Economy

"Look, just do as I say, I will do all the real work. I am an artisan at this trade. I have not done this for hire for some time, but I am very experienced and skilled at this. If you don't follow my instructions to the letter, you're fucked. Let's get that straight and let that sink in, you are fucked, not me, I am not gonna be fucked over you not doing your part. I refuse and you need to now that before we go any further."

He drew in a breath and kept his gaze into the younger man's eyes. The young man didn't flinch, didn't break his composure. He was trying to be solid, but Sal could smell the fear, feel it in the air between them. It was all right, fear at this point was a sincere reaction. He needed the kid to be as sincere as possible. He needed the kid. This was a desperation move on his part. It had all gone too far. The world economy was off its axis and the tumbly spin that had been going on had started to upset the balance off his fragile world and the collapse was faster than anything he had ever seen. He had not done a job like this since 1984, when there were less cameras and forensics and movies on DVD. And now the DVD's were losing ground to the Blue-Ray's every day, the new taking bigger and bigger bites out of the old. Nothing is like it was in the 70's and 80's. People were more malleable then, the whole world seemed batshit now, and it was at a jumping off point, armed to the teeth, broke and desperate not to go back to what it was like before.

"Hey, Sal, I know you are the man. This is your bag, not mine, but I want to know every detail, every trick. I can't fuck this up. Everything is riding on it. Honestly, I don't want to be involved in anything like this, but I can't lose anymore, it's gone too far. I want to be at work, making money, earning my union card, moving up in the business. Its been screwed in the ass since the writer's went on strike and it has only gotten worse. Every fucking film school and skateboard video making hack and their fucking mother has decided to work in production in the last 10 years and there is hardly any work for a guy from L.A. anyway, let alone the new actor's strike that never happened and now the fucking economy. There is nothing, I fucked around and I didn't get in with a good union crew and did all those worthless music videos and webisode shit jobs and now there is nothing but a few dry bones and trucks are getting spider webs underneath them and I got to keep it moving, I can't go back to getting loaded and this hanging out with people from the program and feeling uncomfortable and all twisted has me wanting to eat a fucking bullet. I am so serious about this shit, I have never been so committed in my life. I want to get this shit done and over in the most professional way and get my bread and go. I can't afford to lose. I am done losing, man. No more short fucking ends for me. Period."

Sal likes what he hears, but doesn't say it or show it. He figures the kid has to know because he didn't get his rant regarding what-the-fuck-ever-is-wrong-with-showbiz ass interrupted. He looks out the window across the parking lot, across Bronson, to a blonde with a few extra miles loading her groceries into an 85 Mercedes SL and struggling to keep the shopping cart from hitting the faded paint. An emo hipster couple walk by with their little dog on a leash. The dog cops a squat and takes a dump. They pause in their movement, but then keep walking and talking as if they didn't even notice the dogs transgression. Fucking futility. He hated futility.

"I guess a little shit doesn't matter anymore." Sal says, still looking at the window. He looks back down at his espresso and pinches the lemon rind and rubs the thumb and forefinger together. He looks back in the kids eyes. They appear more pushed out, puffy even, as if the kid might cry real tears. The kid's eyebrow arches and his face twists a little. Sal likes it.

"I have thought it over. Weighed the consequences. I am not gonna lie, this shit is scary, but I am not weak. I have got the intention of doing what you say I gotta do to get this done. I do trust that you are not going to go into this like some yahoo. You are real about what you do and what you say and you do shit with principle and conviction. I would never have considered it with anyone else. You have me convinced one hundred percent that you are experienced and professional. I want to learn what I have to learn and do what has to be done."
Sal squares and leans forward. There is no one within earshot, as their booth is near the window in the corner of Victor's Deli, but he wants to be direct and to the point without looking like an aging mobster taking on a new recruit, which was what he was at the moment.
"All right, first thing, we have to be in control of every aspect of the situation and you are the eyes in the back of my head and the sense for everything around the situation that I can't see. I handle the talking and the action. You don't say a word. You need to be the big presence behind me, you don't make any demand on anyone. I know exactly what I want from everyone and I don't want to waste any time having people trying to figure out who to listen to. This is all about being in and out as quickly as possible. I am going to make the situation agreeable to them as well. They need to want us out of there as quickly as we want to go. I got no time for any bullshit. I make the demand and they meet it, we go. Got that?"

The kid bites his bottom lip and nods in agreement. "I'm just coverage. I got it.", he replies.

Sal draws another deep breath and interlocks his fingers while resting his elbows on the table. For a minute the kid remembers back when he was little and he got the fork in his forearm for doing that from his step-dad. Sal would have probably killed his step-dad had it been him. He didn't seem like he had ever backed down from anybody. He seemed like the world was constantly changing in a way he didn't agree with and he just waited for an opportunity to eject as many of the world's interlopers as he could. It was obvious that there had been plenty of compromises made in recent years, but Sal had had it lately as well. That was the obvious reason he had reached out to the kid.

"I just want to be clear, no misunderstandings. We proceed from here and only you and I speak of this and only when I bring it up first, capice? I don't ever want to even hear you say "Hi" first, got it?"
"Yeah, Sal, I understand." the kid nods again as he exhales through his nose. The air seems hotter than usual as it brushes across his upper lip.
"If any of them panic and run or move away from my area of control you have to lay them out. And I don't mean any of that octagon shit, I got no time for choking them and rolling around on the floor. They move and you give them a shot in the face with the barrel of the piece. Right next to the eye is the best. They lose vision and balance and they become easy to guide back to the area of control. You sit them back down exactly where they were told to sit by me. They seem to get a stiff spine at any point, immediately give them another shot. They have to know it is futile. There has to be no compromise to them. We get control and they don't get it back until they comply to the letter of what I demand and there is no bargaining. There is absolutely no discharge of a weapon unless I shoot first or someone is about to shoot me that I am unaware of, which will be highly unlikely if we execute this step by step and eliminate any possibility of that. We are using wheel guns with these rounds that penetrate and disintegrate, no ballistics. Standard Smith and Wesson .357 Magnums but the loads are .38 Special. I don't want to do any more harm than is necessary, but I will not take any chance. It goes south we finish them and walk away. Nothing should tie us to them but my guy, and he is solid. I got the vehicle, the gats, the info. If at any point we are compromised you do not cooperate with anyone. You keep quiet and you will be taken care off. I only cover this area because I don't want there to be any question in your mind how you should react to any occurrence, even the most fucked up scenario imaginable."

"So, you are saying you got this covered any way it unravels? I just have to lay down if it goes south." The kid thinks this the craziest conversation he has ever had, this shit is insane, but somehow it seems ridiculous to do anything but remain calm and talk it out. He wishes this guy wasn't so honest, all of a sudden, but he can't help feeling indignant about someone telling him to lay his life down. Then he realizes that is why the stakes are so fucking high.
That is why this is gonna get him through this fucked up recession. Fuck it. He already decided not to try to second guess it. He needs to pay attention to this aging ginny.

"Look, kid, you gotta know that I don't ever fuck these up, but the world works in strange ways. A lot a guys fuck these jobs cause they don't think it all the way through. Personally, I know this won't happen, but I never did a job with you and I got to give it to you the way I see and not soft peddle or sugar coat the real fucking deal, man." Sal juts his lower jaw in and out and the kid could see he was as serious as fuck.
"All right, I'm all the way in. I completely understand what you are talking about.", the kid draws a breath and looks up from the table, "I'll do my part, I want the half up front you promised. I get that and I am committed all the way, no turning back. I am not bullshitting."
He says "bullshitting" with an imperative force that almost sends a slight spray of spit toward the big Sicilian across the table. Sal smiles and leans back.
"I'm gonna slide out and you check my seat. Call me in an hour and we'll meet at a location I give you. Don't be too soon or too late with the call. One hour exactly."
Sal taps his Rolex and slides out as casually as a 6'4" heavyweight can. He strolls across the Deli to the cashier. Everyone seems to know him well. The kid gets up slow and looks over at Sal's side of the booth. He sees an envelope and picks it up and casually opens it and lays a crisp 20 down as a tip while estimating the stack and then quickly and smoothly slipping it in his back pocket. He easily walks out of the Deli and nods to the waitress and cashier as he passes them on the way to the door. They smile and the waitress adds, "Have a nice day, sonny."
Sonny is getting paid today, lady, he thinks to himself.

"Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow."

He dons his Persol's as he steps into the persistent L.A. afternoon sunshine.