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

don’t do something. He’ll get another broad and another jug up there, and if one of the ones he had already didn’t get the word onna street, the next one will. We need that guy out of town yesterday, is what we need.”
    â€œWell,” the driver said, “you invited him up here. Send him back.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t go,” Cogan said. “He’s hungry for the dough, said he really needs dough. Lost his job or something and everything. He wouldn’t go if I told him. I don’t think he’d do anything I told him, unless he was so drunk he couldn’t think of anything else to do. Which he probably is.”
    â€œI can’t get in touch with him today,” the driver said.
    â€œIt’s nothing like that,” Cogan said. “What I got in mind, I’m gonna get him grabbed.”
    â€œTurn him in,” the driver said. “Won’t he talk?”
    â€œIf he thought it was me that did it, he might,” Cogan said. “What I was thinking of, this guy I know, he’s got this one broad that is tops at setting guys up. She gets in real fights with them, and they give her their fuckin’teeth to get her out of the room before the cops come. I was thinking of sending her up there, see, I told him, no more ass, he’s going to work, but he’s so drunk he won’t remember whether he had somebody send her up or not, and he’d take her if he didn’t. Now, this hotel, they don’t exactly keep tabs on people, but it’s a good place and they’re not gonna want no whore fights going on in there, and he’ll get busted for that and pretty soon they’ll revoke bail on him and back he’ll go.”
    â€œKind of rough on him,” the driver said.
    â€œNot actually,” Cogan said. “Actually, I think it’s the best thing for him. He’s gonna kill himself if he does this much longer. He won’t get enough potato jack in the can to kill him, and if he’s not in the can he’ll kill us.”
    â€œI suppose he really should talk to Mitch’s people,” the driver said.
    â€œAlbert,” Cogan said, “how’re they gonna know?”
    â€œAh,” Albert said. “I can tell him, I suppose.”
    â€œIf you want,” Cogan said. “Let him make up his own mind.”
    â€œOkay,” the driver said, “do it. Now, that leaves us with Amato.”
    â€œI come up with something, I think,” Cogan said. “I think I can set him up myself.”
    â€œI thought you couldn’t,” the driver said. “I thought he knew you.”
    â€œHe does,” Cogan said. “He also knows the kid, one of the kids he used on the job. And that kid, I bet, is gonna know where Amato’s gonna be, the next few nights or so.”
    â€œWill he do it?” the driver said.
    â€œI was waiting for you,” Cogan said, “I started thinking. Yeah, I think I know a way.”
    â€œWill he be all right?” the driver said.
    â€œOh,” Cogan said, “you can’t tell.”
    â€œWell, it’s serious, isn’t it?” the driver said. “It’s a serious question.”
    Cogan stared at the driver. “For a while,” he said. “Not long, but a while. Talk to the man.”

F RANKIE SAT at the first bar downstairs in the Carnaby Street, late in the afternoon. He leaned back on the bentwood stool and watched the waitresses chatting, idle until customers came.
    Cogan hung the pilled suede coat on a peg and sat down next to Frankie. He ordered a beer.
    â€œHeineken?” the bartender said.
    â€œYeah,” Cogan said.
    â€œBottle or draft?” the bartender said.
    â€œI don’t give a shit,” Cogan said. “Draft.”
    â€œThey always do that,” Frankie said.
    â€œIt’s a pain in the ass,” Cogan said. “I wouldn’t’ve come in here, I thought I was gonna have to go through something like that.”
    The bartender put a frosted mug in front of Cogan.
    â€œI would,” Frankie said. “This guy, I dunno how he does it, he’s got to have the best-built girls in Boston working for him. I come in here every day.”
    â€œI know,” Cogan said.
    Frankie looked at him. “I never seen you before in here,” he said. “I don’t know you.”
    â€œDidn’t say you did,” Cogan said. “Very few guys know me. I’m