Ed took the phone and had a short conversation, telling Jav to come to the back door where one of the bouncers, Billy, would be. “Show him some ID and he’ll let you in. Right. Okay. Hold on.” He handed the phone back to Geno. “He needs to ask you something.”
“Do you want me to call Stef for you?” Jav said.
“Yeah,” Geno said, clearing his sludgy throat. “Tell him Anthony Fox is sitting in this bar. He’s here. Stef will know what it means.”
A beat of silence that felt like a gamble, then Jav said, “I know what it means. I’m on my way.”
“Jav, I’m sorry,” Geno said. “About—”
“It’s all right,” Jav said. “None of that matters tonight. Let’s just get you the hell out of there. You stay with Ed. I’m coming.”
“I’m up in New Rochelle,” Stef said on the phone. “I’m about to give a lecture but I know what’s going on and I’m getting on a train right afterward.”
“Okay,” Geno said.
“You do whatever the police say, understand?”
“I will.”
“And then you go with Jav afterward. Or go with whoever you feel comfortable with.”
“I’ll go with Jav.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Stef said. “They’ll keep you safe and he won’t see you. I need to go now but I’m coming back in a few hours.”
Despite ID and Ed’s vouching, police wouldn’t let Jav into the restaurant. They had the bar in a quiet lockdown. Nobody was allowed in or out. Jav went to a Starbucks across the street to wait.
Sequestered with Ed in the tiny office with the door closed and an FBI agent posted outside, Geno floated in an anxious and isolated bubble. How would police make the arrest without causing panic? Would Anthony bolt? Was he packing heat? Would there be a shootout?
Will he see me?
Jav texted from across the street, sending short bursts of support.
Vern called. He was standing by, ready and waiting for anything Geno needed.
I’m OK, Geno texted Stef, even though he knew Stef couldn’t answer.
Nothing was happening.
And then it was over.
Not with a bang, but a whimper, Geno thought later.
He didn’t see a thing. The cops and agents wouldn’t let him out of the office until Anthony was gone, so Geno didn’t get the satisfaction of witnessing the proverbial perp walk. No chance to lock eyes with the Fox and call, “Have fun being someone’s bitch in prison, asshole.”
It was over so invisibly, Geno couldn’t take in that the world was a profoundly different place now. The cops finally let Jav in through the kitchen, now he stood quietly in the narrow hall outside the office while Geno gave police his statement.
“Geronimo.” One of the FBI agents was holding out his cell phone. “Someone wants to say hi to you.”
“Me?” Geno said, taking it. “Hello?”
“Mr. Caan, this is Captain Hook.”
A prickling pins-and-needles rush all up and down Geno’s limbs. “Hi.”
“Congratulations.”
The new and different world teetered on its axis as the single word threw arms around Geno and squeezed. He sniffed hard, pressing a hand into his eyes. “Thanks.”
“I couldn’t be happier,” Hook said. “Or more proud.”
“I… Yeah. Thanks. It was…really scary for a minute, but…”
“You got somewhere safe to go?”
Geno glanced at Jav. “Yeah. I’m with a friend.”
“Good. You put your head down tonight and rest easy. Son of a bitch won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
All at once, Geno was exhausted. “It’s really over, isn’t it?”
“It’s over. Will you give me a call tomorrow? Let me know you’re all right?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“No, thank you. Goodnight, Geno.”
The commendation piled up until it was dizzying. Every agent and cop shook his hand. Ed hugged him hard, then went on patting his back and squeezing his shoulders.
“Come on,” Jav finally said. “I’ll take you home.”
Geno sat in the back of a cab in a trance, not realizing Jav meant his home until the cab pulled up in front of a row of brick townhouses in the west twenties.
“I have a curfew,” Geno said. “I have to sign back in by midnight.”
“Stef took care of it with EP. They know you’re with me.”
Geno didn’t question it. He was too tired. His feet shuffled as he followed Jav down a flight of stairs. The apartment was warm and snug and a dog came to greet them at the door. A copper-colored retriever who barked a few times, then sniffed Geno thoroughly from the knees down.
“This is Roman,” Jav said. “He’s my nephew’s dog but he lives with me.”
“Where’s your nephew?”
“At college. New Paltz.” Jav went into the little kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and mugs rattling. “You want a hot drink? Tea or something?”
“No, thanks.”
“Tell me what I can do. Or tell me what you want. Do you want to eat something? Collapse? I feel kind of stupid and helpless here so please…” His hand made a broad sweeping gesture around. “Mi casa es su casa. ¿Vale?”
“Can I look out there?” Geno pointed toward the French doors.
“Sure.”
Roman followed Geno out into the tiny garden, a little green box inside Manhattan, strung with Christmas lights. Twinkling like a hundred stars. The way Nos used to be.
Maybe it can be that way again.
A different Nos.
Roman sat on his haunches and tilted his head as Geno crouched down and let go of the night. It was a harsh, painful cry that left him exhausted and empty. The violent release of tears took all his body heat as well. He shivered as he dragged his face along his sleeve. From up between his thighs rose the faint smell of urine. His pits stank with dried, nervous sweat. He needed to get out of these clothes.
He went back in, the dog on his heels.
Jav was washing a few dishes. “Hey. The kettle’s on the stove and the water’s hot. If you want that drink.”
Geno took a deep breath. “If I told you I needed to borrow a pair of sweats and put these clothes in the wash, would you not ask me any questions?”
Jav turned off the water immediately. “My nephew keeps some clothes here,” he said, walking toward the bedroom. “The washer-dryer is in the bathroom, you’ll see the detergent on the floor. Take whatever you need, use the shower. I’ll get you a towel.”
Geno threw his clothes in, then took a quick shower and put on sweats, socks and a long-sleeved grey shirt with New Paltz across the chest.
“Thanks,” he said, coming out into the living room. “That’s better.”
“Water is still hot,” Jav said from the couch. “Mugs are in the cabinet over the microwave. Help yourself.”
Geno busied himself finding a mug and a tea bag and a spoon. Stirring sugar in, he saw Jav’s phone on the counter with a series of text messages.
Stef: I missed the train, damn doors closed right in my face. The next one’s in 45 minutes. Everything OK?
Jav: Yeah, but I don’t want to fuck this up. The poor kid, I feel like shit.
S: You won’t fuck it up. Just give him a safe space.
J: Come home.
S: My most important job.
Geno took his mug and walked around the living room, sipping and looking at things. A desk with a computer circulating scenic photos as a screen saver. Next to it was a wooden stand with a black hat, a little white feather in its band. Tall shelves were stuffed with books and artwork hung everywhere.
“You can turn on the TV if you want,” Jav said.
“No. It might be on the news. I don’t want to see anymore tonight.”
“You said you knew?”
Jav’s eyebrows wrinkled over the rim of his mug.
“When I said Anthony Fox was in the restaurant, you said you knew what it meant. Did you know who he was in general, or who he was to me in particular?”
“I knew the name,” Jav said, setting his tea down. “And I’d gathered a few pieces from things you’d told me. That you were a twin and your father and brother died last summer. I asked Stef but he’s not allowed to tell me things like that.”
Geno resumed pacing the room, looking at the same things two and three times. Jav read his book, but Roman followed Geno’s circuitous path with a worried expression.
“Sorry, I’m making the dog nervous,” Geno said. “Walking in circles kind of helps calm me down.”
“You don’t have to explain. I pace the shit out of this place when I’m writing. Roman’s used to it.”
Geno stopped to inspect the bookshelves beside the desk again.
“See anything you like?” Jav said.
“Not really,” Geno said. “I don’t need a story right now. I just need something to look at.”
Jav’s hand pointed over the back of the couch. “Try the bottom shelf on the left there. That’s the fun stuff.”
The tomes down here were larger. Art books and photographic essays on space, Mount Everest and Africa. A big white volume of the artwork of Walt Disney. Another on Pixar. Titles like A Map of the World. The Atlas of Cursed Places. The Encyclopedia of Myths & Legends. The Birthday Book. The Book of Names.
Geno eased out a mid-sized blue tome. “Planet Earth,” he said. “Isn’t that the show on National Geographic or something?”
“BBC,” Jav said. “Have you seen it?”
“No. I heard it’s pretty cool though.”
He sat down with the book and turned a few pages. Then heeled off his shoes and settled back more. Jav had his feet on the coffee table, so Geno put his up, too, sliding them between stacked magazines and a big bowl of Chinese fortune cookies. Roman jumped on the couch and turned three times on a neighboring cushion, pushing into Geno’s side. The warm, panting weight pressed in tight. First one paw on Geno’s leg. Then the other. Then his muzzle laid on top with a big sigh.
“Is he always like this?” Geno asked, scratching the domed forehead.
“With strangers? No. But I think you remind him of my nephew. You’re the same age.”
The room was quiet, but not oppressive. Geno could hear the tiny tick of Jav’s watch through the soft scrape of turned pages. The edges of his mind began to soften. The blocks of text swarmed in and out of focus and the photographs blurred together. Geno put the planet down on his chest and closed his eyes.
He woke with a start. Jav and Roman were gone. The apartment was dark except for a little light in the kitchen. It backlit Stef, who crouched by the side of the couch.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m home.”
“Hey,” Geno said, taking his feet off the table.
“You all right?”
“Yeah. They got him.”
Stef nodded, his mouth a tight, hard line but his eyes shining. “They got him.”
“It’s over.” Geno slid off the couch, onto the floor and into Stef’s arms. “It’s over.”
Stef caught him up tight, a hand on Geno’s head. “They got him,” he said, rocking their bodies side to side. “You did a great thing.”
Geno willed his fists to let go of Stef’s shirt but they were locked in tight. He kept waiting for Stef’s grip to loosen, signaling he was letting go, but he didn’t. Geno held on and Stef held still. His heart beat in a steady cadence beneath Geno’s face. His tattooed forearm looked like a piece of marble sculpture. Winged horses and centaurs at his command, all gathered around to shelter this moment. Time stretched out long. Then longer.
I’m home, Geno thought. And I am so tired. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“If you want. You can sleep upstairs in my mother’s guest room.”
“No, I want to stay here. If that’s okay.”
“Not a problem.”
“I’m sorry about everything I said.”
“Tonight’s not about that.”
“He’s a really good guy.”
Now Stef leaned back from him, smiling. “I know.”
He got Geno a pillow and blanket and a bottle of water. Then he said goodnight. “Yell if you need me.”
Geno woke again, a little before two. He got up and took a leak. He glanced at the short hallway and the half-open door at its end. The apartment was wreathed in silence. The floorboards made no noise under his feet as he peered into the bedroom.
Stef slept on his back, one forearm flung up next to his head. Beside him, Jav lay on his side. Bottom arm crossed over his chest, the other hand dropped onto Stef’s ribs.
Geno stared a long time at the sleeping men and their strange, strong beauty.
The space between their bodies almost seemed to twinkle.
“Dos,” he whispered.
The next morning brought a ring of the doorbell and a call from the other side. “Everyone decent?”
Weird, it sounded like Stavroula. But it couldn’t be.
It was her.
“You live here too?” Geno said.
“My mother does,” she said. “And she has summoned you to breakfast.”
“Me?”
“All of you. Lilia made matzo brei. Hi, cookie.” She hugged Jav as Stef tapped Geno’s shoulder and handed him a new toothbrush. Geno retrieved his black jeans and shirt from the dryer, ran wet hands through his hair and used a few swipes of the Right Guard he found in the medicine cabinet. They went upstairs to a gorgeous apartment, inhabited by two white-haired ladies.
“This is my mother, Rory” Stef said, indicating the neater-dressed of the pair.
“And this is my mother, Lilia,” Stav said, an arm around the other.
Geno looked at the two women. He looked at Jav and Stef, then back.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, deciding nothing was going to surprise him for the rest of the day.
Two matzo breis graced the dining room table. Circles of crisp, unleavened bread fried with beaten eggs and cinnamon, each bigger than a steering wheel.
“Wow, I haven’t had this in years,” Geno said, pulling his chair in.
“You’re Jewish?” Lilia said, leaning on his chair to pour coffee. “Who made it for you?”
“My mother. We called it matzo surprise.”
“Did she make savory or sweet?”
“Sweet. Sprinkled with sugar.”
“I make both,” Lilia said. “Help yourself. Please.” As her hand made an encompassing gesture to the food, Geno caught the tattooed numbers on her forearm.
Maybe nothing would surprise him for the rest of his life.
He ate a big triangle of the sweet brei, piled high with fresh peaches, strawberries and blueberries and sprinkled with coarse sugar. Then he managed a small piece of the savory, topped with a poached egg.
“Ugh.” Jav put his napkin down, groaning. “I ate too much.”
“Wimp,” Stef said, stabbing the last pieces off Jav’s plate.
“You’re a garbage disposal.”
“He used to be the pickiest eater,” Rory said, setting her silverware across her plate. “Drove me demented.”
“What’s everyone up to today?” Stav said, checking her phone.
“I have to finish my taxes,” Stef said morosely, picking up brei crumbs with a fingertip.
“I have editing,” Jav said, looking even more morose.
“Lilia and I have tickets to Avery Fisher Hall,” Rory said, glancing at her watch.
Stav set her elbows on the table and her chin on her fists. Her eyes met Geno’s. “Feel like bei
ng of service?”
Stav opened the door of The Bake & Bagel on Horatio Street and ushered Geno in. The shop was humming. A din of conversation and shouted orders mixed with heady, crisp smells of dough, coffee and bacon. Like a couple of goodfellas, Stav and Geno went behind the counter and into the back room. It was hotter in here, the yeasty, baked smell stronger. Stav walked around a half-dozen shelved rolling carts and big wire baskets. Two huge industrial ovens took up the back wall, and two men were loading them with long planks, each plank lined with plump, boiled bagels.
“Baking is done up here,” Stav said. “Dough is made downstairs.” She stopped and looked back at Geno. “You did want the tour, yes?”
“Oh hell, yeah,” he said.
She took him through a door and down a flight of wooden stairs. They emerged into the cool, low-ceilinged dough room. Everything was clean, white and silver. Two big mixers, each coming up to the middle of Geno’s thigh. More rolling carts with white shelves. White five-gallon buckets. White sacks of flour. Two metal doors leading, Geno guessed, to walk-in coolers. Dean Martin warbled from a radio and Micah Kalo sang along as he tidied up the work surfaces.
“Dad, this is Geno,” Stav said.
“I remember you,” Micah said. “You know good music.” His handshake was dry and dusty, leaving Geno’s palm coated with flour.
“He’s agreed to be your slave for the afternoon.”
Micah drove a van for Meals on Wheels. His regular partner was sick, so Geno rode shotgun through the route in Brooklyn. The spring day was beautiful. Clear blue skies over the Big Apple. Cool enough for a jacket, bright enough for shades and frequent pauses to let the sun shine on your face. The afternoon also carried the odd sensation of a blind date. Geno was sure Stav hadn’t teamed him up with Micah out of need. She wanted them to spend the day together for a reason.
Whatever the ulterior motive, Geno enjoyed the work. They delivered the pre-made meals mostly to homebound senior citizens. At some stops, they carried in milk crates of pantry items as well. Lots of boxes of matzo, bottles of wine and grape juice, kosher salt and horseradish.
A Charm of Finches Page 42