Free Keeplock: A Novel of Crime by Stephen Solomita Page A

day, Eddie. Pow! Zoom!” It was an ongoing joke between us. Eddie Conte was five inches taller than me and dead game in a fight.
    “Right,” he answered, “one day . Only now it’s night, so ya gotta wait. Mario, see if you could get my friend a bowl of minestrone. You drinkin’ tanight, cuz?”
    “Sure. Coca-Cola.”
    “And a large Coke, Mario. With a cherry.” He turned back to me. “What’s doin’, cuz. Still adjustin’?”
    “Not anymore.” He nodded his appreciation. “Too bad about the conditions.” He meant the conditions of my parole. “What’s it like in the shelter?”
    “Actually, it’s not too bad. It’s in the old Paradise Hotel near the river.” I went on to describe Calvin’s reception and my response, omitting any reference to the cops.
    “Sounds like the joint, cuz.”
    “Just like the joint,” I agreed.
    “Here.” He stretched across the table and put a small roll of bills in my lap. “Five hundred. For comin’ down to talk.”
    “You don’t have to pay me to talk, Eddie. You’re disrespecting me here.” I started to pass the money back, but he pushed my hand away, then leaned forward and tapped his nose.
    “Take it from one friend to another. For what I got planned, cuz, this five hundred ain’t toilet paper.”
    I put the money in my pocket, mostly because I needed it.
    “Good. Now I got somebody I want to introduce.” He turned to the two women. “Big Momma, could you come over here a minute?”
    The woman who rose from the chair furthest away from me was well over six feet tall. Dressed in a light blue sweater and a black skirt that came to the tops of her knees, she projected a demure femininity despite her size.
    “Hi, Pete,” she said, sitting next to me. Her eyes were sky-blue and lively. “I heard a lot about you. My name’s Louise.”
    “And this here,” Eddie announced, “is the woman who waited for me. This here is my wife, Annie.”
    The woman who sat on his lap and planted a kiss on the top of his rapidly balding head was short and wiry. In her thirties and homely to begin with, she nevertheless held on to Eddie as if she owned him. Grinning an idiot’s grin, he nipped at her arm like a playful puppy.
    As for me, I was jealous. Eddie Conte was a younger, poorer Joe Terrentini. He had values. Ties to the community. For him, crime was a freely chosen career. For me, it was a sentence. Nevertheless, I managed my sweetest smile, said hello to Louise and Annie, then reminded Eddie that I was supposed to be back in the shelter by ten.
    “I know,” Louise announced. “Eddie told us about your problem, but we wanted to come down and say hello anyway. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”
    “I already got my fingers crossed,” I flashed her my sweetest smile.
    Louise returned the smile as she got up and turned to leave. Annie jumped off Eddie’s lap and leaned over me as she passed. “Watch this fuckin’ guy,” she warned, jabbing a thumb in Eddie’s direction. “He’s dangerous.”
    Eddie’s smile vanished before the door closed. He started to speak, then stopped as Mario reappeared with the soup and my Coke. Eddie looked annoyed for a moment, then asked me what else I wanted to eat.
    “The soup’ll do, Eddie. I don’t have a lot of time.”
    “Bring us a couple of cold antipastos, Mario. And a garlic bread. Also, bring me another beer.” He turned back to me. “Maybe we’ll pick a little while we’re talkin’. Pickin’ helps relax me.”
    “I could see that, Eddie.” I nodded at his waistline. He’d put on a few pounds in the six months he’d been out.
    He looked down at the small roll hanging over his belt. Touched it as if surprised to find it there. After Mario left, he started talking. “Yeah, cuz, I’m livin’ good. And I like it. You know what’s hard about this life? First ya go in the joint, then ya come out. You go in; you come out. Alla time like a fuckin’ yo-yo. It don’t make sense. I wanna do somethin’