Night Work Read Free Page A

Paulie had positioned himself on the couch before he spoke. "I really appreciate you seeing me, Paulie."
        "How's the old man doing?"
        "Good."
        "He still working?"
        "Oh yeah."
        "He's a good man, your father."
        "Yeah, thanks."
        "You tell him I said hello, all right?"
        Frank had no intention of telling his father he'd had any contact with Paulie at all, but nodded anyway. "I'll do that."
        Paulie glared at the cereal. "Doctor makes me eat a bowl of this slop every day. If I don't eat it, I get constipated something fucking awful, Frank. I end up squatting on the toilet trying to push a turd the size of a fucking grapefruit out of my ass, and trust me, that ain't exactly a fun time, you know?"
        Frank nodded, unsure of how to respond.
        "If the oatmeal don't get me," he chuckled, holding up the magazine, "the snatch does. I don't know why, but looking at pussy always gives me the runs. Ain't that the strangest goddamn thing, Frank?"
        "Yeah, I'd have to say it is."
        "But who the hell wants to hear about that, right?" He tossed the magazine onto the couch, leaned back, and pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket. "I got things all set up for you tonight in Providence."
        Frank felt a rush of relief. "Great. Who am I meeting with?"
        "Fella by the name of Rain. Charlie Rain."
        "Doesn't ring a bell."
        "He's a min."
        "Min?"
        "Short for minnow," Paulie explained, lighting his cigar with an unsettling sucking sound. "It means he's small change in the business. Still, it's the best way in. All the other independents are gonna waste your time. They'll bleed you and cut you loose. Rain's been working New England and parts of New York for about two years now, so he's new to the game himself. Does mostly high school and small college stuff, an occasional state fair, but that's it. From what I hear, the boys respect him. They tell me he's an honest, harmless sort of guy. Pays on time, pays fair, and he's easy to work with. He earned his chops with Big Louie Bazooka."
        "The wrestler?"
        "No, the hair stylist, of course the wrestler. Louie wrestled when you were a kid. After he retired he went to work for a few of the big boys, learned the promoting game and then branched out on his own. He ran ad-book shows for a few years. You know those sleazy police union deals where they set up a telephone boiler room and pressure people to make donations in exchange for a couple tickets to the show? I guess he took Charlie Rain under his wing and taught him the business. But about a year ago Louie had a stroke and wound up in some nursing home in upstate New York. He could be dead by now, I got no idea."
        Frank lit a cigarette. "Anything else you can tell me about Rain?"
        "I spoke to him myself. He seems like a nice enough guy, very respectful. He's in his early forties and comes from a sales background, but the story going around is that when he was in his early twenties he played on some TV show for a couple seasons. Some bullshit about this doctor and his wife who adopt all these fucked up kids. Anyway, the show only lasted two seasons and Rain went into a tailspin and blew all his cash. I hear he was a dope-head, and he's supposedly still got a bit of a drinking problem, so keep that in mind."
        "How do you mean?"
        Paulie offered a wry smile. "Drinking's a weakness, right? See, Rain wants to expand. He's looking around for a deal but Louie taught him right, so he don't trust nobody in the game. That means he's either gotta find some mark businessman with a few bucks to burn, or a young hustler like you who can make things happen."
        "You think he'll trust me then?"
        "Of course not." Paulie shrugged. "Still your best shot, though. Out of respect for me, he's willing to talk to you. Remember, this is a closed business. You don't get in unless you know