Chainsaw Al
A very short story
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Note to readers: While searching an old hard drive for some files, I came across this snippet of fiction. I’ll return to the irregularly scheduled programming shortly.
"Who you need, Gabe, is a guy like Chainsaw Al. Chainsaw Al Martinez."
Jimmy Curran and I were sitting on the second-floor terrace of his condo, drinking Coronas from the bottle, watching the golfers on the twelfth fairway that stretched out below.
"Chainsaw Al?"
"Yup, local legend in Washington Heights when I was working street crimes." Jimmy was staring out over the golf course as he spoke. "Dominican father, Irish mother, your typical New York mongrel."
He chuckled.
I'd come down to southwest Florida to do a favor for a friend and had decided on the spur of the moment to give Jimmy a call. Jimmy's wife, Mary, and my girlfriend, Bella, went way back, and we shared their company a few times up north. Jimmy being a retired cop, I figured he might have some ideas about finding someone who might not want to be found.
"Chainsaw? Interesting name." With Jimmy, there was always a story, and the story was usually entertaining.
"Al had what you might call financial interests in the neighborhood, mostly legit, though you could say his business practices were sometimes a little questionable. He wasn't quite a loan shark; he walked a fine line. You might say he was a private lender. He wasn't a thug, but he liked being known as one. Funny thing, I heard he had a degree in business from NYU."
He focused his gaze on the golf course again and let out a whistle.
"Wow, did ya see that approach? Pin high and that had to be from one-fifty." Jimmy continued to look out over the course as he spoke. "Anyhoo, story goes, Al put up money for this mook Tito to open a haircutting place, a silent partner deal, I guess, and Tito stopped making the payments. Worse yet, from Al's point of view, Tito was in the wind. Avoiding Al was one thing that would get his Irish up." Jimmy laughed again. "Or maybe his hot Spic blood."
Jimmy turned away from the golfers and smiled.
"You can't let that shit go on or you'd get handed your lunch by the Dominicans in the neighborhood. I’m guessing there was real money involved. I heard it was a hundred grand. Al didn't want to get a lawyer involved to go after Tito, probably 'cause the deal wasn't kosher." Jimmy smiled. "So, he decides he'd do his own collecting. He finds out on the street that Tito is staying with a girlfriend out in Suffolk County, in Brentwood."
Jimmy stood up. He gestured at me with the empty beer bottle.
"Another?"
"Sure."
Jimmy walked inside and came back with two more Coronas.
"So, one night, Al drives out to Brentwood, goes to this chica's house, and walks up to the door with a chainsaw. I'm talking about a lumberjack's jobby, not one of those little fucking homeowner types you get in Home Depot. This was a big sucker, and loud."
He laughed.
"He fires that bad boy up and proceeds to cut out the front door, all the way around the frame. The girlfriend is inside, she's screaming, her kids are crying, the door falls in, and Al stomps in, holding the chainsaw and looking like the Terminator."
"Hey. Puta, where the fuck is Tito?' He's yelling at her, still holding the chainsaw. The girlfriend tries to dial 911 on her cell phone, but goddamn Al has a jammer in his pocket, so she's shit outta luck." Jimmy shook his head. "A fucking cellphone jammer."
Jimmy leaned across the table towards me and spoke softly. "See, Al had checked the girlfriend out on the Internet and was pretty sure there was no regular phone line at the house. He figured she only had the cell phone, so he brings the jammer.”
"You tell Tito Al Martinez wants his fucking money,' he tells her, then fires up the saw and cuts the coffee table in half.
I have a picture in my mind of some crazed, half-Irish Dominican turning living room furniture into firewood.
"And how'd you come by all this anyway?"
"Ah, that's the genius part. Al spread the story around himself, through his people in the neighborhood. Even gave himself the name 'Chainsaw Al'. I guess it's what they call branding these days."
©2014, 2025 Nic Rosato
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