ST1.3 | "Palko"
PROMPT: Organizations are typically pyramid-shaped. You’ve got one or two guys at the top making the calls and lining their pockets, while the majority of the people form the base. The grunts. The workers. The thugs. Problem is, they outnumber the rest of the levels. If they ever realize it, that base gets real shaky, real fast . . .
PALKO
by NIKKI DOLSON
The sound of fireworks going off covered up Palko’s gunshots as he killed the men tied up in the house. In the backyard, Jersey watched their exit. Francie was at the sliding glass door, whispering, “Come on Palko. Just leave them.” One street over, someone’s fireworks went up and exploded blue and green against the moonless night sky. She glanced up at it and felt like a spotlight was on her.
She didn’t see him come at her.
Palko grabbed her by the throat and put his gun in her face. “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your kids.”
Francie kicked him high on his thigh. He flinched back, dropping his hold on her and lowering the gun.
“We’re running out of time.”
“I’m tying up loose ends.”
Francie shook her head as she walked away from him. Everyone was a loose end to Palko and tonight he was in a mood to hurt people. Better those sorry S.O.B.s than herself or Jersey catching any more of that mood. She crossed the yard to where Jersey stood looking over the six-foot-high wall. She touched his arm and he turned his pale face to her. His nose was still bleeding from where Palko had smacked him in the house because he’d gotten in his way. He hit them. Intimidated them. Blackmailed them. The crew was tired of Palko.
“Your nose is still bleeding.”
Jersey wiped at his nose. The sky lit up orange over them. “What’s he doing?”
Francie looked back at the house and saw Palko’s shadow drift across the closed kitchen curtains. “Whatever he wants. Like always.” She tugged the backpack off Jersey’s shoulder.
“About that thing? I’m in.” A tiny bit of tension left her body. She only had to worry about Mathews now.
Palko came up behind them and grabbed the backpack from her. He unzipped it and pulled out handfuls of baggies from his pockets and placed them into the bag. “The fuck you waiting on? Let’s go.” He put the backpack on and hopped up and over the wall.
***
It’d been six months since the last job. Six months of normal life. Going to work, paying bills, BBQing at someone’s house. Their kids playing together. Their spouses and partners commiserating about just how bad Francie, Mathews, and Jersey were about chores around the house, being late or on time. Regular people complaints about schools or doctor visits and the price of insurance. About not having enough and paying through the nose. Jersey’s twin daughters started hockey lessons because they didn’t want to be figure skaters and his heart was broken because he’d wanted his princesses in tutus but instead, he had princesses in hockey masks. Francie’s wife Magdalena had painted butterflies on the girls’ goalie masks, making the tips of the wings form into points like fangs. His girls had squealed in delight.
Then two weeks ago, Palko showed up in everyone’s life again. He cornered Mathews on a smoke break behind the casino where he dealt cards. Jersey was in his backyard cleaning out the grill for that night’s dinner with the crew. Francie had been at the grocery store with Maggie and both kids. Their boys, four and five years old, were bouncing in the cart and singing “wheels on the bus go round and round,” and at the end of an aisle was Palko, gesturing for her to come with him.
Palko said some version of the same thing to each of them. “I have a job. We go in ten days.” He’d heard that a series of robberies across the valley were done by the same guys. He had a plan to take what they had and make it his own. Palko was smart enough. He was good with numbers, but he was always hungry for the rush, for the money, for the clout. He wanted to be a big player.
To get what he wanted, Palko threatened them if they said no. After all, Jersey’s wife didn’t know about what he did for extra money. The casino would suspend Mathews if not outright fire him if they knew about his involvement with Palko, and without the union insurance, how could he take care of his mother? And Francie, well, the guys were like family to her. She agreed so they wouldn’t get hurt. She sent Maggie and the boys out to California to visit family with the promise she’d be out there to take them to Mouseland, as her kids liked to call it. She kissed the concerned look off Maggie’s face. Maggie knew what was going on and didn’t like it one bit, but she went. Francie would need a few thousand to take her family on vacation. First though, she had to handle Palko.
***
They followed Palko over the backyard wall and down the street. They were dressed in black t-shirts and polyester pants like they were headed to work at some casino. They crossed streets to keep in the dark as much as possible. At the spot where Mathews should’ve been waiting for them, right in front of the house for sale, he was nowhere to be found.
Palko was swearing. Jersey’s eyes were wide and fearful. Francie wanted to scream and pump her fist in the air. Instead, she said, “Stop yelling. It’s barely ten o’clock. People are still awake.”
“Where the fuck is he?” Palko screamed in her face.
“Maybe he got spooked,” Jersey offered. Palko spun on him and Jersey took a step back.
“I don’t know where he is, but I’m not sticking around. Come on, Jersey.”
“Where are you going?” Palko stepped in her way.
“We have to pay Boone his cut and we can’t be here when the cops come, right?” She pitched her voice low and soothing. “So we get to the backup car.” He sneered at that. She knew he wanted to ride to Boone’s in comfort and style, not in a run-down vehicle with peeling paint. Mathews had a high-end SUV with plush leather seats that he used for the nights he drove rideshare for extra money. Palko liked it when Mathews chauffeured him around.
“You’re calling the shots now?”
“It’s your plan. I’m just following it.”
This seemed to please him. Palko nodded and took point again. They hit Charleston Boulevard, turned right then down a dark alley without a single light to shine upon them or the twenty-year-old black Chevy Impala that would be their ride. Palko had them ditch their guns down a sewer manhole.
Francie had found the vehicle. She knew what it could do and how hard to push it. It looked worn down but the motor purred when she turned the key. Palko slapped the dash. “Let’s move.”
While she drove, Palko pulled out a roll of black trash bags from the backpack and some rubber bands. He worked for a janitorial supply company and had access to an endless supply of garbage bags. They were his thing. Not a single job happened without him pulling out those bags. He separated the pills into one bag. Into another went the loose diamonds they’d found, along with some watches and rings. Next, he pulled cash out, both bundled and loose. He counted the loose bills and rubber banded stack after stack of them, then counted the bundles.
“How much?” Francie said.
“Enough for today.” Whether that was an answer to her question or a commandment to shut up she didn’t actually care. Mathews was in. Oh god, Francie thought, they were really doing this. At a stoplight, she glanced in the rearview mirror and found Jersey’s eyes. There was worry in those eyes. She blew out a breath and turned the car onto Desert Inn Road. They cruised up and over the Strip and toward their night’s end.
***
It'd been Mathews who’d brought up getting out from under Palko. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this.” Francie handed him another bolt. They were in Mathews’ garage assembling the second of two bikes meant for Jersey’s twins. Sweat dripped off his bald head onto the concrete. The garage door was open for some kind of breeze, but it was July and the air was still as a held breath.
“What would you risk to get out?” she said.
He sat back on his heels and looked outside. A skinny kid with locs raised his hand as he went by on a skateboard. Mathews and Francie both waved. “We risk everything every time we go out. I can’t do this job. My ma needs me here. I can’t go to prison. I can’t leave her.”
Francie nodded. “I’ll figure something out.” And she had, though Mathews hadn’t liked it much. Too risky he said. She knew he’d probably shake to pieces under the stress of knowing what was waiting for Palko tonight. He couldn’t be there. She extracted a promise from Mathews and he kept it. That was step 1. Step 2, take the backup car. Step 3 was next.
***
Twenty minutes later they were down past Boulder Highway turning in at a mobile home park. They drove past rows of small single wide homes with fake flowers in terracotta pots decorating decks and stairs. At the very end was a triple wide. This mansion of the park belonged to Boone and reminded everyone that he was the king of the place. Francie had spent time in that house back when she and Boone had been something more, but that was before Maggie and the kids. Now Francie had a life she was afraid of losing. Boone would understand that. She wanted out. They all did. Everyone but Palko.
Francie parked behind the house. While Boone’s security patted the guys down, she slid her hand under the driver’s seat and peeled away the gun stashed there. She reached back under for the bag of cash, which she placed under the passenger seat. Inside was ten thousand dollars. They each put the sum together out of savings and piggy banks and items pawned. It had to be enough money to be believable.
Trev patted her down. She knew him from the old days. His pat down was cursory at best. More like he patted the air around her. Trev opened the door for them and Palko led them in.
They were ushered into Boone’s kill room. A large room with every surface in it completely covered in plastic. Boone liked to see fear on the faces of the people who stood before him. He rarely killed anyone in it because if you killed everyone who annoyed you, you’d quickly have no one to work for you. Boone was in a brown leather chair at the back of the room. The crew fell into familiar formation, Palko and Francie side by side in front of Boone, Jersey leaned against a wall. Boone’s men in the four corners with their guns out. Boone gave Francie a once over and a dimple flashed. He gave off car salesman energy with his slicked back blond hair and dead brown eyes. His gaze fell on Palko.
“So how’d you do?”
“Me and my crew took them down easy. 85k, some pills and some shine.” Palko said as he moved slowly forward to lay his offerings at Boone’s feet.
“That’s not bad. Something to say, sweetness?” Boone was looking at Francie. She’d made a face when Palko had said “my crew.” She had dropped it quick but not quick enough. Boone saw everything.
“She doesn’t have anything to say, do you Francie?” Palko loomed over her.
She could feel Jersey behind her wondering if she would do what she said. If she could set them free.
“He’s shorting you.”
There was a beat of silence then Palko exploded. “The fuck I am.”
Francie dodged his first swing but caught an elbow from the second and hit the floor. Boone was out of his chair and his men were on Palko, holding him back.
“Any truth to that?” Boone asked Jersey.
Jersey kept his head down. “I didn’t see anything from the backseat but if Francie says it’s true, why wouldn’t it be?”
“They’re lying,” Palko spat.
“Check under the passenger seat,” Francie said as she got up.
Boone returned to his seat and waved his men away. They let go of Palko. “Don’t touch her again.”
Palko seethed but didn’t move. Trev went to check the car and returned with the cash in the same kind of black trash bag that Palko had put before Boone.
Palko’s jaw went slack. “You know I wouldn’t.”
Boone looked at Francie.
“I bet he brought the job to you, didn’t he? Made big promises about what was there and how much he could bring you, but does this line up with that?” Francie gestured at the bags. “We aren’t going down for his greed. We have too much to lose.”
“This is a set-up. You lying bitch. Boone, you know it was you—"
Boone held up his hand. “What should I do about it, Francie? This sounds like a crew problem. Should’ve sorted this issue before you walked in here.”
“I’ll sort her and she’ll be back inside five minutes begging to tell you the truth.” Palko took a step toward her. Francie reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun. She aimed low and shot him in the knee. Palko went down screaming. Blood spattered the floor. Boone was up again, his arms outstretched to hold off his men.
Jersey took the gun from her. His hand shook as he pointed the gun at Palko. Francie put her hand on Jersey’s shoulder to steady him as he shot Palko in the stomach. Palko wailed. She took the gun back and looked down at him. Blood was on his lips and hate and anger and disbelief rippled across his face.
“We aren’t your crew,” Francie said, then shot Palko in the head.
***
Later, as his men wrapped up Palko’s body, Boone said to her, “Thing is, I contacted Palko about this job. Not the other way around.”
Francie shrugged. “He was stealing from you.”
“I knew that but I got enough from him. Price of doing business sometimes.”
“If he was stealing from you, he was stealing from us. It had to be done. You keep your percentage, and the ten grand for your trouble, plus the jewelry, and pills.”
Boone rubbed his chin. “Doesn’t seem like enough money for all your trouble though.”
“It’s plenty. And Palko had to go.”
Nikki Dolson is the author of the novel All Things Violent and the story collection Love and Other Criminal Behavior. Her stories have appeared in Vautrin, TriQuarterly, Tough, ThugLit, and other publications. Her fiction has been nominated for a Derringer and selected for Best American Mystery and Suspense 2021. You can find her at nikkidolson.com.