The Bear Abides

He was tired. Bone tired. More tired than he had ever been in his life. More tired then when he had been sent to the joint the first time. More tired then when he had to throw the fight to that mincing faggot. More tired then when he had to take a job collecting the vig for the Vegas sharks who threw him a bone. So tired.

He sat in his bedroom. Geraldine was out. She was out most days now. She still loved him. But she was ashamed of him. Geraldine was a good woman. The only good thing he had in his life. She tried to turn him to the Lord but he could never quite do it.  She was going away for a couple of weeks. To take a break. He understood. It was just that he couldn’t take a break from his life.

There was a knock on the door. Who could that be? Nobody ever visited them. He heaved himself off of the bed and walked to the door. When he opened it he saw death on the doorstep.

It was Marshal Caifano, Ash Resnick and two hoods in sharkskin suits.  “Hey Champ how ya doing” laughed the jovial jew Resnick. He pushed his way in and the rest followed. “Let’s sit down and talk a little.” One of hoods blocked his way and sort of herded him into the living room. Boss Caifano sat down on his easy chair. Resnick on the couch. The hoods leaned up against the door jam.

“So Champ what’s this bullshit we have been hearing. You been talking about going to the cops about the fight. You know that ain’t kosher. How do you think we can let that go? You know better than that.”

The fat man shook his head. “We can’t let that stand. You know that.”

He looked from the fat man to the boss. The Boss sat there like a mummy. Not a flicker on his face. He recognized that face. He had seen it before. On teachers. Judges. Cops. Newspapermen. There was no forgiveness there. No mercy. Nothing but hate. Hate for who he was and what he represented. There would be no appeal from this judge. The Boss just shook his head. That was it.

“Sorry Champ but this is how it has to be. I will watch out for Jemima if you don’t make a fuss.” “Her name ain’t no Jemima it be Geraldine” he muttered under his breath. “You say something boy? Didn’t think so.”

The fat man and the boss got up and walked out the door without a backward glance. The two hoods stepped forward. One was huge. Much bigger than him and muscle bound. The other was small and wiry but looked as dangerous as a weasel. He could have fought. But he was tired. Bone tired. It would be a relief more than anything. Still when it came down to it he still had to try.

The bigger one grabbed him around the neck and started to choke him with the crook of his elbow. He tried to drive his elbow into his gut but his shoulder was so weak that it had no effect on the rock hard midsection of the bum who had him in his grip. He saw the smaller one take out a set of works and a spoon. He was cooking up a shot. A hot shot. He had been visiting the White Lady for some time now. They were gonna make it look like he did it to himself.

He struggled in the grip of the muscle bound hood. They staggered into the bedroom and they fell on the floor and crushed a stool next to the bed. The mobster kept his grip on his neck. It was a death grip.

The weasel stepped up and jabbed him with the needle. The rush was immediate. He started to drift. It would all be over soon. The bigger hood released his grip. He grabbed him and tossed him face down on the bed. He watched them through the haze. They cleaned up the works but dropped some drugs on the table. They looked at him and smiled. Walked out the door.

He wanted to get up. To call for help. But his legs didn’t work. He was so tired. He closed his eyes. Then he heard it. Someone was counting. One. Two. Three. He drifted. It was time.

The door slammed.The bell rang. Nothing.