heads that they wanted to be gangsters, and then go about it in a way that forced the actual and established gangsters to take them seriously, at least for a little while.
But a lot has been written about that, from all kinds of angles, by people who have far more direct knowledge than me. All I can do, really, is relate our own experiences in dealing with the Delaneys, which – it goes without saying – did not end very well at all. Looking back, most of those troubles were set up in that first meeting, played out on a small scale.
The Delaney family lived on a cul-de-sac in a new real estate development, with tree-lined boulevards and big sprawling lawns. Their house was built in the style of all the others: two storeys, faux-brick façade, cream siding, double-garage. There was nothing to set it apart except, I suppose, for the vehicle parked on one side of the driveway: a black Cadillac Escalade, as blatant as a tank, with tinted windows and jacked-up suspension.
Afterwards, Jake told me there had been brawls, showdowns, police raids, and a drive-by at the place: the hazards of their gangland aspirations spilling over into suburbia.
At the porch we rang the bell, and while we waited I asked Jake what he wanted me to do, how he wanted me to act in there. He said it would be best if I kept quiet and let him talk it over with them, which of course was fine by me.
The door opened and an elderly woman peeked out at us. She had her hair done up in an old-fashioned perm, and was wearing an apron around her waist. The entranceway smelled of baking and perfume. The woman, who I assumed to be Mrs Delaney, welcomed us in and said it was very nice to see us. I felt as if I was back in high school, having come to a friend’s house to hang out. But Jake, he just took it all in stride. He commented on the smell of her cooking and she patted her perm and said that the cake wasn’t ready yet, but when it was she would send some up.
‘Mark’s in the office,’ she said, pointing to a stairwell on the right.
It ran straight up to a small landing and door. I could hear odd sounds – clanking and grunting – in the room beyond. Jake knocked and after a second somebody shouted for us to come on in and so Jake pushed open the door. Directly opposite, facing us as we entered, a guy sat at one of those personal gyms (the elaborate kind with complex pulley systems) doing reps on the fly press. That explained the clanking. The peculiar thing – or the more peculiar thing – was his outfit: he was wearing jeans and a sport coat, rather than anything resembling gym gear. The rest of the office looked relatively normal: desk, chairs, filing cabinet, card table.
The guy grimaced at us and said, ‘Just got to finish this set.’
And Jake said, ‘Sure thing, Mark.’
We waited and watched, respectfully. As we did, the door shut behind us. I looked back, startled. Some other guy had been back there the whole time: I hadn’t even seen him. He had sunken, angular cheeks pitted with acne scars. He didn’t smile or greet us in any way. He just stared, clinically, and my overall impression of him was not a congenial one.
Mark finished with the fly press, hopped up, and patted his belly.
‘Trying to get rid of this goddamn jiggle-ball,’ he said.
‘Ladies like a man with a little padding,’ Jake said.
Mark laughed. ‘Fucking Jake Harding. Come here, man.’
He met Jake halfway and gripped Jake’s hand and they did a shake and punch. Mark started talking right away about how glad he was to see Jake, and have him on board.
‘How are things at the stables?’ he asked Jake.
‘I’m getting on all right.’
‘See, Novak?’ Mark said, looking beyond us at the other guy. ‘I told you Jake would make it work. Novak here thinks you’re gonna screw this job up. He thinks it’s a bad idea.’
Novak just smiled, or seemed to. His teeth were not nice to look at: yellowish and square and standing out from the gums. Skeleton teeth.
‘Nobody’s gonna screw anything up,’ Jake said.
He sounded very confident, very convincing. At the time, even I believed him.
‘That’s my boy. Send those fuckers a message. Pull some Coppola-type shit on them.’ Mark snapped his fingers. ‘Hey Novak – why don’t you see if that cake is ready?’
‘Cake,’ Novak said, as if considering it. ‘Yes, I will get the cake.’
He slipped out the door, eel-like, and shut it silently behind him.
‘Don’t mind Novak,’ Mark said. ‘He’s a crazy Slav. But useful.’
He led Jake and I over to the card table. It had four chairs around it and on top, in the middle, was a crokinole board. The board was carved from mahogany and so were the discs. I’d never seen a board like that. Mark noticed me studying it and rapped on the edge.
‘We just got into this. Crokinole. My bro’s obsessed with it.’
‘We used to play as kids.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He sort of perched sideways on the edge of the table, in a way that didn’t look particularly cool or comfortable, and eyed me up and down. ‘Jesus, Jake. You didn’t tell me you were bringing the Angels in on this deal. What chapter are you with, buddy?’
I told him I wasn’t with any chapter. I wasn’t with the Angels. I sort of got that he was making fun of me but I still didn’t understand it. Then Mark laughed. His laugh was really something: a high-pitched, squeaky giggle, like a teenager before his voice breaks.
‘Shit – I’m just messing with you. I meant the outfit.’
I was wearing my watchcap and goose-down jacket and work boots.
‘He’s on the boats,’ Jake said, clapping my back. ‘Fishing and shit.’
‘At the docks? We got some guys down there.’
Mark rattled off a list of names, but I didn’t recognize any of them, since I didn’t actually work at the docks he had in mind. This seemed to disappoint him momentarily, and he looked at me anew, as if I might not be a fisherman at all but a guy posing as one.
‘So this is your brother?’ he asked Jake.
Jake introduced me, and Mark held out his hand to shake mine. As we did, he noticed my fingers and turned my hand up so he could get a better look. He bent over it as if he were going to kiss it.
‘Jesus Christ. You get bit by a shark or what?’
‘No – I got bit by your mom.’
I do that, sometimes, when I’m nervous. I say something completely inappropriate and out of line. Mark let my hand drop. For a second it seemed as if it could go either way, but Mark laughed again – that squeak of a laugh – and said something about me having balls, to make a crack like that. Then he stopped laughing, and gave his earlobe a gentle pinch.
‘Just don’t say anything like that around my brother, okay?’
‘Where is your brother?’ Jake asked.
‘He’ll
