“The usual deal for hard-up rich guys”

by David Benjamin

 

“Life is little more than a loan shark: It exacts a very high rate of interest for the few pleasures it concedes.”

—Luigi Pirandello

 

(An ill-lit table in the dark corner of a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. A man, hatless and nattily attired in a custom tailored blue suit with a red tie and an Old Glory lapel pin, approaches another, seated at the table. He wears a pin-striped charcoal-gray suit with a black shirt and a white tie. His face is shadowed by the brim of a fedora. A cigarette smolders in the corner of his mouth.)

THE CLIENT: (Gingerly taking a seat) Are you, uh, D’Onofrio?

THE OTHER: (Smiling mirthlessly). Yeh. Paulie. Call me Cheeks.

CLIENT: Okay, sure, Cheeks. Nice t’meetcha.

CHEEKS: No, it ain’t. You’re only here ’cause ya gotta be. What’s your proposition, Ace?

CLIENT: I understand you represent a bonding company.

CHEEKS: (A chilly laugh) Hey, ya wanna call us that? Knock y’self out.

CLIENT: All right. First off, ya gotta understand—I’m here on behalf of a very rich man.

CHEEKS: Wait a sec, Slick. You work for a rich guy—

CLIENT: Very rich.

CHEEKS: Yeh, I hear ya. Very rich. And you come crawlin’ t’me? Geddada heah.

CLIENT: (A hint of desperation). No, I mean it. Honest t’God. My boss is up to his nipples in gelt. Trouble is, his dough’s all tied up in, y’know, condo towers, hotels, resorts, casinos, castles, golf courses, universities, private jets, vodka, steaks, urine tests, porn stars, private planes. All that sort of stuff … ”

CHEEKS: (Sarcastic) Yeh, I see. The usual deal for hard-up rich guys.

CLIENT: Exactly. It’s a short-term cash flow kinda thing, Cheeks. It’s all gonna blow over. But right now, the squeeze is on. 

CHEEKS: Squeeze, huh? ’Til when, Doc? 

CLIENT: The fifth of November.

CHEEKS: (Pensive). That’s when your guy’s troubles’re over, huh.

CLIENT: Absolutely. We got it all worked out. The fix is in.

CHEEKS: Awright, you’re lookin’ for a little instant liquidity. I get the picture. Ya came t’the right gin joint, Mac.

CLIENT: Great. So, I need a half-billion.

CHEEKS: (Surprised) A half-billion what?

CLIENT: Dollars, of course. Clams. Bucks. Simoleons.

CHEEKS: (Leaning forward, speaking low) This wouldn’t be your first time lookin’ for this kind of help, would it?

CLIENT: (Sheepishly) Well, I gotta admit …

CHEEKS: Okay, you’re a rookie, But y’un’erstand how this sorta deal works, right?

CLIENT: Oh, sure. Actually, I talked to another guy in your line of work, over on Broadway. But I didn’t like his terms. Or his looks. 

CHEEKS: You talkin’ ’bout Dave the Dude?

CLIENT: As a matter of fact—

CHEEKS: You were smart t’walk away, Sonny. Ol’ Dave’s a goddamn shylock. He’ll rob ya blind, take off in yer favorite car with yer best girl and sell ‘em both off to his uncle, the coke dealer in Miami.

CLIENT: Miami, really? My guy has a place not far from there, worth $180 million.

CHEEKS: (Rolls his eyes) C’mon, gimme a break, Studs. You’re talkin’ t’Cheeks here. If your guy’s got a joint worth 180 mil, he ain’t lookin’ t’me.

CLIENT: (He sighs) Okay, I can’t put anything past you. My guy’s joint’s only worth about ten mil, plus there’s a second mortgage and the FBI impounded everything on the premises, including the chandeliers and the golden shower heads.

CHEEKS: Let’s get down t’bizness. You’re talkin’ a half-bil?

CLIENT: Yeah. Five-hundred million, give-or-take.

CHEEKS: (Whistles in awe) Listen, bro. Ya got any idea of the vig on that much outlay?

CLIENT: Yeah, this Dave the Dude put me straight. I was kind of hopin’ you could cut me a break, though. I mean, with a half-bil principal, you could trim the vig and still make out big, ya dig?

CHEEKS: Or I could get stiffed for every cent and get laughed off the street. Y’know what happens t’mooks like me go crawlin’ t’the Boss and tell ‘im my biggest score is a tapped-out deadbeat?

CLIENT: Well, I guess I could imagine.

CHEEKS: Yeah, well, imagine yers truly sleepin’ with the fishes’n pushin’ up daisies.

CLIENT: Okay, I get it. So, what’re you offering?

CHEEKS: Same as always, Boomer. On a half-bil, the vig is twenty percent due at the end of next week.

CLIENT: (Staggered) Whoa. That’s a hundred million—seven days from now.

CHEEKS: Yo, ya figgered that quick. Ya did that in your head?

CLIENT: My guy can’t possibly cover that, even if he sells a golf course.

CHEEKS: (Shaking his head) Your guy’s got golf courses, condos, hotels. Man, those’re all legit. Why don’t he just go to a bank?

CLIENT: Can’t do it. There ain’t a bank outside Russia that’ll touch him with a ten-foot Slovak. Besides, he’s got this crazy judge on his ass. Hates his guts and says he’ll put him on the bus to Rikers if he even looks sideways at any bank anywhere in New York. Even Westchester!

CHEEKS: (Intrigued) Whoa, that’s cold. C’mon, this rich guy. Who d’hell is he?

(The client whispers a name.)

CHEEKS: Really? (Thinking fast) Hm. That kinda shines a different light. I mean, I seen the guy’s wife. Used t’be, she was, like, a supermodel, right? I always wondered what it’d be like, with a real class broad, y’know?

CLIENT: I know how you feel. (Lowers his voice) So, you got an offer?

CHEEKS: I’m thinkin’ … fifteen? 

CLIENT: Wait. You’re sayin’ that, for, maybe, dinner and a movie with the wife, you’d take five percent off the vig?

CHEEKS: Not exactly, Curly. Look around. This is what ya call a social club. We got members. They got privileges. 

CLIENT: So, a little more than dinner and a movie?

CHEEKS: Listen, Harpo. Your guy comes up with the vig, on time, we send the broad back home, all in one piece, with a hell of a story t’tell.

CLIENT: (Nodding thoughtfully) All in one piece?

CHEEKS: Don’ worry, Murray. We don’ burn our assets. So, ya think yer guy’d go for it?

CLIENT: Hell, for five percent off the vig, he’d sell his soul … if he had one.

CHEEKS: This is good. It’s workin’ out, pal. Throw in the supermodel and  y’got the vig down to 75 mil. An’ I’ll tell ya what. ’Cause I’m a nicer guy than Dave the Dude, you get a week’s grace before it’s due.

CLIENT: Which means … another week with the supermodel?

(CHEEKS shrugs, meaningfully)

CLIENT: Actually, this gives me an idea.

CHEEKS: (Suspicious) An idea? From you? I dunno.

CLIENT: I’m thinking another five percent?

CHEEKS: Sorry, Bud. My boss don’ like t’haggle. I’m prob’ly in dutch awready.

CLIENT: No, I think your boss will like this. It’s for him. A little bonus.

CHEEKS: A bonus? Fer da boss? This’s gotta be good.

CLIENT: Oh, it is!

(The client takes a photo from his suit, places it face-down and slides it across the table. Cautiously, the loan shark picks it up and looks.)

CHEEKS: (Dazzled) Holy cannoli, man! What a dish! Tall. Blonde. Stacked! Are those puppies real?

CLIENT: Course they’re real. Hardly been used.

CHEEKS: And you can do this? She’ll—

CLIENT: It can be arranged. If you’re boss is … amenable.

CHEEKS: With this cupcake? Ain’t gonna be a problem. But who is she, anyhow? What’s she got to do with your hard-up rich guy?

CLIENT: Well, let’s just say they’re … like us. It’s all in the family.