Scared of Stan
Smokey’s revelation about Sunshine being afraid of Stan made no sense to me. What I knew about Stan told me that he was a smug son of a bitch. He could be a mouthy fuck, and he was strong, but I didn’t see much to be afraid of. I wondered if Sunshine was afraid because he thought Stan was crazy like I did. I decided to stop wondering and ask. “Why is Sunshine afraid of Stan?”
Smokey took a deep breath and blew it out from between pursed lips. He seemed surprised when a cloud of bluish grey smoke didn’t appear from out of his mouth. Smokey took another breath and used it to tell me things, things I didn’t know.
“There’s a lot of rumors going around that Stan is connected.”
“Connected?” I asked when Smokey didn’t explain.
“You know.” Smokey insisted. “He’s in with the mob.”
I didn’t believe Smokey’s assertion for a second. There was a mob in Philadelphia, just like there were mobs in all the major US cities. The lawyer, Scofield had said he’d once thought Ted’s murder was a mob hit based on the violence Ted suffered, but he dismissed that idea quickly. Also, the mobs I was aware of were usually careful about their help. Smug Stanley didn’t strike me as the type of steady, even-tempered killer which the mob usually preferred to cultivate. I also couldn’t even picture Stan as a thug. He was too unpredictable to be a hit man and too pretty to be a leg breaker.
I humored Smokey so he would show me his whole line of logic. I guessed he’d had time to reason out the whole ‘Stan is in the mob’ theory during all the walks he took while Sunshine was getting his needs met by Ted. I wanted to know what Smokey knew without the conclusions he attached to the facts. “Why do you think he’s in the mob?” I asked.
Smokey took his right hand from his pocket and counted his points off on his nicotine-stained fingers. “He’s got too much money for one. That Rocket Olds he’s driving is expensive, even if it is a few years old. He’s also got all kinds of fancy doodads and gimcracks under the hood, everything chrome plated. Those lake pipes were custom bent and chrome dipped. Just those pipes cost more than the whole car Sunny and I race.”
I held up my hand to stop Smokey from enumerating any of the other auto parts which, in his mind, ‘proved’ Stan had too much money. I thought Smokey had made too much out of a common complaint from older men about younger ones. Smokey appeared to be in his late twenties, maybe thirty. He wore a plain, gold wedding ring like I did. He looked like a family man. Family men always think that young men have too much money. The fact that a younger man with no responsibilities could buy a set of custom ‘lake pipes’ for his car didn’t mean the young man was in the mafia.
“He’s got too much money.” I acknowledged. “What else?”
Smokey stood off the lamppost that he’d been leaning against and took a couple small steps closer to me. He rolled some spit around in his mouth, pursed his lips, and pushed it out in a stream onto the ground. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and spoke in a low voice like he was afraid we’d be overheard. “Things have started to happen to people Stan doesn’t like.”
Smokey let the statement hang in the air like it told me everything I needed to know. It didn’t, so I asked for more. “Things?” I asked.
Smokey nodded confidentially. “Cars stolen or smashed up, guys getting killed. Bad things.”
“To who?”
Smokey took another small step toward me so his words fell directly into my face. He was so close that I could feel his breath as much as I heard his voice. “Ted started coming to the races at the beginning of December. Stan brought him the first time. Ted introduced himself around and started in on his act right away.
“He’d see someone with a hood open and he’d come over like he was going to help with whatever you were working on. He’d get real close and kind of rub himself against you. He’d whisper the dirty stuff he wanted you to do to him, or he wanted to do to you. He tried that with me, and I told him to make tracks. I got a wife and two little girls at home. I don’t have no use for Ted’s kind of fun. Some of the other guys, they were just fine with what Ted wanted. Sunshine was one of them.”
Smokey paused his story again like he wanted me to say something. I used the pause to smear my building frustration over my face with both of my palms. I felt like Smokey’s story was taking way too much time to tell. I wondered how much longer David would be able to keep Sunshine quiet in the car. I wondered how much longer the races would run. I wondered all kinds of things. I tried to summarize what Smokey had said to get him to speed up his story.
“So,” I said, “Ted showed up and started whoring it up right away. Some of the guys took him up on his offers, including Sunshine. I get it, but I already know all this. So what? Tell me what it means. How does any of this matter for Stan?”
“That’s just it,” Smokey insisted, “at first, it didn’t. Stan didn’t seem to care what Ted did. A week or so later, he started to care. He wouldn’t say anything in front of Ted, but if he knew Ted was with one of the other guys, he’d find the guy later and threaten him. Some of the guys who Stan threatened, things happened to them.
“The first was gimpy Norman with the shrapnel in his knee. He had a Buick all set up with hand controls ‘cause he can’t bend his leg to press the clutch. He was messing around with Ted. Gettin’ his rocks off. Stan told Norm to stop, and he didn’t. A couple days later, Norm’s Buick with all them expensive controls wound up in the river at the end of the municipal pier.”
“That doesn’t mean anything…” I started to say when Smokey cut me off.
“That was only the first. After Norm’s car wound up in the drink, someone smashed all the glass in Big Al’s Hudson. Next was Timmy’s Pontiac Chief what rolled away from the curb and crashed through a plate glass shop window. Things got serious when Karloff, or Mel as you called him, got killed under his Cadillac.”
I cut Smokey off to ask about Mel. “You think Stan killed Mel because he was playing around with Ted?”
Smokey nodded his head so hard that he almost whacked his forehead against mine. “Karloff was always careful with that big Caddy of his. He would put oak timbers under the frame when it was up on a jack. When the cops found him, those timbers were next to the car, like someone kicked them away. The cops figured Karloff moved the wood and was getting ready to let the jack down when he remembered something underneath. They think he got back under, and that’s when the car fell. I think someone else kicked the wood away and let the jack down.”
I wasn’t convinced by Smokey’s reasoning. I took a long step away from him and said as much. “All that’s circumstantial. None of it means anything.”
Smokey started to get indignant. I stopped him to tell him my thoughts. “From what I’ve heard, Ted threw himself at everyone. Just because a few of the guys who took him up on his offers wound up having car trouble doesn’t point to a single vandal or murderer. It certainly doesn’t add up to a mob connection. Everything you described are things that happen…happen all the time. Cars fall off jacks, people get careless and forget to set the parking brake, cars get stolen and driven into the river, kids break glass. I don’t see the connection.”
“The connection is TED!” Smokey insisted.
I opened my mouth to argue with Smokey, but he talked over me. “Just listen.” He insisted again. “Ted really liked Sunshine and Sunshine really liked Ted. Sunny used to talk to Ted after they did whatever they did. They’d sit in the back of the Lincoln and just talk about stuff. I never knew what because Sunshine always kept me away. I think Ted was kinda sweet on Sunny because Sunny treated him good. I think the opposite was true too.
“Stan didn’t like all the time Ted was spending with Sunshine. He warned Sunny not to mess around with Ted anymore. Sunny didn’t think Stan meant they couldn’t be friendly. He let Ted hang around, but when Ted offered to do things for Sunny, Sunny wouldn’t let him. Sunny figured that would be good enough for Stan, but it wasn’t.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Somebody broke into the garage where Sunny keeps the Lincoln we race. They smashed the fenders all to hell with a tire iron. They didn’t touch the rest of the body or the glass, just the front and back fenders. That’s why we took ‘em off. We were gonna take ‘em off anyway, but we thought we could sell ‘em to pay for speed parts. Instead, we had to scrap ‘em.
“After that, Sunshine told Ted he couldn’t see him anymore. Ted was broke-up about it. He asked Sunny why not. Sunny didn’t want to get on Stan’s bad side, so he wouldn’t say. He told Ted that he couldn’t see him and that was that. After Sunny sent Ted away, nothing more happened to the car. That’s how I know Stan did it. I think he’s connected, but even if he ain’t, he’s not to be trifled with.”
Smokey stepped away from me and fished a cigarette from his pocket. He looked at it between his yellow fingers and put it back in the pack. He rolled the cigar tobacco in his mouth from one cheek to the other and spat on the ground.
I ruminated on what I’d just heard. I didn’t believe the idea that Stan was a ‘connected’ guy. I also wasn’t completely convinced that the incidents which Smokey related could all be traced back to Stan. I didn’t think a guy like Stan had the brains or the temperament for the type of revenge Smokey described. In my experience, guys like Stan were more like summer storms. They would bluster and rage, but they’d spend their energy quickly.
Still, the fact remained that Stan had lied to me, and I didn’t know why. If what Sunshine and Smokey said was correct, Ted couldn’t have gone off with Mel on February 6th, because Mel was dead on January 20th. I reasoned it was barely possible that Stan lied to me for sport. He was a smug son of a bitch after-all, and he had laughed when I reminded him about Mel, but the logic seemed thin. I wasn’t sure what to do. Stan’s lie made him suspicious. I knew I had to find out why he lied, but I didn’t know how.
I set those musings aside to see if Smokey had anything to add to his story. He was talked out, so I turned on my heels and pointed down the block toward the parked Lincoln. Smokey joined me to walk toward it. As we went, I asked him what he thought about Ted’s murder. “Could Stan have killed him?”
“Nah.” Smokey asserted. “Stan had no reason to. Ted was his…his…whatever two guys call it when they’re together.”
I turned Smokey’s idea over in my head and spat my tobacco on the ground. As much as I usually liked the taste, I’d chewed too much of it that day and was tired of having it in my mouth. I’d also about half decided to quit using tobacco in any form, and I didn’t want to keep feeding nicotine into my body.
After I thought about Smokey’s idea of Ted and Stan as a couple, I decided I didn’t much like it. When I’d spoken to Stan at the bar the night before, he’d bragged about using Ted for his pleasure. I couldn’t make the mental leap from Stan the user to Stan the boyfriend. I reasoned that Stan might have been pretending indifference to show off for me. He seemed like the kind of guy who would show off for everyone. I just wasn’t sure. I didn’t like that Stan was an unknown quantity.
When I couldn’t go any further with that line of thought, I reverted to my former idea. For some reason, Stan had lied to me. I needed to find out why. People lie for all kinds of reasons, but the most common one is they want to conceal something. I reasoned that Stan had something to conceal. I needed to find out what it was.
Smokey and I went back to the car. I grabbed the chromium door handle and jerked the driver’s door open. I stuck my head into the car with a deep breath in my lungs because I expected to have to shout at Sunshine again. I expected to have to get rough with him because I didn’t think the ten minutes Smokey and I had been gone would have settled him down any. To my surprise, the greeting I received was far different from the one I expected. “I’m sorry.” Sunshine blurted.
I looked to David for an explanation of Sunshine’s change in attitude. “We had a nice talk.” David announced. “Arthur wants to help us, so we can help Larry.”
“Arthur?” I asked.
“That’s me.” Sunshine said. “Arthur Constantine.”
I’d forgotten that Smokey had told me Sunshine’s real name. I offered my hand to the man with the changed attitude. We shook, and I commented it was nice to meet him. While I still had Sunshine’s hand, I used it to help him out of the back seat. David followed him out and we all stood next to the car.
Sunshine apologized again. “I didn’t mean to act like I did. I was embarrassed, is all. The Big Guy, David, told me that I didn’t have any reason to be embarrassed. He’s right. I liked Ted. I liked him more than I should have. I’m sorry he’s dead, but Larry shouldn’t have to suffer because Ted got himself killed. I want to help, if I can.”
Smokey moved within the four of us to stand closer to Sunshine. He tapped his finger on the top of the smaller man’s head. “You’re a good egg, Sunny. I told Smiley that you were a good egg. Thanks for not making a liar outta me.”
Sunshine nodded to accept Smokey’s praise, then he smiled the first smile I’d ever seen on his face. “Thanks, Leo.” He said to Smokey.
“Leo?” I asked when I heard the name.
Smokey straightened up and waved at me. “Leopold Morawski.” Smokey said proudly. “As Polish as the day is long.”
Sunshine stuck an elbow into his friend’s ribs to tease him. “The way you act, I’m sure they already figured you was a Polack.”
Smokey cuffed his friend on the back of the neck. “You Greeks ain’t known much for your smarts, either.”
Both men laughed and were friends again.
The four of us got back in the car. Arthur ‘Sunshine’ Constantine drove us back to the vacant lot where the races were still in full swing. He parked near Walt’s station wagon, and we all got out again. I’d spent the short drive with my thoughts. Somehow, I needed to find out why Stan had lied to me. I didn’t know how I was going to do that.
The direct approach would be to beat the answers out of Stan, but I didn’t much like the idea. One never knows when the truth comes out during a violent interrogation. Often, the one who is taking the beating will say whatever he thinks will stop the violence. Because I didn’t have anyone else to corroborate whatever Stan might say, I had no way to know when his words would change from lies to truth.
I thought about threatening him with my gun in the hopes he would be frightened into telling me what I wanted to know. I decided against that idea because Stan had proven himself to be a decent judge of character. I assumed he’d try to force my hand. The smug son-of-a-bitch would push me to the point where I either had to shoot him, or admit the whole thing was a bluff.
I mulled over what I knew about Stan. The answer was ‘very little.’ I knew he was a ‘smug so-and-so,’ to use Hank Kellerman’s words. I knew he was prone to fits of temper. I knew he was a mechanic. I knew he had sex with men. I knew he was a racer. I suspected he had a screw loose.
Leo ‘Smokey’ Morawski had said that Stan had too much money and mob connections. “How much would Stan’s Oldsmobile have cost him?” I asked both Smokey and Sunshine.
Sunshine answered. “I know what he paid for it because Ted told me. He said Stan bragged about how much he spent. Stan paid eight-hundred-and-twenty dollars just last summer. Paid it all cash up front. He didn’t get a red cent for that old Model A of his, because he blew the motor up in it. Those chrome lake pipes cost him another one-hundred-and-eighty-five. New tires, reverse rims, baby moon caps and the other work, maybe another three-hundred.”
I did some math in my head and came up with a grand total of one-thousand-three-hundred-and-five dollars. That sounded like a lot of money. “What do you think he makes as a mechanic?” I asked.
Sunshine shrugged but Smokey had something to say. “My wife’s cousin works on trucks. He does pretty well. Not as good as me, but pretty well. He makes a dollar-ninety-five an hour. Guys who work on cars don’t make as much. Maybe a dollar-seventy-five.”
I did some more math in my head. I rounded the hourly rate up to two bucks to make the math easy and multiplied it times forty hours for eighty dollars a week, and three-twenty a month. Take a third of it away for Uncle Sam, and Stan would be left with something like two hundred bucks to live on. That was good money, but not big money. For Stan to have spent thirteen-hundred on his Olds in such a short amount of time, he was either a scrupulous saver, or he’d had a windfall. Because Stan didn’t strike me as the type to squirrel away his nickels and dimes, I assumed he’d had a windfall.
“Where did all the money come from?” I asked aloud.
Smokey grinned at me. He celebrated my question because he thought it vindicated his theory of mob connections. “I TOLD YOU Stan had too much money!” Smokey crowed. He took a cigarette from his pocket, realized he still had a wad of tobacco in his cheek, and put the cigarette back in the pack. He spat the tobacco on the ground and chewed more from the cigar I’d given him. He held what was left of it up to me. “Thanks for this. Maybe if I keep my mouth wet at work, I’ll breathe less dust, and I won’t cough so much.”
I was tempted to shake my head at the idea that Smokey’s cough was from dust and not from the eighty cigarettes he smoked per day, but I didn’t. Instead, I stuck my hand in my pocket and brought out two more cigars. I passed them over to Smokey who accepted them happily. As I did, I wondered if he could be right about what he’d said about Stan having too much money. I decided the only way to find out was to keep an eye on the man. I was going to have to follow Stanley.
