Birthday Wishes

CW: Gun violence

BIRTHDAY WISHES

Theodore Henry Malone the third, nick-named Knuckles because of his history as a light heavyweight, adjusted his trouser cuffs and eased out of the Studebaker on Fourth and Main.

“Wait here.”

“Ok boss.”

Pulling his coat close to ward off the cold of a wintry New York night, he pushed on the door. A bell tinkled softly, and a woman, mid-fifties, dowdy with hair up in a bun, came from out the back.

“A dozen roses.”

Knuckle’s voice was rough, guttural, a consequence of his failed career as a boxer. The woman could sense the underlying menace of the man and the outline of a gun under the confines of his coat and bundled up an enormous bunch of roses, tying them with a ribbon with barely a word.

“Three fifty.”

Knuckles unfurled a ten from his money clip and dropped it on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

He snatched the roses and walked back out into the night, cold as a mortuary.

“Keep em where I can see em.”

The voice in Knuckle’s ear was wheezy, sharp as a tooth.

“Three Toes.”

“Don’t turn around. Just walk quietly to the car.”

The gangster was as calm as a pond, one hand holding roses, the other scratching at his waist as well-manicured fingernails sought the hilt of his 22.

“Don’t do it, Knuckles.”

A second voice, chilly as a Saturday night in Central Park skating to the Blue Danube, whispered menacingly.

“No Nose O’Malley. I should have known.”

The hand stopped its crawl.

“Hand over your piece.”

“I don’t have one.”

McGill stuck the barrel of his heavy weapon under Malone’s chin.

“Hurry up.”

Knuckles removed the 22 from its holster under his left arm and thumbed the hammer.

“Slowly.”

As he eased the gun out, No Nose shoved his large mitt into his ribs before wrapping his fingers around the grip.

“Get moving.”

The three men — one sweeping the street for an escape, the other two like guards at the Cenotaph — strolled to the Studebaker.

“I take to you killed Micky? “

Knuckles could see the prone body in the front seat.

“Why would we do that? We’re only getting paid to ice you.”

“Yeah, we just hit him with the sap. He’ll be out for a few hours.”

Three Toes McGill jerked open the passenger door.

“If you please.”

Knuckles shook his head.

“You’ll have to kill me right here.”

No Nose smiled his crocodile smile.

“Suits me.”

Three Toes glanced at the bundle of red petals in the man’s hand.

“Who are they for? Your latest floozie?”

Knuckles looked sad.

“It’s for me Mom. It’s her birthday.”

“How old is she?”

“Eighty.”

“No.”

The other goon butted in, his Luger pointing at both of the conversationalists.

“Shut up, No Nose. Let’s get this done.”

The taller man, his face sunken and his nostrils smashed across his zygomatic arch, frowned.

“What about his dear old mom?”

Three Toes laughed bitterly.

“We’ll send her some daffidils.”

Knuckles waited a beat.

“You’d be doing me a favour if you didn’t ice me just yet.”

McGill poked the enormous weapon into his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’d make it worth your while if you let me go wish her a happy birthday.”

Three Toes’ eyes turned green with greed, calculating and hungry.

“How much?”

“I’ve got three grand at her house. You can have it.”

No Nose’s voice shook.

“Three grand? Did you hear that, Mac?”

McGill nodded.

“How do I know you won’t just scarper?”

“Come with me. You can meet her, let me give her the roses, collect three grand. After that, I don’t care if you plug me full of holes.”

The two men got in a huddle, No Nose keeping a bead on Malone.

“Whacha ya think?”

“We’re getting one hundred for the hit.”

“Three grand.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“What’s to trust? We go to his dear old mother’s, grab the money, put him out of his misery.”

No Nose smiled even more wickedly.

“And if he don’t behave himself, we do the old lady, too.”

The trip uptown was silent for three blocks until Micky woke up briefly. Very briefly, because of a second rap across the noggin.

“You don’t think it might damage his brain, do you, Mac?”

Three Toes sniggered.

“Not much to damage.”

As they drove past Harlem Knuckles lent across the back seat.

“Splendid piece.”

McGill smiled broadly.

“Yeah, ain’t it?”

He became animated.

“It was during the war. I got it off a dead German when we reached Dresden. He wasn’t going to use it no more.”

When the expensive vehicle skidded to a halt outside the Intercontinental, No Nose whistled in admiration.

“Your mom lives here?”

Knuckles grinned.

“Nothing’s too good for her.”

The doorman doffed his brimmed chapeau at Malone, eyes following the other two with undisguised animosity.

“It’s okay, Glenn. They’re with me.”

The elevator was unoccupied. Knuckles cranked the drive shaft until it went up to the third floor.

McGill croaked.

“All out.”

The two assassins paused for a moment at the top of the hallway. The lights were out, and that made them nervous.

“You go first.”

Knuckles shrugged.

“Suits me.”

He walked to the door near the open window that let in a cold, billowing breeze. For a moment the gangster considered leaping out into the night. There was probably snow on the street below. Or he could be a mangled mess. Or worse, a cripple.

Malone rapped on the door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.

The three men waited as the sound of locks being unlocked, keys being turned and a faint muttering of obscenities greeted them.

Then the door opened a crack.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, Ma.”

“Theodore?”

He heard a chuckle behind him.

“Is that your name?”

Knuckles ignored the slur. He’d heard it all before, from the time he was a boy. That’s why he’d taken up the fight game — a way to release his anger. That was before he became a hoodlum. Malone might have made a poor boxer, but he was a good crook.

“Who is that with you?”

The eye peering at them was old, cloudy, bloodshot.

“Some friends.”

He raised the bouquet up close to the old woman’s gaze.

“I brought you something for your birthday.”

There was a momentary beat, silence, before the door closed.

“Looks like she don’t want your gift.”

McGill had the Luger up against Malone’s ribs.

“Remember. I won’t hesitate to do the old bird in too.”

There was the sound of metal sliding as the door swung open.

“Come on, baby boy.”

The three men strolled in, Malone in front, McGill behind, No Nose in the rear. Standing with her arms on her hips, the old woman was grimacing.

“It’s very late, Theo.”

“Sorry mom. I had business to attend to.”

He turned, gestured with his left hand.

“These are my associates, McGill and O’Malley.”

“Boys.”

Malone thrust his hand out, the roses already becoming limp.

“Sorry. Happy Birthday.”

“Yeah, happy birthday, Mrs Malone.”

“Call me Gloria, son.”

She took the roses and turned, walking towards the armoire that stood near the piano on the far wall.

“Let me just put these in water.”

McGill was by her side in a heartbeat.

“Let me help you.”

“Oh, thank you, son.”

She swivelled her head and addressed Knuckles.

“Get your friend a drink.”

McGill disappeared into the depths of the apartment as Malone went to the bar.

“Highball?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Knuckles bent down, the light of the bar fridge illuminating his face.

Suddenly there was a report, sharp, cutting through the apartment like a knife, before a soft thud.

“What the hell?”

Moments later, Malone had a 45 in his hand, pointing unerringly at No Nose.

“Knuckles. Buddy.”

The gangster did not hesitate, firing quickly, red blooms like discarded roses bursting onto the chest of O’Malley before he too fell with a thud.

“You okay?”

The old woman came out, a small gun in her hand.

“Sure, ma. All done.”

They walked towards each other, meeting in the centre of the room. There was a groan. McGill crawled out, leaving a bloody trail inking behind him. There was one more shot, and the goon juddered and died.

‘You’ve still got it.”

Mrs Malone smirked.

“Not bad for an old dame.”

Gloria pulled open a drawer in the armoire and dropped the smoking weapon with a laugh.

“You know it’s not my birthday?”

Knuckle hugged his mother, muffling her cries of protestation.

“Of course I do, Mom.”

He kissed her on the top of her greying head, eyes wet with tears as the old woman stared at the two corpses leaking blood and brain matter on her hallway carpet.

“You owe me big this time, Theodore.”

He laughed, hugging her even harder.

“I’ll buy you something really nice.”

Malone took the Luger out of the dead hand of McGill as there was a knocking at the door.

“You okay, Mr Malone?”

Knuckles went to the door, greeted Glenn, and as the night man stared into the apartment, the faint cloud of smoke from gunfire failed to conceal the dead assassins.

“You want me to wake up Micky?”

“Yeah. Could you send him up?”