Chapter Four; Generosity and Parsimony

Niccolo walked up to Bronson Blitzer's door and knocked three times softly.

Almost on impulse now, he took out The Prince and opened to a new spot. It was called "Generosity and Parsimony". Niccolo grinned at this one; his philosophy of no tipping would probably come up in this.

He got halfway through the section when the door opened. A middle-aged man stood there, staring through bloodshot eyes at the man in front of him.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Niccolo Donati. Charley said I'd be coming."

Blitzer nodded, "Alright. Come on in, but Jesus did you have to be so early?"

Niccolo frowned, and looked at his watch, "It's ten o' clock in the fucking morning. What time do you get up at?"

Blitzer did his own version of a double take, "Ten? Goddamn it, my clock stopped again."

He led Niccolo in, silently asking for the payment. Niccolo obliged, handing him five thousand dollars cash. The rest of the money he had- almost four thousand- was strapped in a small belt under his pants' waistline. He wasn't gonna get pick-pocketed by any loser.

Blitzer took him through a little hallway. As they walked past different doors, Niccolo noticed a young woman stretching in the sunlight. She was very short, and had a bit of a pot belly. But that aside, she looked very calm and graceful. Niccolo turned back to Blitzer in surprise, "Who was that?"

"One of my boarders. She and her husband live together here." Blitzer couldn't have possibly been more plain.

Niccolo grinned, "Who is this husband, Marsellus Wallace?" Marsellus had always been one of the top gangsters in L.A., and after Joe's death, his crime empire flourished with the fall of the Cabots. Niccolo had heard about him. He was apparently married to a former actress and had a slew of badass motherfuckers working for him, though quite a few of the most prolific- Tony Rocky Horror, Vincent Vega, Jules Winfield- had gone off the radar in the last year.

Blitzer didn't laugh, "I wouldn't say that name around here. The husband is Butch Coolidge."

It was Niccolo's turn to double-take. Butch fucking Coolidge? Here?

Blitzer grinned at Niccolo's reaction, "Alright, Nick, stand over there." He pointed to a big black screen and a camera.

Niccolo posed for the photos, and then waited around while Blitzer began work on the driver's license and health card and the rest.

As Blitzer worked, there was a sudden scraping of a key and then an opening of the front door. A rugged man in his late prime stepped through the door, his head shaved and his face impassive. It was Butch Coolidge, the man Niccolo had seen on tv in prison, boxing away with fighters ten years younger than him. He was still a monster of a guy; he'd accidentally killed his opponent around the same time that Niccolo had been sentenced to life sentence in prison. Rumour had it that he was being exiled from L.A. for refusing to take a fall for Marsellus Wallace.

Butch gave a quick glance at Niccolo, who nodded greetings to the boxer. Butch responded with a grunt, and closed the door. Just as he was shutting the door, Niccolo saw a flash of light on his wrist, and noticed a gold watch wrapped tightly around his arm.

The girl Niccolo had seen earlier came out of her room and embraced Butch. Butch's rough features seemed to melt when he saw her and he kissed her a few times in silent affection.

The girl noticed Niccolo after ten minutes (God but they were in love, Niccolo thought to himself) and smiled a greeting, "Hey, are you here to see Bronson?" Her accent was surprisingly lilting, and Niccolo would have been friendly to her if Butch hadn't been standing there. Niccolo didn't want to get killed like that boxer.

Instead, he kept his voice neutral, "Yeah I'm a friend of a friend down on his luck."

"You must be some friend, he doesn't make a lot of pay cuts,' Butch said as he took off his jacket.

Niccolo grinned, "What can I say?" After a pause he spoke up, "So how do you know him?"

He half-expected Butch to say, "None of your business, asshole," but instead he responded to the question, "We're laying low for a bit right now, and I'm running through some boxing matches to make him some money. That, and the rent we give him, keeps us safe in this town."

Niccolo raised an eyebrow, "Didn't know you needed that kind of protection."

Butch looked confused, "What's that mean?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Heard stuff about you when I was in prison. Mr. Floyd's downfall was big news in the can."

Butch paused, judging the response, and shrugged, "That was a year ago, and they deemed it an accident, so it doesn't matter."

Blitzer suddenly came into the room again, "Okay, Nick, the editing is done, so I'll just be an hour or so if you care to know."

Niccolo nodded, "Sure thing."

Butch looked from Blitzer back to Niccolo, "Nick? I'm Butch. But you knew that. This is Fabienne."

Niccolo nodded politely, "Niccolo Donati."

Butch shook hands with him, and then glanced at him in curiosity, "Are you a good friend of Carlo Jimmenez?"

Niccolo shrugged, "Charley? Yeah he vouched for me to Bronson."

Butch nodded slowly, "Well, listen, were planning on leaving California anytime soon?"

Niccolo paused, wondering whether to trust this guy, and then nodded, "Yeah, I'm going east. Why?"

Butch leaned in, as though afraid the walls would be listening, "Okay, so what do you know about the Coolidge-Floyd fight a year ago?"

"I know you killed the guy and left L.A. for good."

"Yeah well you don't know shit then. I'll fill in the details; you know Marsellus Wallace?"

"Like hell I do. The guy's not to be messed with."

"Well you're looking at a guy who messed with him and lived. I made a secret bet with a partner on my victory, even while Marsellus was paying me to take a fall. So it worked out, and the money rolled in, according to Scotty."

"So he took the money?"

"Fuckin' A. Fabienne and I were going to go on a train and head off to Tennessee and meet the guy with the money in hand. But then some stuff happened that put us off track. So we had to get out of L.A. by sundown as fast as we could before Marsellus came after our asses."

"So what? It takes just a few days to get to Tennessee.' Niccolo replied. He was wondering where this would go.

Butch continued, "Well, the thing was, one of the things that got in our way was the fact that we tried going on trains that would eventually get to Knoxville, since we didn't make it to our scheduled train. But then when we stopped off in Albuquerque, we heard that Scotty had split with our money. There was no telling where the fuck he'd gone, but I had a vague idea. Since then, we've been chasing the fucker down."

"You've been running after a guy for a whole year?" Niccolo was incredulous. That was dedication.

Butch paused, "Well, not really. We had no place to stay, and we found out that Fabienne was pregnant only two weeks after hearing about Scotty. So we turned back to California and stayed with Bronson here to raise the kid."

As if on cue, a baby started to cry, prompting soft singing in French, coming from Fabienne in the other room.

Niccolo smiled, "Boy?"

Butch smiled and nodded, "Ernie, like his great-great-grandfather." Niccolo noticed how Butch fondled the gold watch on his wrist as he said that.

Niccolo spoke again, "But back to this guy, Scotty."

Butch nodded, "Yeah, it's like this. Scotty's gone underground in Shreveport, Louisiana. He's apparently still got most of the money; he wants to wait a while before making himself prominent, but he must be sitting pretty happy there, the fucker. I want to go there personally and kill the son of a bitch."

Niccolo gave a little shudder; he'd hate to have Butch as an enemy, "Where the hell do I come into this, then?"

Butch looked at him, "You help me get there. Your man Carlo can get us there much easier, with free pass, and then we can get back here just as quick."

Niccolo frowned, "It's gonna be real fucking tough to do that, man. Carlo won't do that for free, and aside from money, you've got nothing."

Butch shrugged, "Sure, give him a cut. I'm taking his share as well as mine. He's lost all rights to it, as far as I'm concerned."

Niccolo sighed, "Fine. But still." He wasn't sure why he was so hesitant with this guy. He had no problem with Butch, but his gut was telling him against getting involved in this vedetta.

This was, of course, because he could not help but think about the passage he'd just read on Machiavelli's view of generosity and parsimony. The line that had stuck in his mind was this: I say it would be splendid if one had a reputation for generosity; none the less if you do in fact earn a reputation for generosity you will come to grief. This is because if your generosity is good and sincere, it may pass unnoticed and it will not save you from being reproached for its opposite.

Butch looked imploringly at Niccolo, "Listen, this is hard for me to say, alright? Please help me. I'm not that popular of a boxer anymore. And I want my kid to be able to grow up good."

Niccolo glanced at the watch again; he liked it the more he saw of it. It was worth at least three million as an antique, and that was opening bid. A man could make a fortune for life with that little trinket. But something told him not to talk about it; he could tell that Butch valued it a great deal.

He looked at Butch, and knew that he shouldn't get wrapped up in this guy's personal beef. But his conscience couldn't help but wonder about his position.

"How long could you live the way you're at now?" He asked Butch.

Butch frowned, fearing a rejection, "We're on the edge of it man. Bronson's helping out for now, but I can't box forever. I want to settle down with the money I earned. I want to raise my boy with a sane head rather than having it battered to death. I need your help to set it right."

Niccolo groaned, "I can't possibly be your last hope; I just met you for Christ's sake!"

Butch was relentless, "You're not the first person I've talked to. I tried to get Winston Wolf to help me out, but I couldn't afford his prices. My cousin works for Vincenzo Coccotti, but he didn't help either. You're the first guy who could help me to convince Carlo Jimmenez to find Scotty and get my money."

Niccolo paused, wondering what to do. He himself was going to meet up with Charley anyway, but now this would be serious. What was he getting himself into?

He looked at Butch, and sighed, "I really don't know man, I-"

Suddenly there was a fierce knocking on the door. A harsh voice spoke up, "Open up in there! This is the police!"

Out from behind his door, Bronson cursed, and peeped out from behind it, "Son of a bitch! Lock the door, quick!"

Butch jumped like a tiger towards the door, sealing the chain lock. Fabienne came out of the other room, carrying a little baby that was starting to cry again from the knocking.

Bronson looked at Butch, "Ask them which cop it is."

Without hesitating, Fabienne went to the door, "Who is this?"

"The police!"

"Can I see some identification?"

There was some grumbling, and then Fabienne peeked through the eye-hole, she called out, "Closer, please, my eyesight is horrible." and after a pause, said, "Okay, just let me put the baby in his crib."

She hurried over to Bronson, "It's a man named Scagnetti, Mr. Blitzer."

Bronson gave a sigh of relief, "Good. It's Scagnetti; him I can deal with." He turned to Niccolo, "As long as you stay the fuck out of sight!"

Niccolo sprang up, "Gotcha." He hurried into one of the rooms to hide further.

Butch glanced at Bronson, who went to the door after securely locking his technical equipment up.

"Hello, Jack. How's Seymour doing?"

"Never mind that, Bronson. We're looking for a known murderer and thief. Mitchell Koons, alias Mr. Pink, alias Jack Fremlin, alias Sidney Poe, alias "Ringo Starr" Samson, alias etc."

Niccolo could see Butch go still, and with a shocked expression on his face, looked directly at the room that Niccolo was hiding in. It was a good thing that Jack Scagnetti couldn't see Butch's reaction.

Bronson pulled a wad of dollar bills- in fact, part of the same payment Niccolo just gave to Bronson, Niccolo realized- and said, "There's nobody here by that name here, Jack. If I see anyone by that name, I'll call the police and tell them where he is."

Jack seemed to be mollified, because he took the money and bade Bronson a cheerful farewell. Niccolo realized that Jack didn't give a fuck if he was here or not. He was using this as an excuse to extort money from Bronson. He smiled to himself as he once again saw how the police could be corruptible.

Hell, he thought. Might as well go along with Butch and get some profit out of this. He'd be going all the way to Louisiana, and he'd have an excuse to get rich. So far, so good.