought, he plunged in his arm up to the elbow. His shirt sleeve dripping water, his hand came away with a handful of mismatched coins.

A mother with a pushchair stared on, her mouth agape that such an urbane looking individual had just robbed the fountain of its wishes. Thomas gave her no regard. He held open his palm and counted his haul. Then strode over to the ice cream van and bought himself a second cornetto.