Push 5

I was sitting in a little café on la Rive Gauche when my beeper went off. Not my regular beeper, you understand. That one was turned off, shoved in a sock, and the sock was sitting in my suitcase back at the hotel. As far as I was concerned, I was on vacation. Yeah, I know. What does a guy like me need with a vacation? But seriously, everyone needs a change of scenery now and then. And Paris has some of the best scenery in the world. I was sitting back with a coffee, a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese, watching the crowds pass by and thinking that those three items in Paris were better than a gourmet meal anywhere else, when the other beeper buzzed. The one I never forget to carry. The one I wish I could throw into the Grand fucking Canyon.

That beeper doesn't go off very often anymore. I couldn't be happier. Every time it does, I get a sick feeling deep down in my gut like you probably get when you see a letter from the IRS, and I just know my day is shot. Which it always is. Even if it turned out to be nothing, just remembering that the other beeper existed was going to wreck my mood and turn the cheese bad in my guts.

It didn't turn out to be nothing. I got to a phone as soon as I could and dialed the number. It's always the same number; I don't even know why he leaves it anymore. It's not like I'm expecting it to be anyone but him.

Sure enough, after a few rings, I heard that gravelly voice say without prelude, "Bryant. I need you in Atlantic City by 2 PM tomorrow afternoon. I'm taking a meeting with the Galanno family, and I've had enough of their bullshit by now. It's time to push. I know you're out of town, so I'll have a man meet you at the airport. Don't be fucking late. I know you don't have any excuses."

I groaned. I knew I wasn't in much of a position to argue, but I at least figured I could push my luck and bitch a little. "Oh, come on, Bruno! Give a guy a break. I'm on vacation! I just got into Paris twelve hours ago, and you pick now to tell me this? You couldn't have mentioned it before I left?" I knew perfectly well why he didn't mention it before I left. It had been a while since we'd talked, and he was probably thinking I'd forgotten all about him. He wanted to remind me that all he had to do was tug, and I'd come to heel like a dog on a leash.

Sure enough, he said, "I could have. I didn't. Atlantic City, tomorrow, 2 PM. You owe me, Bryant." And then he hung up. And I got up, threw my bread to the pigeons and my cheese to the rats, and I got ready to head to Atlantic City. Some vacations just suck.

*****

You're probably wondering why a guy like me works for anyone. Talent like mine, you figure I gotta be my own boss, right?

Well, usually I am. Once, I was. That takes me back a little. Back to Greenwich Village, back in the middle of the Sixties. That was...damn, was it really twenty years ago, now? Time flies. Anyhow, it was back when my talent was first beginning to open up. I was a young man, and Greenwich Village was the place to be if you were any kind of weird. It was where all the hippies went, and all the musicians and the druggies and the gays and the lesbos and the freaks and hell, they even made a comic book set there. 'Doctor Strange', it was called, and man, that was cool by us. Strange, and loving it. Stan Lee got it exactly right.

And like I say, it hadn't been that long since I first learned about my talent. Wow, was that weird. One day, I was a guy who can't stay on anyone's good side for very long, someone my teachers were calling "lazy" and my parents were calling "useless" and the cops were calling "headed for Juvie Hall." Until I turned eighteen, of course. Then they started calling me "headed for Rikers Island."

The next day, I woke up with this weird buzzing feeling behind my eyes. When I concentrated on it, it felt like I could actually move it around inside my skull, like I could push it all the way to the front of my head right up against my eyes. But it didn't go away. Then my teacher started in on me in third-hour English, just like usual. I locked eyes with him, trying to give him the old, 'Don't give a fuck about school' stare, and the buzzing sort of started to get fiercer in my head. And I just...pushed.

And it all sort of went out into his head. It wasn't gone, though. I could still feel it. But when I pushed, I felt something give inside his brain. Suddenly, he went from being all pissed off to all smiles, apologizing for being so rude and talking about trying to be more understanding and all sorts of stuff. If I'd have stayed in school, he probably would have given me an A.

But I didn't. I played around with the talent for a little bit that day, pushed a few people and watched them get all nice around me, and real quick I got so that I could do it regularly. I wasn't very skilled with it, though, not like I am now. All I could really do then was push into someone's head and make them like me. Just kind of instinct. But back then, it was enough. I hit the road the very next day. Because I'd read the comics, I'd heard the music, I knew where the action was, and it wasn't out in Jersey. It was in Greenwich Village.

Man, life was sweet back then. I didn't have much in the way of material possessions, but I didn't need them. It was really freeing, never caring where I'd be sleeping that night, never having to worry about food or money or pussy or any of that. I just bounced around the Village for a couple of years, hanging out, listening to music, talking to people and listening as much as I talked. When I needed something, I'd push someone, or I'd go to someone I already pushed. It didn't wear off. Still doesn't, even to this day. I can drop in on any of those guys, they'll greet me like I'm their best friend. Any of the gals, they'll give me a roll in the hay and be happy to do it.

Thing like that, you'd think I'd be pushing and taking and grabbing like there's no tomorrow, but like I say, it was actually really freeing. Why grab someone's money when you can get as much as you want any time you want? Why take more than you need when you can always get whatever you need? Sorry, I'm probably sounding like an old hippie. I kind of hope I still am an old hippie. Reagan's America needs a few more of us around, y'know? But the point is, I tried not to take too much from anyone, just because I knew they'd let me have whatever I wanted.

So I did some dope, dropped a few tabs of acid, but I never bogarted anyone's stash. I ate for free in any restaurant in town, but I made sure never to run anyone out of business. I got all the pussy I wanted, but...okay. Yeah. I maybe went a little crazy with that. But it was the Sixties, man. Hell, there were a lot of guys who got just as much tail as I did, no pushing required. And the girls were happy too. We had a few fun times, a lot of laughs, and they understood I wasn't exclusive to anyone. Nobody got hurt.

Until I met Bianca. I was having dinner in an Italian restaurant, because the owner, Vito, was a friend of mine and let me eat for free. Yeah, I pushed him. It's OK. I've never met a restaurant owner who doesn't comp a few meals every now and then. Trust me, he wasn't gonna miss the money. He had guys in and out of that place all the time, real heavy-duty Italian guys who knew the good stuff, the authentic stuff when they tasted it. Oh, that sauce...Vito was out at the markets every morning, hand-picking the tomatoes. Not just to make sure they were fresh, either. He wanted to make sure they were the right ones, some a little overripe, some a little green...he was a master. Died about six years ago, heart attack. His sons run the place now. I went back there a few months ago. The sauce was still good, but it wasn't the same.

Sorry, I'm kind of rambling. Trust me, you ever tasted Vito's sauce, you'd forget what you were talking about for a minute too. I was talking about Bianca. She walked in that night, just as I was walking out, flanked by two guys who looked like shaved gorillas and wearing a look like the weight of the world was firmly on her shoulders. And what shoulders they were. Bianca DiStasio had a body that I swear was the most perfect in the history of the human race. And keep in mind, this was before plastic surgery. When I say her tits were the most firmly rounded, the most amazing in existence, I'm saying she didn't have anybody's help but Mother Nature. When I tell you that her legs would make a priest give up the cloth, I'm telling you that she was born looking that beautiful. I just had to look at her for a second, and I turned right back around and headed into the restaurant.

I headed straight for her table. When they saw me coming, the two gorillas gave me a look, but I'd gotten really good at the push by then, and before they could even touch me, they were all smiles and sitting me down at the table opposite Bianca. I gave her the push just as she looked up, and...well, sometimes I had those days back then when I felt a little guilty about pushing people. I don't get it so much anymore. It is what it is. But back then, yeah, I felt a little bad sometimes. But when Bianca saw me and all her troubles just melted away into this sweet, glorious smile that lit up the whole room, well...I felt like her knight in shining armor.

Vito came out to greet us, and he said that naturally, we'd eat for free. I was kind of used to that by now, and I chatted with Vito for a moment about his sons and his wife and how I was too full to eat another meal, but that the food had been amazing as always, but I didn't notice at the time how he kept looking down at the floor when he talked, and how he didn't sound quite as happy as he did when he usually talked to me.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "How could you not notice?" You gotta remember, this was back in '65. 'The Godfather' hadn't even been published yet, let alone turned into a movie, and I was a stupid kid from a whitebread neighborhood in Jersey who was sitting opposite the most beautiful woman in the world. All I noticed was my hard-on.

So yeah, I didn't notice when Vito shot me a panicky look as Bianca and I left the restaurant. I didn't notice the way that every customer was staring at me like I had the balls of an elephant and the lifespan of a cow in a slaughterhouse as I walked out of there with Bianca on my arm. All I knew was that she was fucking gorgeous, that she couldn't get enough of me, and that I was getting laid soon.

And I did. The gorillas brought her limo around, and she and I got into the back seat and they got into the front. Bianca rolled up that swanky black window between us, and she peeled off that powder-blue dress of hers, and...

You know, looking back on it, knowing what I know now...I'd do it all over again. Every second of it. Her skin was perfect to the touch, silky and smooth and just a little bit damp with sweat. Even her sweat smelled good, all mingled with the scent of her perfume. I can still remember that perfume. 'Je Reviens'. Every once in a while, I'll pass someone wearing it, and it's like that night is right there all over again.

I was hard for her, achingly hard inside my pants, and she knew it. She pulled down my zipper and pulled me out, and I wanted to fuck her so bad right then, but she knew that I was so horny I'd pop before thirty seconds. So she started by giving me a handjob. She knew just how to touch me, just what to say, talking dirty to me in Italian until I came all over my pants. To this day, I still don't know what the hell she was saying, but damn, she had one sexy voice.

And she just kept right on stroking, too. She knew full well that looking at a woman like her was going to get me hard again. Took me all of about a minute before my cock was standing right back up again. Twenty-year-old kids, man. That's the age when you have sex drive to spare. I was raring to go again, and she knew it. This time, she used her mouth. She wasn't talking dirty to me in Italian; she just kind of made slurping and moaning noises. Didn't matter. I only lasted about two minutes this time.

It wasn't until she'd gotten me hard again that she actually let me slide into her pussy. After I'd already gotten my rocks off twice, that took the edge off, so I was able to really give it to her for a while. She was moaning and whimpering and shouting something in Italian and she still had a little bit of my cum on her lips, and...like I said. It was worth everything else that happened.

Afterwards, she dropped me off at a friend's place, blew me a kiss, and I went inside feeling like I was so high I'd never come down. I fell asleep on my friend's couch, and I dreamed about that body all night, about the way her nipples looked and the expression on her face when she came...

When I woke up, I was tied to a chair. It was still dark, but that was because someone had put a hood on over my head. They'd just dumped a bucket of cold water on me, though, and let me tell you, that's not a fun way to start your day. Tied at the ankles, the knees, the wrists, the elbows, hood over the head, and suddenly I'm sopping wet. Got a hell of a headache, too. They'd cracked me one on the skull just to make sure I stayed out while they were moving me around.

I made a lot of noise for a few seconds, really freaked out. When I finally calmed down, they pulled the hood off of my head, and I was looking at him. Bruno.

He's really not much to look at, not at first glance. I don't mean he's ugly, although yeah, between you and me he's no looker. He's just sort of an average guy, thick neck, kind of beefy, shaved head, and eyes...he's got hooded eyes. Eyes like a lizard's. I don't remember him ever blinking, not once any of the times I spoke to him. He was sitting in his desk across from me, and there was a guy standing next to him, and another one standing next to me. They weren't the gorillas from the night before, but they were the same species. For a few seconds, he just looked at me. Then he started talking in that voice of his. That gravelly voice. You can see the scar across his throat. Never asked him where he got it. Never wanted to know that bad. But I suppose I should, someday. When the time is right.

"My name is Bruno DiStasio," he said. "I'm a businessman in the areas you frequent. You're probably not familiar with my name; I prefer to keep a low profile, in order to prevent my competition from taking an interest in my affairs. But trust me when I tell you that I have several business interests in the Village."

He pulled out a cigar, lit it up. I was still a little achy and woozy and shaky and yeah, maybe a little scared, so I just listened for a while. "I've been talking to some people while you were sleeping, some of the residents of Greenwich Village. It turns out that you've frequented several of the Village's local establishments, all without paying. You've eaten for free at its restaurants, drank at its bars, smoked its dope--even, on a few occasions, slept with its hookers, although I'm sure you didn't realize them to be such. Because you are a personable young man, and it appears that people are quite willing to do favors for you."

He didn't sound angry or anything. It was like we were talking about the stock market, or maybe the price of gas. Hell, I've heard people sound angrier about gas prices. "Unfortunately for you, I happen to be a businessman. I don't deal in favors. I deal in transactions. You, Mr. Bryant, have been purchasing goods on credit as far as I am concerned." It spooked me like hell that he knew my name. "I have canvassed the neighborhood, and totaled up the bill for goods and services that I have rendered to you. That bill is considerable. I would estimate it at somewhere in the neighborhood of 1.2 million dollars."

I must have kind of snorted then. Didn't matter how freaked out I was, I had to laugh at that. A million bucks for two years living in the Village? I hadn't spent it, I didn't have it, and I couldn't pay it. I felt the buzz in my head, and got ready to push, but...the expression on his face when he heard me laugh was scary. It made me forget for a second that I wasn't really in danger, that I could get out of this whenever I wanted. Because man, Bruno was one pissed-off motherfucker. He got up and walked around the desk as he talked. "You doubt my calculations? I assure you, the values are quite accurate. I know every item on that bill by heart, Mr. Bryant. They include food, liquor, accommodations, drugs...and last night, the sexual services of my wife, Bianca."

That was when I knew I was in deep shit. I knew that push or no push, I had to get my head together or I wasn't going to be walking out of this room. Bruno knew I knew, too. "Admittedly, my valuation of some of these items is quite high, Mr. Bryant. But I think you'll agree that Bianca is a truly valuable person. And you understand that I do not take lightly any such familiarity with one of my possessions. Not my restaurants, not my bars, and especially not my wife." That was when he hit me, hit me so hard the chair rocked. If the gorilla by my side hadn't grabbed it, it would have tipped over. "1.2 million dollars," he said. "Cash, goods, or services."

I knew as well as he did that he wasn't going to take cash. If I'd have had a million dollars, he'd have demanded ten. If I'd have had ten, he'd have asked for a hundred. I don't know if he knew about my talent then, either. I think he was expecting to just take it out of my hide, call that his exchange of 'goods'. But he was a sharp man. He might have pieced it together just from talking to the people I pushed. He must have had his suspicions. He sure figured it out quick enough after things went down.

Because I looked into his eyes, and I pushed...and I swear, it was like pushing a brick wall. I don't know why, never did, maybe never will. Maybe he's got the same talent I do, only in reverse. Maybe he's got a metal plate in his head or something. Maybe he's just the coldest, most ruthless son of a bitch ever to walk this planet. But for whatever reason, Bruno DiStasio is the only person I've ever met that I couldn't push...and he was a murderous gangster, and I'd just spent last night fucking his wife.

He got this little smile on his face as I kept trying to push. He could feel it inside his head, I'm sure of it, and it made him happy knowing that it didn't work on him. He said, "People have tried to push me around before, Mr. Bryant. They've all found out the hard way...I push back." And he shoved over the chair. I landed right on my back, and my arms just about screamed as the whole weight of the chair and my body came down right on top of them.

I realized I couldn't push him, and that trying was a waste of time. So I looked over at the gorilla next to me, and I pushed him instead. I said, "Hey, man, could you help me out? Your boss, he won't stop hassling me."

The gorilla looked at Bruno and put a hand on his shoulder. It was a friendly hand, but the way he gripped, it sent the message that it could become an unfriendly hand at any time. "Come on, boss," he said. "The guy's just a dumb kid, he didn't know any better. You scared the shit out of him, let's just end it there before anyone gets hurt."

Bruno looked at his guy for about three seconds. I expect I know what was going through his head. I've spent a little time around Bruno's operation by now, and I know his guys are loyal. And it goes both ways. Bruno might have been a bastard to me, but I can't say I don't understand why. His guys, though, they see a different side of him. When you join Bruno's family, you're taken care of for life. You, your kids, your parents...there's nothing Bruno won't do for you. The guys he brings in, they're like brothers to him. It's a bond of blood between Bruno and his men.

But at the time, I didn't know that. When Bruno brought his hand up with snake-like speed and grabbed the guy's windpipe, and just squeezed until he was drawing blood with his fingernails, I didn't know how much it must have hurt him to do that. I didn't understand that by compromising that man's loyalty, I'd as good as signed his death warrant, that I was responsible for what had just happened even if I didn't mean to do anything more than get out of there with my skin intact. I just saw that Bruno was a stone-cold killer with a grip like a vice, and that pushing other people wasn't going to help me any more than pushing Bruno was.