The door to the conference room was propped open, and inside waited Ed Bench and two men in gray flannel suits with skinny lapels. From Pepper’s description, the two men were the astronauts. Ed Bench was seated at the big oval-shaped table, a white telephone with an intercom system by his elbow. There were twelve empty seats. The table and chairs were from Templeton Office’s new fall line of business furniture. Not even out yet, as far as Carney knew. Outside the glass wall to the street, the new midtown skyline—ever changing—marched in silhouette.
Pepper nodded in greeting to the two astronauts, who made no response. They flanked Ed Bench and had their guns trained on Carney and Pepper in the doorway. The astronauts were more at home in the tailored suits than the gas-company costumes; this corporate warren was their natural habitat.
From his reaction, Ed Bench had been briefed on the couch salesman’s bodyguard, but could not resist raising an eyebrow at his rustic attire.
Pepper kept his gun on the redhead. He had a particular dislike.
“My client was glad to have the necklace back,” Ed Bench said. “He’ll be pleased you brought the rest of his things.”
“Where’s Freddie?” Carney said.
Ed Bench gestured at the briefcase. “Everything inside?”
“The man asked you a question,” Pepper said. He checked the office behind him for party crashers. The partitions made it impossible. “Can we quit with the jibber jabber?”
The eyes of the two astronauts communicated that they waited on a pretext.
“You parked where I told you?” Ed Bench said, lowering the temperature.
Carney said, “Yeah.”
Ed Bench dialed a number. He said, “Okay,” and hung up. “If you go to the window, you’ll see.”
Pepper said, “Go ahead,” and kept his gun level. Carney moseyed over. His father’s truck was directly across the street.
“He’ll be along,” Ed Bench said.
“Van Wyck,” Carney said. “He must be broken up about his son.”
“Linus had a knack for getting into trouble. He hung out with a bad element.”
Below, two men emerged around Fifty-First Street. They carried a limp figure, which they deposited in the truck bed. They withdrew. Perhaps it was Freddie. The person did not move.
“What’s wrong with him?” Carney said.
“He’s alive,” Ed Bench said.
The blond astronaut made a sound.
“Mr. Van Wyck took a dim view,” Ed Bench said.
Pepper said, “Fuck is that?”
“Introducing his son to narcotics. Laughing.”
Introducing—that wasn’t true at all. “What do you mean, laughing?” Carney said.
Ed Bench registered Pepper’s new posture. “When they robbed the apartment. Linus and Mr. Van Wyck had a scuffle and he fell. And Linus’s friend laughed.” He stroked his chin. “He took a dim view.”
For the first time the redheaded astronaut spoke: “So we tuned him up.”
Later, Pepper explained it was the principle of the thing: Let white people think they can fuck all over you and they’ll keep doing it.
That was two months after the night on Park Avenue. Summer had burned off and autumn crept in like a thief. They were in Donegal’s. Carney had stopped by to see how Pepper was enjoying the Egon recliner and pagoda standing lamp. Carney said, “You said with the riots, what was the point? Everything keeps on the way it is, so all the protests were for nothing.”
Pepper said, “I am right in that. Grand jury had nothing to say about that cop, did it? He’s still on the job, right? But as it pertains to me shooting those dudes…maybe you start small and work your way up.”
TOSS
AND
SEE THEM RUN!
That night in 319 Park, Pepper started small by shooting the redheaded astronaut in the mouth. Instinct compelled the redhead to fire his .38. He missed. The blond astronaut shot at Pepper and got him in the meat above his left hip before Pepper shot him once in the face and twice in the gut. Pepper fired two more rounds into the redhead to put him down, for the man flopped weirdly on the conference table as if electrocuted. The final bullet put an end to the flailing.
“Spinal column,” Pepper said. “Makes them go buggy like that.”
From his reaction, Ed Bench had never seen two men shot to death close up. Pale by pedigree, he grew more so. Carney had seen Pepper kill a man before, so seeing him kill two held little novelty, but he didn’t have the psychological burden of wondering if he was next. He rushed over. “You’re shot, man,” he said.