Fresh Kills (27 page)

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Authors: Bill Loehfelm

BOOK: Fresh Kills
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My own voice sounded dead in my ears and cold flooded my insides. I knew she felt it happening. I was terrified I wouldn’t see her this weekend, or any weekend after that. And I’d always worried she’d be the one to ruin things with silly ideas, to wreck our careful arrangement by breaking the rules or asking too much. It’s hard, I thought, after fancying yourself the flame, finding out that you’re really just the moth.
She stepped out of our embrace, looked at her watch. “I really have to get back inside. My last class starts in five minutes.”
“Right,” I said. “See you later.”
She kissed my cheek, whispering, “Saturday night” into my ear as she swept past me, hurrying to the stairs. She waved without looking back as she ascended. I watched the hem of her skirt slip through the door just before it closed behind her. I stared at the empty space she’d left before the door. If I waited long enough, would I see her come back through it? But what would happen then? My waiting wouldn’t change anything.
I walked out to the edge of the parking lot, where the asphalt ended at Miller Field, a windy old airstrip the city had transformed into a public space decades ago. The tips of my boots stopped just short of the grass. The field was empty, but after school let out, the playgrounds, soccer fields, and ill-kept softball diamonds would fill with laughing, running kids and their frustrated, yelling coaches and babysitters. I put one foot up on the concrete block that marked the end of a parking space.
Molly had taken a job close to home. To my left, hundreds of yards away, a chain-link fence, obscured by hedges, marked the northern edge of the field. There was a hole in that fence that opened onto Carter Street, where Molly had grown up, where I’d gone to see her when her parents weren’t home. I’d ride the train to the New Dorp Station, walk down New Dorp Lane, across the field, and duck through the hole in the fence.
In the winter, snow and ice covered the field and the wind ripped across it like it was the frozen edge of the Earth. The field was always barren. Going to see Molly then had felt like such an adventure, a journey across the wasteland. I never wished I had a car, never wished getting there was any easier. I’d be plenty warm when I reached her.
Going to see her then, I ran across that snow waiting to fly. When I crossed that field, navigating the snow and ice and the wind in my black denim jacket, jeans, and black Chuck Taylor high tops, U2’s
Unforgettable Fire
on my Walkman, I was a warrior. I
loved
that girl. When I was sixteen, crossing that field in the winter was the most romantic thing in the world. Standing there in the sun fifteen years later, that snowbound field felt impossibly distant. That romantic journey felt like forever ago. Or worse, like someone else’s memory.
Meet her halfway. Fuck you, Jimmy, I thought. But I knew he hadn’t fooled me, and neither had Molly. I knew full well I’d fooled myself into being there, had fooled myself into a lot more than that. Molly and I weren’t just old friends anymore, hadn’t been since we’d started this affair, if we’d ever been. But I wondered now, for the first time, if the affair hadn’t made us something less, instead of something more. I wondered if the privileges I’d been granted weren’t a poor substitute for the ones she withheld.
Straight ahead, far away from me, Miller Field ended at the beach, and when I took a deep breath, I could smell the ocean on the wind. I heard the buses and the traffic behind me on New Dorp Lane. If I listened hard enough, I knew eventually I’d hear the train. With all the traffic and people and stores and the stink of the Dump, it was tough, almost impossible, to remember that we all lived on an island. It was times like this that reminded me.
Walking back to the car, I thought about how I had seemed so brilliant to myself when I’d left the deli. After that defeat, my plan had been to fortify myself on Molly’s affection before joining into one last battle with Virginia. But talking to Molly had left me feeling like the walking wounded. The thought of Virginia made me ill, another ex standing within arm’s reach, checking her watch until she could get rid of me. Astonishing. Not many men could put that together in one day.
I could just not show, I thought, starting the car, just stand her up. What would she do about it, leave me? I didn’t owe her anything. But I dismissed the idea. That move wouldn’t surprise Virginiaat all. She was probably thinking that very thing right at this moment. No, I’d show up and endure whatever fiasco she had in store for us. I couldn’t think of any alternative that I could live with.
I pulled the car out onto New Dorp Lane. Exhaust filled the car when I rolled down the windows. It stung my eyes. It was a miracle anyone on this island could breathe at all past the age of twenty. I lit a cigarette and with the first drag came the shooting pain in my ribs. Maybe I was finally getting the cancer. About time.
I slouched in the driver’s seat. The lights in front of me, tail and traffic alike, were red as far as I could see. I was going nowhere fast. It was probably best to head straight for Clove Lakes. If I did, I’d have time to legally park the car and grab a cup of coffee, maybe walk the track around the lake. Get my mind right before I met Virginia. But, on the other hand, if I hurried, if I bagged New Dorp Lane and took a couple of shortcuts, I might catch up to Theo. I hit a tight U-turn that had ten drivers in either direction swearing at me. I was gonna get something done that day if it killed me.
Only a few blocks from work, not far from my apartment, I turned right on Jersey Street, at the same corner where Purvis had abandoned my sister years ago, and headed into the Park Hill projects, Staten Island’s very own miniature imitation of the worst of Harlem. Black faces of all ages stared me down as I eased along in the Galaxie, trying to remember which of the hollowed-out, brown brick buildings Theo lived in. I wished I’d gotten my gun back from Waters, and immediately felt guilty about the thought. I hadn’t been to see Theo at home in a few years, but I’d never had a problem in this neighborhood. Back in the day, I’d never wished for a gun. I also knew that since then things around here had gotten a lot fucking worse.
Theo and I met washing dishes and busing tables at an Italian joint on Richmond Terrace. It was on the North Shore, not far from the ferry terminal and right by the water. Both of us were fresh out of high school. We used to smoke cigarettes, and the occasional joint, out back by the loading door where we could see the shining castles and towers of Manhattan, just a short stretch of gray water away. We never socialized except at work in those days. He made me laugh like crazy. He was the only person I would’ve named as a friend had someone asked me. By then, Jimmy and Molly were both gone.
Theo was the first one to bail on the job, going into business for himself on a stake from his older brother, Val. About six months later I left for a bar-backing job on Forest Avenue. But we kept in touch. It wasn’t hard; I was one of Theo’s first clients. We both started with cocaine, doing sloppy lines of shitty product off CD cases in the Park Hill apartment he shared with Val. I never saw their parents, and never asked. They never offered any information. It was as if Theo and Val had just sprung to life there in Park Hill, independent of anyone but each other.
I lost my taste for cocaine quickly. The high made me violent, and the lows, the morning-after depressions, were intolerable. I didn’t need any help, even back then, a time I considered myself relatively happy, stoking my temper or climbing into a black hole. Theo’s kick with coke didn’t last, either, at least as a user. We both had the same problem with it, coming down made it too hard to go to work. And we were both all about working then.
I found pills much more manageable. Theo used to joke he started slinging them just for me, so I wouldn’t have to mess with someone untrustworthy. Maybe he was telling the truth; he never did make much money off me. By the time I went to work at the Cargo, he’d made a name for himself, supposedly killed a man, expanded his business dealings, been busted twice, shot once, and certainly didn’t need me and my fifty-dollar-a-week semi-habit. Sometimes I think he only keeps me in the loop out of nostalgia; I’m like that worn-out first dollar shopkeepers pin to their wall.
From my car, I spotted his building. Number six. The one with the fire escape that stopped at the fourth floor. A cop car prowled by in the opposite direction, moving even slower than I was, the cops looking at me hard. I thought, not for the first time, that Theo might not appreciate the attention I drew. I told myself I’d be cool, and I’d be quick. The way my day was going, I wasn’t real optimistic about learning anything useful. But the gun was the last remaining link I had to my father’s death. I couldn’t let it go just yet.
I parked and locked the car, stuffing anything that might look tempting under the passenger seat. By the doorway to Theo’s building, a couple of kids were on their knees in the dirt, poking sticks at a stray cat they’d trapped under a bush. They giggled every time it hissed at them. They ignored me as I walked by them and into the building. The cops were nowhere in sight. I knew the elevators hadn’t worked since I first started visiting Theo. The dealers wrecked them so the cops couldn’t surprise anyone. I made right for the stairs.
Someone stood at the foot of the stairwell, his back against the wall, the hood of his black sweatshirt hiding his face, his camouflage pants bunched at the top of his Timberlands. He cleared his throat, took a toothpick from his mouth, and spat on the floor as I approached. One hand went into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He stuck one foot out just enough to get in my way. His hand moved in his pocket.
I’d played this game since he was in diapers. I stopped next to him and reached into my jacket. He smelled like weed and sweat and fabric softener. I could feel his breath on my cheek and neck. The hallway smelled like piss and fast food and stale menthol cigarettes. I took out my Camels and lit one. Then I stepped over his foot and headed, slowly, casually, up the stairs, listening for footsteps behind me.
Sentry number two met me on the third-floor landing, one floor short of where I needed to be. His gun was in plain view, tucked into the front of his jeans. He wore short twists tied up in multicolored threads and one of those oversized baseball jackets covered with Negro League patches. Big diamond earrings. A huge diamond nameplate that said
Skinny
though he was anything but. I wanted to ask him what he knew about Josh Gibson. Less than I did, I figured.
“My goodness,” he said, “a white man.” He hitched his thumbs in his belt like an imitation cowboy and did a little shuffle. It made me think of Purvis. He put his whole body in my way. I stared at a spot on the wall over his shoulder.
“Theo’s waiting for me,” I said.
“I don’t know no Theo.”
“One day, when you move up in the world, maybe you will.”
“Oh, a funny man,” Skinny said. “Here’s a riddle for you, funny man. If there was a Theo, what the fuck he want with a ghost like you?”
“So what you’re telling me,” I said, “is that Theo needs your permission to do his business. I can’t see him being real thrilled with that attitude.”
“What the fuck you know about Theo’s business, if there was a Theo.”
“I been doin’ business with Theo, and Val,” I said, “a lot longer than you.”
Skinny stepped back a bit and looked me up and down. I knew the guy in the sweatshirt was somewhere behind me, in the dark of the stairwell, waiting for the wrong kind of noise.
“You sure look like you been doin’ something a long time,” Skinny said, flashing a grin. “Theo ain’t here. So if he
is
waiting for you, it
ain’t
here.”
“What about Val?”
“What
about
Val?” Skinny parroted back, in his best whiny, white-boy voice.
“Is Val around?” I was getting impatient. It was a mistake, I knew. It was what these guys were waiting for.
“Maybe, maybe not. Why don’t you tell Skinny your business?” Skinny said. “And he can talk to Val and we’ll see what happens.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, still staring at the wall, trying to think of what to say next. Maybe Theo really wasn’t around. Maybe he’d been busted again. Maybe he and Val had moved, though that seemed unlikely. I knew Skinny wouldn’t tell me the truth about anything until he figured out who I was and what I was after. But Skinny wouldn’t give a flying fuck about me or my old man; it had nothing to do with where his next dollar was coming from. He certainly wouldn’t play message boy for someone like me. I had to talk to Theo or Val personally.
I heard voices in the stairwell behind me. I heard two people coming up the stairs, slowly, deliberately. The reserves were closing in, and suddenly I knew I was in bigger trouble than I ever would have been at South Beach or at the deli. I thought about having to explain to Julia, if I even got the chance, what the hell I was doing in Park Hill projects while she was at the funeral home. I thought of Jimmy’s warning that I was heading someplace bad. I’d have a hard time finding someplace worse to end up than where I was, in a dark, piss-stained stairwell with three drug dealers. Absolutely no one knew where I was. More than once the past few days, all I’d wanted was to disappear. This wasn’t what I’d had in mind. I thought of my father. I tried to make this bad situation his fault, but I couldn’t do it. Who knew why he died like he did? But it probably wasn’t because he was this stupid. What was about to happen to me was a goddamn shame and I had no one to blame but myself.

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