Killing Them Softly (Cogan's Trade Movie Tie-in Edition)

he’s not chewing, ack, ack, ack. Then I put six phenobarbs down his throat and I take the stick out and he’s got to swallow and I put the stick back in. He almost bit the fuckin’ stick in half, for Christ sake, and I hadit way the hell back in there, too. Then, I got this rope, and I tie, I hadda slip knot in it. Tie his mouth shut onna stick. Tie his feet, the guy’s helping me. I get him inna car. I had Kenny’s car. He’s a great dog, boy. If I can ever sell him to somebody, find somebody that wants a dog to kill people with.”
    â€œWhat’d he get in coins and stuff?” Frankie said.
    â€œNothing,” Russell said. “Guy put them inna bank.”
    â€œBull
shit
,” Frankie said.
    â€œNo bullshit,” Russell said, “I know the guy. He came right around. Showed me what he got. Couple cameras, portable color, some silver stuff. He had the paper the guy got, the guy put the stuff in the bank. Guys borrow money some times. It happens.”
    â€œThat’s what I oughta do,” Frankie said. “I oughta go down the bank and borrow myself some money. They probably wouldn’t mind, last time I did it I was inna can for doing it, I had a gun.”
    Frankie turned the 300F up the Bedford-Carlisle exit ramp on Route 128. At the island he turned left on Route 12 and crossed 128 on the overpass. Beyond 128, Route 12 was dark.
    â€œOnce they see what a nice fellow you are now, and all,” Russell said.
    â€œSure,” Frankie said. “I can show them my papers, there. Rehabilitated son of a bitch, is what I am. Well, let’s see how this turns out, first.”
    Frankie took the fifth right beyond the 128 overpass. The Chrysler moved beneath bare, tall oaks. At a slight rise the road bent to the right and a small white sign, in script, said:
INNISHAVEN
. Frankie took the Chrysler right, into the driveway.
    â€œGot a nice golf course here and everything, huh?” Russell said.
    â€œOh, they got all the nuts,” Frankie said. “John was telling me, they got a gym and they got one of them saunas and a massage thing. First you get all hot and then you go and get blown off, I guess.”
    Frankie drove the Chrysler around the northerly end of the two-story motel into the parking lot at the rear. It was poorly lighted.
    â€œOne thing we could do,” Russell said. “Instead of going in there and everything, we could just wait out here and grab the guys when they come out.”
    â€œYeah,” Frankie said, “and get ourselves a lot of Papermates and Zippos off the losers. Fuck that.”
    Frankie parked the Chrysler at the front of the driveway, pointing the nose toward the exit. He shut the lights off.
    Russell reached into the back seat and came up with a Stop and Shop bag. He took out blue wool ski masks and handed one to Frankie. He pulled the other one over his head. Russell pulled out yellow plastic gardening gloves. He handed a pair to Frankie and put on the other pair.
    â€œFuckin’ things’re too thick,” Frankie said.
    â€œLook,” Russell said, “you take what you can fuckin’ get, all right? They got none of that light stuff around. Fat shits’re all raking leaves and stuff, this’s what they want. Do the best you can. You gonna use the sawed-off or what?”
    Russell took a Stevens double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun out of the bag. The barrel had been cut off behind the front end of the stock. The stock was cut off behind the pistol grip. The shotgun was eleven inches long. There were two shells in it. The front of each green shell stuck out a quarter-inch from the sawed-off muzzles.
    â€œJesus,” Frankie said.
    â€œYou said you wanted a sawed-off,” Russell said. “I told the guy: ‘Wants a sawed-off.’ He told me, he hadda sawed-off for me like I never saw. This’s it.”
    â€œThem things,” Frankie said. “What is that, double O?”
    â€œDouble O when they got made,” Russell said. “That’s another thing. What they did, they uncrimp the things and pour the buck out and they take them forty-five wad-cutters, you know? Just like the L.A. police. Split them wad-cutters in half, you can get six of them in there. You can clear out a room pretty fast with this thing, I think. You’re me?”
    â€œMe,” Frankie said. He took the shotgun.
    Russell took a Smith and Wesson thirty-eight from the bag and