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Early evening sunlight cast blocks of amber on peeling wallpaper through the mansion’s faded whitewashed window frames. Donowitz sat bathing in its light, scouring his bat with a distressed looking toothbrush. Its matted, now reddish-brownish bristles made contact with the increasingly less reddish-brownish wood. His nose, pink from the January cold, was scrunched in concentration as he stubbornly scrubbed at the equally stubborn pieces of dried corpse on the bat’s once shiny surface. Aldo was watching this, absentmindedly fiddling with one of his shirt buttons that was threatening to fall loose from the cotton thread it hung on and chewing a slice of slightly stale bread. His itchy wool coat had been tossed over the back of the threadbare antique chair he was flung over sideways, his legs hanging over the side, and his sleeves (stained in what looked like watercolour blotches of scarlet) were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a raised (equally) scarlet cut on his right arm. Despite the chill he was overheated from the intense hike up to and through the crumbling monolith.
The building was ancient, and empty. The only signs that it had been used within the past 10 or 20 years were the yellowed, peeling wallpaper, some of the strands of which hung limp like off-white patterned icicles while other strips were coiled taut on themselves, and the remnants of furniture strewn about the place - the only indicator to the men that their temporary hideout had been some kind of hospital. The place was rotting from lack of use. There were some patches of cold grey wall reaching out of the sickly cream paper, threatening to grow and consume it like the ivy on the building’s exterior. The pattern of the wallpaper was barely interpretable anymore, but after squinting at it for a longer time than Donny would have liked to admit, he identified it as a floral pattern of some kind. It reminded him of one of his mother’s dresses.
Donny’s arm was beginning to ache from the force and effort he was putting into his scrubbing. The repetitive action allowed his mind to drift and he hadn’t noticed exactly how forcefully he was rubbing the alcohol doused toothbrush over the bat, or how his eyes were watering from the alcohol’s strong smell.
”Y’know, son, sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you scrub. If you’re beating people to death with it on a daily basis, some stains ain’t gonna come out,” Donowitz started a little, craning his head to look up at the lieutenant, who was now looking straight at him.
The southern lilt continued, “I don’t think I’ll ever get this blood off of this shirt. Which’ll be a bitch for undercover missions but I ain’t gonna sit there scrubbing it hoping for it to suddenly be white again. ‘Slike waiting for a snow day in hell. Ain’t gonna happen.”
This was followed by an aggressive sniff as the lieutenant snuffed some tobacco.
Donowitz set the bat and the toothbrush down on the floor beside his boots and sighed a little, blinking his eyes and bringing his palm to his forehead. ”I’ll try your shirt, when your other one’s clean. If I can’t do it, I’ll try Hirschberg. His ma owns a laundromat.” The older man grinned his arrogant sideways kind of smile, raking one hand through his hair and leaning back further into his chair.
”In a chatty mood now, are we son? Well, if you have a solution for everythin’, how’s a haircut sound at some point?”
”Yeah, at some point. I have a waiting list. Hugo’s at the top and I really don’t wanna piss him off.”
The older man launched into sudden, riotous, ragged laughter, his throat jumping over each oddly melodic peel.
”Now don’t tell me you’re scared of Stiglitz son. You’re built like a brick shithouse! You piss him off you could take him on easy and win.”
”Keep ya voice down!” came Donny’s quick, embarassed reply “I ain’t afraid of him, I just don’t figure it’s a good idea to get on his pissy side.”
”Ya’ say pissy like ya girlfriend’s pissy with you for forgetting Valentines day. I wouldn’t be intimidated boy. He’s a good feller deep down, honest. And besides, all them younger boys are shit scared of you, y’ain’t got shit to be afraid of.”
Aldo was smirking now, and as Donowitz broke into hesitant but irrepressible laughter the lieutenant again flashed teeth mischeiviously. It was almost boyish. The whole exchange was starting to feel like the way he and his friends used to scheme and conspire and share secrets as kids.
”What if I said I’d trade ya one o’my whiskeys to be bumped up the waiting list?” He ran his hand over the slightly overgrown shorter patch of hair on the side of his head as if to make a point, raising an eyebrow.
”Ah, but, see, Hirschberg has offered me baseball cards and titty mags, and Ulmer has said he’d wash my clothes and shine my boots for a month if I did them both quicker.”
”Damn, that’s a hard bargain. What about two whiskeys to be first?”
”I’m not a whiskey drinker, lieutenant. And, you’re forgetting about Stiglitz. Might not reflect the best on you if you’re seen to be putting yourself before your men.”
”Ya can’t be picky about what ya drink out here. And they don’t have to find out about it.”
When Donowitz looked back at his superior he was smirking again and staring directly into his eyes. A moment of silence passed. Donny stared back, unflapped. Eventually he gripped his chin mock-thoughtfully, and came out with a surprisingly final
”We’ll see.”
The smirk widened into a playful but wolfish grin, and Donowitz couldn’t help but return it. The younger man eventually broke contact, considering the matter settled and turning his head to stare out of the window. Aldo was now nonchalantly peeling strips of wallpaper from the wall and shredding them with his calloused fingers.
”Here’s one job for ya’ while I’m waiting to hear about that haircut. Can ya’ take this letter-”, when Donowitz turned his head back to face his superior, Aldo had reached his hand around into one of the pockets of his coat and pulled out a bundle of crumpled paper, holding it out towards him “-and read it out for me. It’s supposed to have details ‘bout our next operation but I cant read the man’s goddam handwriting.”
Donny argued back ”And why can’t Utivich do that for ya?”
But he lifted himself out from his own seat to reach over and take the papers.
”’Cuz Utivich is three flights of stairs and a whole side of the buildin’ away and I might dissolve into nothin’ if I get out of this chair. You can read better than I can, n’ that’s enough son.”
”What’s in it for me?”
The older man sighed in faux-annoyance.
”How ’bout the rest of this loaf."
”No more whiskey?”
”Not if yer' gettin’ that for my haircut, no.”
”I never said you were gettin’ your haircut first.”
”Yeah, but I will.”
”Will you now, sir? You consider yaself a good negotiator sir?”
"I sure do, I am very skilled. I know so.”
Donowitz settled back into his seat and again the two men grinned at each other mischeviously, knowingly.