Saving Room for Dessert (12 page)

“No no, uh … I don’t know. A fog? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t
think
so? That’s weak, James. Not like you at all. Drink some coffee and see what you can get outta the kid. Meantime I’ll see
what the counselor comes up with—hey, James?”

“What?”

“I’m serious, James, drink some fuckin’ espresso or somethin’. Don’t go to sleep out there, you hear? You got something’ on
your mind, bring it in here, I’ll listen. You hearin’ me?”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Reseta said. “Okay. I’ll see what I can get out of him. If you get anything, we didn’t get started yet,
just got here.” Reseta hung up, staring hard at the boy but thinking about what Nowicki had just said about his being in a
fog lately. Was that true? Am I thinking about retirement? I’m not thinking about that, that’s crap. So what
am
I doing?

He continued to stare hard at the boy, who was trying hard to stare back. The intake officer’s eyes went from Reseta to the
boy and back. “Is there a problem here? I mean aside from the usual?”

“Kid’s a criminal mastermind apparently. Boy of at least two names. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would ya?”

“No. Why?”

“I know he’s been through here before, that’s all. I mean I knew it before we found out he was gamin’ us on his name and address.
Now there’s no doubt. But I’m also feelin’ this vibe he wants to be in here. So you sure you don’t know him, huh?”

“Positive. What’s the state registry say?”

“Can’t say anything for at least eleven, twelve more hours. Got maintenance geeks in their computers. So okay, what’s the
drill here now? Been so long since I collared a kid, last time I was down here, I had to fill out the petition with a pen.
Please tell me you have forms in your computer, huh?”

“Here. Lemme get you on, then type ‘Control P’ and it’ll come right up. Just fill in the blanks. So just so I’m clear about
this, okay? Nobody’s talked to his parents, guardians, or custodians, right?”

“Can’t talk to people you don’t know, my friend,” Reseta said, sitting down at the intake officer’s desk after the officer
had opened the computer to the petition program.

“Where’d you make the arrest?”

“Outside his school. Rocksburg Middle School.”

“And you didn’t take him inside to get a solid confirmation on his ID?”

“Hey, look, okay? We all have our days. So, so far today hasn’t been one of my better ones, alright? But I’m tryin’ to make
it so it’s not a total waste. Just let me type this up, and then you wanna do a performance evaluation on me, be my guest.
My boss’s already done one, what the fuck, you might as well jump in while the water’s still the right temp—”

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything, you know? I know I couldn’t do your job, so, uh, you know, forget I said anything.”

“Yeah yeah, it’s forgotten. Well, this is gonna be quick. In the Court of Common Pleas of Conemaugh County, Pennsylvania,
Juvenile Complaint, date April 16, 1999. Name John Doe. Address Rocksburg. Telephone unknown, Social Security Number unknown,
Sex male, Race white—you are male and white, right? Date of birth unknown. Father’s name, address and phone number unknown.
Mother’s name, address and phone number unknown. Act and Section Violated—finally somethin’ I know—18 Pa. CS Section 2701(a)(l)
and Section 2702(a)(l). Date, Place, Time of Offense, 4-16-99 1510 hours approx., 300 block of Maple Avenue, Rocksburg.

“Description of Incident: John Doe did attempt to cause or intentionally, knowingly, or recklessly caused bodily injury to
another, namely Timothy Miscovitz, 13, of 709 O’Hara St., Rocksburg, in violation of 18 Pa. CS Section 2701 (a)(l) of the
Pennsylvania Crimes Code, Act of Dec. 6, 1972, 18 Pa. CS, Section 2701(a)(l) as amended, and did attempt to cause serious
bodily injury to another, namely the aforementioned Timothy Miscovitz, and did attempt to cause such injury intentionally,
knowingly or recklessly under circumstances manifesting extreme indifference to the value of human life in violation of 18
Pa. CS Section 2702(a)(l) of the Pa. Crimes Code, Act of Dec. 6, 1972, 18 Pa. CS, Section 2702(a) (1) as amended. To Wit:
During the midafternoon hours, John Doe pursued Timothy Miscovitz into traffic on Maple Avenue, pulled him to the ground by
his clothing, removed a book bag from Miscovitz’s shoulder, threw it onto the porch at 305 Maple, and when Miscovitz attempted
to retrieve his bag, John Doe willfully extended his foot tripping Miscovitz and causing him to fall face-first into concrete
steps leading up to that porch, causing facial injuries that required Miscovitz to be hospitalized.

“Complainant’s Name, Address and Phone No.

“Ptlmn. James M. Reseta, Shield No. 356

“Rocksburg Police Dept.

“City Hall

“115 S. Main St.

“Rocksburg, PA 15889-1867

“724-830-7799.”

Reseta hit the print key and then looked at the intake officer. “I forget—how many copies I need to make here?”

“At least six. Me, you, him, the DA, the judge, the parents—if they ever show up. I always make eight.”

“Then eight it is,” Reseta said, hitting that number and standing and waiting for the printer to catch up. When it did, he
kept one for himself, gave one to John Doe, and the rest to the intake officer.

“Now what?”

“Now I read this and play judge.” The intake officer sat down, read the petition, and after a minute said, “Well, John Doe,
it looks like you’re gonna be here at least until tomorrow.”

“Then I get my hearing, right?”

“See,” Reseta said, “I knew this prick’s been here before.”

“We don’t call names here,” the intake officer said softly. “Not on my watch.”

“Okay. Your watch, your rules, doesn’t matter to me. You need my testimony, you got my name and number. I’m outta here. Just
let me get my cuffs off him and he’s all yours.”

Reseta unlocked the cuffs and put them back in their pouch on his duty belt. “See ya, John Doe. Good luck. You’re gonna need
it.”

“You’re the one’s gonna need it, fuckhead.”

“You threatenin’ me? Huh? Easy for me to type up another count of simple assault, kid. That what you want?”

“That hardly qualifies,” the intake officer said.

“Read your Title 18, pal, that qualifies, believe me.”

“Excuse me, but I’m the one who decides that.”

“That you are. I stand corrected.”

“And the only reason he’s stayin’ is ’cause I don’t know how to reach his parents, otherwise he’d be gone.”

“I know, I know,” Reseta said. “But before you get all gooshy on me here, maybe after you get off tonight or whenever, you
could take a ride up the hospital and check out the other kid, okay?”

“Officer, the next one that comes in that hasn’t been banged around will be the first one I’ve seen. They’ve all been banged
around by somebody.”

“Hey, I see ’em before you do. Anytime you wanna compare nightmares, gimme a call. Bye.”

Reseta walked quickly outside, got in the front seat of his MU, called the station, and said, “Thirty here. I’m 10-24 at the
juvey center.”

“Ten-four,” Stramsky said.

Reseta started up the MU and headed back toward Rocksburg, thinking, well, there’s another one of God’s shop projects gone
kaflooey. Everything’s upside down, 1 swear. Been to God knows how many classes on how to make war, never been to one yet
about how to make love. Spent a thousand hours practicing how to subdue violent people, nobody yet ever taught me the first
thing about how to keep a kid from becoming violent. Listened to all these experts about how to recognize all the different
drugs and drug reactions, never had one yet say why anybody would want to take the damn things in the first place. James,
my boy, it’s way past time you started writing that thesis, way past time you started looking for another line of work. This
stuff is starting to get old faster and faster.

Never do anything till something happens. We don’t act, we react. I know there are departments where people are talking about
anger management, peace negotiation, we should’ve been working on that years ago. Why the hell don’t we? Is anybody in the
schools talking to these kids about controlling their temper, talking about how to avoid a fight? Oh listen to me. Ain’t I
wise all of a sudden? How exactly would I know? When was the last time I was in a school building here to do anything but
collar somebody? When did I ever go to a school board meeting, try to find out what’s up? When did I ever go to a PTA meeting?
Who the fuck am I to talk about what other people aren’t doing? And how exactly would I explain this to Nowicki? Who thinks
I’m falling asleep out here. Thinks all I need is a cup of fucking espresso.…

C
ANOZA PULLED
into the strip mall on the east side of the Amtrak lines, looking for a parking slot near Jimmy’s Suds and Subs, where for
the last six years he’d taken his meal break whenever he caught the second watch. He passed Annie’s Launderette, which used
to be a branch office of Rocksburg Savings and Loan; Domino’s Pizza, which used to be Monte’s bar; Larry’s Flooring, which
used to be Lukow’s Floor and Wall Coverings; ABC Cleaners, which used to be Al’s One-Hour Martinizing; and Rite-Aid drugstore,
which was closing because its stock was being moved into the new Eckerd’s building at the corner of Mercury Avenue and Pittsburgh
Street.

Jernevich’s Beer Distributorship, which used to take up the back half of the building behind these other businesses, had moved
into the store where B&T’s Freight Liquidation used to be, before it was itself liquidated in Bankruptcy Court. Jernevich’s
former space in the back was now occupied by Jimmy’s Comedy Club, the Jimmy Abrigatto of Suds and Subs having branched out
on Friday and Saturday nights into showbiz. On the other side of Jernevich’s was Maytag Appliances, which used to be Rocksburg
TV and Appliances; Joan’s Videos, which before the divorce was to be Jack’s Videos; Advance Auto Parts, which used to be Al’s
All-Auto Warehouse; Lonnie’s Hairport, which used to be Lou’s Barbershop; and finally Jimmy’s Suds and Subs.

Canoza found a slot in front of Jimmy’s, parked, and called in his location and himself out of service at 1800 hours.

“You keep eatin’ at Jimmy’s,” dispatcher Stramsky said, “one of these days you’re gonna look like a meatball sub.”

“Maybe so, but no matter what I eat, I’ll never look like a Polak,” Canoza said back, signing off, locking up, and going inside
Jimmy’s. He went straight to the john, where he took off his duty belt, shirt, and his Second Chance Kevlar vest, and gave
his belly, ribs, and back a good scratching as far as he could reach. Then he put his shirt and duty belt back on, went out
and found himself a seat at the bar, folded up the vest, and put it in his lap.

Jimmy, as usual, was behind the bar haranguing his waitresses, all three of whom were in their late twenties or early thirties
and wore red satin short-shorts and tight white T-shirts with “Eat At Jimmy’s” printed atop the words “Suds” on their left
breasts and “Subs” on their right breasts. If it were up to Jimmy, his waitresses would be wearing nothing but tattoos, but
since he’d already tried that and caused such outrage among the members of the Rocksburg Council of Churches that he’d almost
lost his liquor license, he’d gone back to having his waitresses dress like the ones at Hooters on Route 22 West halfway to
Pittsburgh.

To Jimmy, Hooters represented everything he wanted out of life: TV sets continuously showing sports, so many brands of draft
beer he’d never heard of half of them, cheeseburgers with yellow mustard and grilled onions, french fries as thick as his
thumbs, and young women with big breasts serving his beer, burgers, and fries with such sunny sincerity he believed they actually
would go home with him if only they didn’t have to care for their crippled mother, cancerous father, retarded sister, unemployed
brother, son, daughter, puppy, kitty, canary, ferret, or iguana.

Jimmy’s dream to own a Hooters franchise had been quashed when he applied for the license himself. He thought the suits from
Hooters’ home office wouldn’t be nearly as diligently interested in his past as either the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board
or the county Health Department had been when he got the required licenses and permits to open Suds and Subs, though even
Jimmy had to concede that neither the LCB nor the HD really had a chance to examine his past, because their investigations
were directed at his mother, whom Jimmy had hired to apply for those licenses by paying for her monthlong vacation in Italy.
Since Mrs. Abrigatto, unlike her son, had never been convicted of a felony, she had no trouble getting LCB and HD licenses
and permits. And as long as Jimmy continued to pay her way to Italy for a month every year and bought her a new Chrysler New
Yorker every two years, she didn’t care how he ran the businesses that were in her name. The only times she ever went into
Suds and Subs were to tell Jimmy he was late with her car payment.

Aside from Jimmy’s near fatally clumsy attempt to have his waitresses work in the nude—the morning after he did, the Rocksburg
Council of Churches gave him twenty-four hours to get his waitresses dressed or they would petition the LCB to revoke his
license on the grounds he was running a “nuisance bar”—his only other glitch on the road to his entertainment empire occurred
when a group of bikers, aspiring to membership in the Pagans, started using the Suds and Subs as their hangout. At first they
seemed just harmlessly rowdy, a bunch of guys who, after Jimmy’s own heart, wanted what he wanted: many TVs showing different
sports continuously, draft beer in frosty mugs, half-pound cheeseburgers, thick french fries, and busty young women in tight
T-shirts waiting on them with parted lips, oily hips, and a consuming desire to know how many different parts of Harley-Davidson
engines could be chromed.

But then, of course, bikers being the same as any other humans inclined to club membership, different cliques began to form
among these Pagan wanna-bes, one clique calling themselves the Animals and the other the Undertakers. For a while their disputes
were strictly vocal, but then they started showing up with different colors on their jeans jackets, and the louder their vocal
disputes became, the more Jimmy’s regulars tended to stay away. It didn’t take Jimmy long to figure out that on the nights
when the bikers didn’t show up, his beloved Suds and Subs had become a place for him to stand around and harangue his waitresses
while they pretended to listen to him. In Jimmy’s mind the only way the situation could’ve been worse was if his bar had been
invaded by fags.