Gold Teeth

Gold teeth is only a working title. This is very much in progress.

Whenever Philly sat down across from me with his pin-stripe suit and his pin-stripe grin, I knew he had something for me to sell.

“Whataya got for me?” I said.

“Too bad about The Big Man, aint it Grease?” Philly said.

I cocked an eyebrow. The Big Man was dead, finally, and no one was upset over it.

“Too bad?” I said.

Philly just grinned.

“Yeah, too bad,” he said.

I sat back in my chair and looked around the bar. The bartender washed glasses and waited for the post-dinner rush. I waited for Philly to tell me what he had, but he just kept showing his teeth.

“Alright, Philly, whataya got?” I said.

“Glad you asked,” Philly said.

He reached into his pocket and dropped two small gold lumps on the table. For a second I just stared at them. It didn't make any sense. Philly specialized in what he called “memorabilia.” Basically, he got his hands on things that were worth more for what they represented. Then it hit me.

“Are those The Big Man's teeth?”

Philly just grinned.

The Big Man wasn't very big, and he wasn't much of a man, but no one would have said that while he was alive. The few people that did, that saw him and didn't know he was The Big Man, wound up dead or worse. That's why he got the gold fangs, so that everyone would know who he was. And now they were staring up at me from a varnished table in a dive bar.

“How did you get them?”

“I gave the mortician's assistant a cool,” Philly said. “You should have seen the guy when he handed them over. He looked like he shit himself.”

“I bet,” I said. I poked one of the teeth and it rolled to the other side.

“So who do you think wants to buy 'em?” Philly said.

I didn't have to think long.

“Stilts,” I said.

***

All I said was “heya Stilts,” and she pinned my sleeve to the table with a knife.

“Don't ever call me that again,” Stilts said.

She glared at me, red hair and ice eyes.

“What gives?” I asked.

“You ever call me Stilts again, I cut off one of your fingers,” she said.

“I got it,” I said.

She pulled the switchblade out of the table and let me go. Then she shut it and leaned back in her chair. She wasn't huge, but she wasn't tiny either. She had the body of a boxer, and the personality too.

“The Big Man's dead. He gave me that name, so it's dead too. No more Stilts Mahoney,” she said. “I'm just Mahoney now.”

I waited for her to ask. She was too sharp to not know why I was there. She slipped her knife back into her breast pocket, and then she got to it.

“So what are you selling, Grease?” She said.

“Right now I'm looking for buyers,” I said. “I came to you first. I thought you'd be interested.”

“Get to it,” she said.

I nodded.

“I'm trying to move The Big Man's teeth.”

For a second, everything was still in the room, and silent aside from the click of the clock. Then Mahoney leaned forward, slow, and her chair creaked.

“His teeth?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

And she fell back again. Her eyes went wide, and she looked like I punched her in the gut and gave her a million bucks at the same time.

“How much?” she said.

“Well, I wanted to check out a few buyers, get some bids...”

“I want them now,” Mahoney said. “How much?”

***

“That's a lot of green,” Philly said.

“Do you think it's worth skipping bids?” I said.

Philly sipped a beer and nodded his head to Sinatra on the radio

“No, ” Philly said. “Nobody hated The Big Man more than Stilts Mahoney, and it's not like he had admirers, but I'd like to see more.”

I nodded. Then the song changed and my blood went cold. Trumpets climbed and fell, and then the drums came in.

“Is that...” I said. I didn't need an answer. Philly looked as cold as I did. It was Duke Ellington's Symphony in Black We both looked at the door.

The Big Man was big into his own legend. He used to have somebody cue up Symphony in Black any time he was going to enter a room. He would stand outside until Billy Holiday's voice broke in, then the door'd swing open, and The Big Man would step in with that gold-fanged grin.

The trumpets fell. In a second, Billy Holiday would sing. We both waited and stared. Then she broke in, and nothing happened.

We both let our breath go. We hadn't even realized we'd been holding it.

“Like he was in the room,” Philly said.

He pulled a ring box out of his pocket and flipped it open. The dim light of the room flashed of the teeth.

“Let's just sell 'em to Stilts,” Philly said.

I swallowed and a lump of relief hit my stomach.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just don't call her stilts.”