The Trouble Boys

by E. R. FALLON

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snapped at him.

  “You wanted to come here. Da came here for you. We all came here for you. It didn’t matter if coming here made Da miserable and made us miserable. All that mattered was what you wanted. Da’s dead. We’re miserable. Are you happy now? Right, of course you are. You’re in love with Carmine. You’re in love with him even though he’s cruel to us.”

  “He isn’t that bad.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Colin—”

  He slammed the door on his way out of the apartment.

  Summer came. It was one of the hottest summers the city had ever seen. The daily temperature averaged ninety-five degrees. So hot you could smell everyone’s sweat around you, the sidewalks stinking with rotting garbage. But the combined stench of the city’s summer heat and the refuse made no difference to a permanent resident like Colin. A hot as hell summer was as ordinary as any other season in New York. People shoved past him on the sidewalk and didn’t apologize, and neither did he when he did the same to others. It was sweltering and grimy, but he could still get a cup of sweetened coffee or a cold beer from the diner along with the newspaper, and his day would turn out all right. The sounds of people inside the buildings heard through open windows became the music of that summer.

  “How was your day in school?” Carmine asked Colin when he came home from selling cigarettes in the dark, humid streets.

  There was a bite in Carmine’s voice that bothered Colin.

  “You know I don’t go to school,” Colin muttered under his breath. Colin’s shoulders tightened. He steeled himself for what might follow, and he readied his comeback. He knew that Carmine was strong, but that he himself was an experienced fighter and around the same size as Carmine. But he didn’t think he’d have the courage to pummel Carmine until Carmine put a hand on him; which, so far, he’d never done. If Colin went all out on Carmine before Carmine physically attacked him then Colin feared what his mother would do. She might kick him out of the house and not let him visit Patrick.

  Carmine had his long legs stretched out and his feet up on the dining table. Colin stared at Carmine’s large boots on the table. Carmine took over the apartment as if it was his place, which Colin figured it kind of was now that his mother had let Carmine move in. Still, it ticked Colin off. Ever since Danny had moved out on his own, Colin had been the man of the household, until Carmine came along and claimed that position. Even if Colin had wanted to move out of the apartment, he was afraid to leave his siblings – and even his mother – alone with Carmine.

  “What did you say to me?” Carmine rose.

  At first, Colin tried to ignore Carmine and didn’t reply. He went over to the cupboard and searched for a snack. “You know what I said,” he finally spoke.

  Today the radio Carmine had bought Colin’s mother was on, and, as usual, Carmine was drinking a bottle of Colin’s cola. “Get me another cola,” he spat out as he tapped his foot along to the fast jazz beat. “Or are you just as much of an ignorant mick as your old man was?”

  Colin walked out of the room, chewing on a piece of bread with some of the butter Maureen had bought at the grocer’s, ignoring him. He’d bought the cola for his family, not for Carmine. He stepped inside the bedroom.

  “Get back over here,” Carmine shouted.

  Everyone in the building had to have heard him. Of course, by then they were probably used to the new tenant and his yelling and fondness for breaking things, including dishes and women’s bodies. Like that time last week when Colin was gone for a few days Maureen hadn’t tripped on the front steps while entering the building at night as she’d insisted when he returned. Under pressure she’d revealed a nasty confrontation with Carmine that had to do with, as Carmine put it, her ‘now able body’. Colin vowed to protect his sister.

  Colin closed the bedroom door. He thought about following Carmine’s orders and actually going back into the kitchen, and giving him a bullet instead of a cola. Colin knew where he could get a gun.

  When dinner came and everyone was seated around the table, Colin’s already tense situation with Carmine escalated.

  “He’s always late,” Carmine remarked about Colin, who had been the last person to arrive at the table. “We ought to get him a watch,” he said to Colin’s mother with a chuckle. “Except he’s so dumb, I don’t think he could tell the time.”

  Colin’s mother avoided looking at him as Carmine laughed. “I’ve had enough of this,” Colin said.

  A few green peas rolled off of his plate onto the table as his thighs hit the edge when he rose. Maureen steadied his wobbling plate gently with her hand. Colin went to the front door.

  “Please don’t go,” Maureen said to him.

  “Be quiet,” Carmine said. “Let the worthless criminal leave. There’ll be more food for us.”

  As Colin walked out of the apartment, he thought of how much Carmine’s laugh sounded like a witch’s cackle.

  Colin wasn’t surprised how warm it was when he stepped outside and went down the few steps leading to the sidewalk. Even the light nighttime rain didn’t seem to cool the boiling August temperature. Rainwater dampened his back. He thought about heading to Byrne’s. But he couldn’t go there because of that business with Lucille. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, and he hadn’t been to Byrne’s in that time. He had been leaving the Bowery for a nicer pub over on the West Side. He’d managed to convince them as well that he was old enough to drink. Tonight he ventured there. When Colin was relaxed enough to return home from the pub, he whistled a tune and took his time walking. It had stopped raining, and the sidewalks steamed from the combination of the hot ground and the cool rain. Although the warm weather hadn’t bothered him earlier, the bit of drinking he’d done made it irritate him now.

  Light-headed, he clumsily jogged up the building’s steps and reached the door. Then he realized he’d forgotten his keys when he stormed out earlier.

  On a hunch, he pushed the door with his hand and it opened. The landlord, who lived on the first floor, was getting on in years and had difficulty managing the building for the past few months. Hallway lights were often out for weeks, the tiny feet of mice could be heard scampering across the stairs in the early morning and evening hours, and teenagers often loitered on the building steps on weekend nights smoking and drinking beer.

  Colin heard a commotion coming from one of the top floors. But this wasn’t unusual. The Sullivans, an older, married couple whose children had long since left home, were always arguing. But it was a Monday night, and the Sullivans, Colin had long ago figured out, only squabbled on weekends.

  He was looking forward to getting into his bed and, maybe, getting some rest. Colin headed upstairs. As he got closer to the top of the staircase, he realized the noise was coming from his floor, not the one above him. Who could be arguing on his floor? He stepped in front of his family’s door and the noise didn’t stop.

  It was Carmine. But Colin wasn’t home, so who was Carmine yelling at this time? For a while Colin didn’t make a move. He assessed the situation. He had sobered up walking home, and now his head ached. He tried turning the knob, but the door was locked. He knocked once and then again after no one answered. So he pounded on the door. The noise stopped and the apartment fell silent.

  “Who is it?” Carmine shouted from inside.

  “It’s me.”

  “Who?”

  “Colin.”

  “What do you want?” Carmine asked.

  The sharp ring of Carmine’s voice caused Colin to jump a little.

  Then he composed himself. “To come inside my home.”

  “Come back later. Were busy in here. There’s no room for you.”

  Colin’s mother screamed from inside the apartment, “Carmine, don’t! Please.”

  She began to cry, and Colin could hear her muttering; a prayer, perhaps. She often prayed when she was nervous or frightened. And Carmine was frightening her, when usually she remained unruffled d
espite his erratic behavior.

  Something wasn’t right inside that flat, and Colin sensed it. He removed the switchblade he had bought two days ago with Johnny from his pocket. His shirt was drenched in sweat. He had been in numerous tense situations when selling cigarettes, but he was anxious now because his family’s safety might be at stake. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

  He stopped sweating as he gained courage. Colin nearly smiled at how Carmine must have thought he had given up, and how wrong Carmine was. He charged at the rickety door with all his might, and he broke through it with two thrusts.

  Colin gazed around the apartment. He could hear Maureen wailing from what had become their mother’s and Carmine’s bedroom.

  His mother looked over at him from where she sat at the table with his father’s old ashtray in front of her and a dying cigarette in her trembling hand, crying softly in between smoking. She put out the cigarette and rose from her chair. She ran toward him, reached out, trying to block him from entering that bedroom.

  “Colin, don’t go in there!”

  She tried to touch his face, but he pulled away. His head throbbed from confusion and anger.

  His mother’s face was red, and her eyes were swollen from crying. She looked directly into his eyes. She grabbed his arm and he stared back at her. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, like it wasn’t real. He thought about Patrick, who slept in the room across from that bedroom. Colin needed Danny for backup. But Danny wasn’t there.

  His mother gestured that Patrick was asleep, but Colin knew he must have been awake by then. With noise like that, anybody would have woken up, even the dead. He shook off his mother’s grasp. Colin didn’t need to be told anything. He knew what was going on. The chaos explained it all to him.

  He kicked open the bedroom door and charged inside the room. He stopped in his tracks. Carmine. Carmine on top of Maureen. Carmine, large and heavy, moving on top of thin Maureen. Maureen, sobbing and tearing at the sheets, trying to claw Carmine off of her. She pounded at Carmine with her fists, but was held back by his greater strength every time. He slapped her face.

  Carmine turned and saw Colin standing there. Colin was still frozen in shock at what he was witnessing. Colin could hear his mother shouting at him from the doorway. Her voice snapped him out of it. He shut the bedroom door and locked her out. Colin held the knife at his side as he stared at the back of Carmine’s neck. Carmine looked over at Colin again with a smug grin. Maureen screamed out in pain and embarrassment. There was blood on the bedsheets. Colin recalled what Uncle Rick had done to him and thought how his sister had nothing to be ashamed about. Carmine was the bastard who was doing this to her.

  Colin’s mother banged on the locked door. He looked around the bedroom and didn’t blink. Then in one sure motion, one quick second, he charged at Carmine’s neck, stabbing him there multiple times before Carmine realized what was happening.

  He pulled the knife out of Carmine’s flesh a final time. Blood splattered across the wall and the sheets. Colin must have hit an artery. Carmine slid off the bed in crippling pain and crumpled to the floor. Colin stood over him. Carmine tried to hit up at Colin but his swing was useless and barely grazed Colin’s ankle. Then he reached out and grabbed at Colin’s shin.

  “Help me, you motherfucker . . .”

  His grasp around Colin’s leg loosened as the life drained out of him. Carmine never said please. The floor and his pale flesh were covered in the blood leaking from his body. Colin was shocked when he didn’t gag. He stared at the dead, bloody mess of a man on the floor. He had done this. He had killed a man. But it was over. And he knew Carmine would never hurt Maureen again.

  Colin helped Maureen out of the bed and tried to hug her but she wouldn’t let him near her. Colin understood. She had been through a lot, and it would take her time to heal.

  “What are we going to do?” She stared at Carmine’s body in shock.

  Colin started to rub her shoulder then stopped when he saw it made her uncomfortable. “I’ll think of something. Are you okay?”

  Maureen shrugged, and then she slowly allowed him to dry her eyes.

  Colin unlocked the door and Patrick ran in past him before Colin could stop him. Patrick stood over Carmine’s body. His eyes widened and he started to cry before fleeing the room. Colin called out to him and tried to assure him everything would be okay. Maureen crossed her arms over the front of her nightgown, as if to guard herself from further harm. Their mother screamed and then refused to look.

  “He needs to go to hospital,” Colin’s mother said.

  She wanted to ring the police but Colin wouldn’t let her near a phone. “He’s dead, Mam. And I killed him. There’s nothing we can do to help him now. Go comfort Maureen and Patrick. They’re the ones who’ve been hurt by this. How could you just sit there while he was doing that to Maureen?”

  There were tears in his mother’s eyes but she looked away. “You weren’t here to help me. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Her words would always haunt Colin. He felt he’d failed his sister and his family. Colin washed his hands in hot water five times after killing Carmine. Yet for days after they were tinged with the man’s blood.

  Despite the corpse in the bedroom, he felt surprisingly calm, but he knew he needed a plan. After Maureen had changed, Colin ushered his family out of the apartment.

  “I need time to think. Go catch a late movie. Come back in a couple of hours. And, Mam,” he said, looking directly at her, “don’t tell anyone about this.”

  When they were gone, and he was alone with Carmine’s remains in a heap on the bedroom floor, he pondered what to do. He’d covered Carmine with a sheet. He sat at the table with a bottle of the Sambuca his mother had bought to celebrate her anniversary with Carmine in his hand. He pushed aside his father’s ashtray and listened for sounds of interest, but the tenement was silent. He was thankful for the building they lived in and for the city. No one had called the police about the noise during the killing, no one had asked questions or intervened after. Mind your own business was the first city rule. Shut up was the second.

  After his second gulp of the anise-infused Sambuca he came up with a solution. He grabbed a key, locked the door, and left the building. Colin wanted to look for a telephone, but it was late and no drugstores were open. He decided to walk the twenty blocks uptown to see Johnny. He walked at a brisk pace even as his stomach churned.

  Colin stood outside of the building where Johnny lived on the second floor. No lights were on in Johnny’s window.

  “Johnny,” he half shouted. Then he really shouted, “Johnny!” Johnny’s window opened and he stuck his head out. “Colin?

  What’s…” He rubbed his eyes, and his hair was disheveled as he looked down at Colin standing on the sidewalk.

  “I need to talk to you. It’s important. Please open the door.”

  “It’s not open?”

  Colin tried the knob and then shook his head up at Johnny.

  Johnny shut the window and emerged at the building’s doorway in his undershirt a few minutes later. He gestured for Colin to follow him inside.

  “What’s going on?” asked Johnny as he made coffee. Colin sat at a card table in the middle of the kitchen.

  “I’ve known you for a long time, and I need you to help me.”

  Johnny, hearing the urgency in Colin’s voice, ceased making the coffee. He sat down at the table and looked across at Colin.

  “What do you need me to do?”

  Colin put his hand to his head. “This isn’t good.”

  Johnny seemed to hesitate for a moment and then he nodded at Colin to talk.

  Colin removed his hand from his head and looked Johnny straight in the eye. “I killed someone. I need your help getting rid of the body.”

  At first, Johnny didn’t say anything. He just sat there, looking at Colin, as though he was dumbfounded. Colin and Johnny had gotten into some rough fights with other guys throughout the years, and
they both had joked about running a ‘criminal enterprise’ as boys, and, sure, they’d picked pockets and stolen from shops, but they’d never discussed murder.

  Johnny’s face flushed. “What do you mean?”

  “I killed Carmine.”

  “What… Why?”

  Colin shut down. He knew Johnny respected Maureen but he didn’t want anyone knowing what Carmine had done to her. Maureen had begged him not to tell a soul. “I don’t want to talk about it. But I had a very good reason for doing what I did, and I know you’d agree with me if you knew why I did it.”

  Johnny nodded and his face relaxed a little. “Okay,” he said quietly as though he was thinking. “Do the police know?”

  Colin shook his head. “Only my family knows.”

  “Where did you do it? Where is he?”

  “At my home. The body’s still there. I need your help.”

  Colin stared at him and their eyes locked. Colin knew this was a moment that often occurred in the lives of men who lived by the rules of the streets, a grim moment when their friendship would be tested.

  Johnny cleared his throat. Colin continued to stare at him. Johnny started to visibly sweat, and he couldn’t look Colin in the eye.

  “I don’t know,” Johnny said. “Murder? We could get into real trouble. That could get a guy locked away for life, or worse, sent to the electric chair. I can’t end up in prison like my old man. I know it’s been hard for you after your father… and you know I’d do anything for you, but… Do you know what my mother would do if she found out?”

  “Your mother?” Colin said. “You aren’t going to help me, are you?”

  “I’m not saying that.” Johnny sighed. “I have to think about it.”

  “I don’t have time to think. I have to act now.” Colin rose from the table. “Thanks, anyway. Thanks for nothing.”

  “Colin, wait—”

  Colin left before Johnny could finish speaking.

  Colin wandered the streets alone for a while and then he went into a pub on First Avenue he knew Danny frequented. Colin was familiar with the bartender from around the neighborhood and asked him if he’d seen his brother.