by Jason Starr
They pulled into the parking lot of the Arch Diner, just up the block from the bowling alley. When they got out of the car, they breathed in the stench of raw sewage, drifting over from across the street.
Mickey and Chris sat in a booth near the window, and Maria came to take their drink orders. Maria was about forty, but she looked good for her age, with long thin legs and high pointy breasts. She was always nice to Mickey and Chris, smiling and winking at them, and calling them “sweetie” and “doll.”
Mickey ordered a Coke and Chris asked for an egg cream. As usual, Chris started hitting on Maria. He told her how sexy she looked tonight, and he asked her if she’d marry him someday. Maria was a good sport, laughing and playing along, even though Mickey could tell she was sick of coming to work every night, just to get hit on by horny teenagers.
Ralph and Filippo showed up and joined Mickey and Chris in the booth.
“I shouldn’ta come here,” Filippo said. “Donna wanted me to go back to her place with her. Last night, I fucked her four times and she was begging me for more. My balls hurt so bad I couldn’t fall asleep.”
“You gotta be careful,” Chris said. “Her old man’s really protective and shit. Remember when he caught Kenny Thomas in her sister Connie’s bed in eighth grade? He came after him with a baseball bat—almost broke his fuckin’ head open.”
“I’m not stupid,” Filippo said. “I don’t fuck Donna in her house. I take her to my house. My mother doesn’t care, as long as I keep my sheets clean.”
“Hey, Mickey,” Chris said, “I got a joke for you. A rabbi and a priest are on an airplane, right? The plane’s goin’ down and there’s only one parachute. So the rabbi says to the priest, ‘You take the parachute, my father owns a candy store!’ ”
Chris started laughing hysterically at the punch line, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and Filippo and Ralph joined in. Mickey didn’t get the joke but he started laughing too.
“Sucker!” Chris yelled, pointing at Mickey. “It’s not a real joke. I knew you’d fall for it.”
“You’re so fuckin’ stupid, Mickey,” Filippo said. Then, suddenly angry, he said, “What the fuck’re they doin’ here?”
Filippo was looking toward the front of the diner where four black guys were seated at a booth.
“It’s a free country,” Chris said.
“Free my ass,” Filippo said. “Niggers should stay in East New York.”
Filippo was about to get up when Chris said, “Come on, just get something to eat and forget about it.”
“How can I forget about four spooks sittin’ behind me?”
“Come on,” Chris said.
Filippo settled down and said, “Two nights ago I was out drivin’ with Kenny, drinkin’ beers, when we saw this nigger walkin’ up K and Forty-third—right in our fuckin’ neighborhood. So I say, ‘Check this out,’ and I went up on the sidewalk. You shoulda seen the spook’s face when he saw this car on the sidewalk, comin’ up behind him.” Filippo laughed. “He got away, but it was still a fuckin’ riot.”
“So what’re you guys having, I’m starving,” Chris said, looking at his menu.
“We shoulda pulled a Mill Basin on that nigger,” Filippo said. “You hear about that the other night? They beat the shit outta those niggers with a fuckin’ baseball bat? Serves ’em right—fuckin’ spook bastards, tryin’ to fuck our girlfriends.”
“Shut up,” Mickey said.
Filippo stared at Mickey, looking shocked. “What’d you just say?”
“You heard me,” Mickey said. “I’m sick of listening to your bullshit, so why don’t you just shut up?”
Filippo leaned over the table and tried to punch Mickey. Mickey moved back in time and the fist breezed past his face.
“Come on, chill out,” Chris said to Filippo.
Filippo laughed. “Scared you, huh?” he said to Mickey. “What’s the matter? You a nigger lover and a faggot now?”
“I work with one of the guys who got attacked that night, all right?” Mickey said.
“Holy shit,” Chris said to Mickey. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was that guy?” Filippo said. “I never liked that fuckin’ nigger—always looks at me like Kunta Kinte when I buy fish from him. I always wondered why they hired a nigger at that fish store in the first place. I mean why wouldn’t the owner of the store just hire a normal white guy?”
Mickey shook his head, looking out the window.
“I was just curious,” Filippo said to Mickey, “what’s it like workin’ with a spook all day? He teaching you all about watermelons and fried chicken?”
“All right, leave him alone,” Chris said.
“Ooh, look how mad I’m gettin’ him,” Filippo said to Mickey, smiling. “What’s the matter? You and that nigger queer together now or what?”
“Give him a break,” Chris said.
“What? I’m just asking him a question,” Filippo said. “The guy has a mouth—he can use it.”
“Come on, just leave him alone,” Chris said. “He bowled good for us tonight, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Filippo said, “but that don’t mean Mickey Mouse here don’t suck black dick.”
“Come on,” Chris said, “let’s get cute Maria back here so we can order.”
“He’s right,” Mickey said, putting down his menu.
“Right about what?” Filippo said.
“Charlie and me,” Mickey said. “We try to keep it a secret, you know, but during the day we go to the back room together and fuck each other’s brains out.”
“See? What did I tell you?” Filippo said to Ralph.
Ralph just sat there, staring.
“He’s bullshitting you,” Chris said to Filippo.
“Nah, I can tell he’s telling the truth,” Filippo said. “I always knew he was queer—since he was a little kid. Remember when we were kids we used to play hockey in the street sometimes? Mickey would never play with us. That’s because it was too rough for him. He was probably sitting home in his room, playing with his Barbie dolls.”
“You’re right, I was,” Mickey said. “I have a whole Barbie doll collection. I have a Ken doll too. But I play with Ken a lot more than Barbie.”
“I don’t even wanna sit at the table with this fuckin’ guy no more,” Filippo said. “I might catch AIDS.”
“What’s AIDS?” Chris asked.
“Some new faggot disease they got,” Filippo said. “If you shake hands with a faggot you die.”
“Come on, let’s just order some food,” Chris said.
“And I knew that nigger he works with was a fudgepacker too,” Filippo said. “He always walks funny, like he’s got dicks up his ass.”
“Fuck you,” Mickey said.
“What?” Filippo said. “You don’t like it when I make fun of your boyfriend? You want me to call him a spearchucker instead?”
Mickey glared at Filippo.
“What’re you gonna do,” Filippo said, “hit me with your nail file? Or you gonna call your monkey boyfriend to come beat me up?”
Mickey tried to go after Filippo, climbing over the table. Chris leaned over, holding Mickey back.
“Don’t hit me,” Filippo begged. “Please don’t hit me! I don’t wanna die from AIDS. Please! Please!”
“Come on, you douche bags,” Chris said. “You wanna get tossed from here or what?”
Mickey stood up, put two bucks on the table, and headed toward the door.
“Hey, where you going?” Chris said. “Come on.”
Mickey left the diner and headed toward his car at the end of the parking lot.
“Hey, Mickey!” Chris called out from behind him. “Mickey!”
Mickey didn’t turn around. As he was getting into his car, Chris grabbed his shoulder from behind.
“Lemme go,” Mickey said.
“Come on,” Chris said. “Come back inside.”
“Fuck you. I’m going home.”
“Don’t pay attention t
o Filippo. You know he’s just full of shit.”
“I don’t care about Filippo.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Just leave me alone, all right?”
“Lighten up, man,” Chris said. “Jesus, you’re eighteen and you sound like my fuckin’ grandfather. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”
“You wanna know what’s wrong with me?” Mickey said. “I lost half my life savings today—how’s that for having something wrong with me? Now can you lemme get the fuck outta here?”
“What’re you talking about?”
Mickey hadn’t meant to tell Chris about the money he’d given to Artie, and he was sorry he had.
“Forget it,” Mickey said.
“No, tell me, what’d you do,” Chris said, “blow all your money at the track?”
Figuring it didn’t make a difference now, anyway, Mickey told Chris what had been going on.
Afterward Chris said, “You’re such a fuckin’ idiot. Why did you put in bets for him?”
“Fuck you,” Mickey said.
Mickey got in his car and slammed the door. As he was warming up the engine, Chris knocked on the window. Mickey rolled his eyes, then cranked the window open.
“I can’t believe you took money out of the bank,” Chris said. “Why didn’t you come to me first?”
“What for?”
Mickey started to close the window. Chris put his hand over it.
“You want your money back?” Chris said. “Because if you do, I can help you get it.”
“What the hell’re you talking about?” Mickey said.
Chris looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was around, then he said, “I can’t give you your money back, but I can help you get it. Me, Ralph, and Filippo—we’ve been doing this thing. I’ve been putting away under my mattress, saving up for a new Firebird.”
“What’s the thing?”
“Just a thing to make money. If you get in on it, you might be able to make back all the money you lost today in a week, or in a day if you’re lucky. I don’t think they’ll want you in, but they’ll let you in if I put my foot down, and I will if you want me to.”
“Is it something illegal?”
“You said you want your money back, right?”
Mickey stared at Chris for a few seconds, then said, “Lemme go.”
Chris moved his hand from the window, then stood there, watching Mickey drive away.
WHEN MICKEY OPENED the outer door to his apartment, he was greeted by the odor of urine. Blackie, Mickey’s landlord’s dog, had a bladder problem and sometimes couldn’t hold it in before he got outside.
Blackie started barking venomously as Mickey headed up the dark steep stairwell, leading to the door to his apartment. Mickey opened the door and reached for the light switch when someone grabbed him and pushed him against the wall, and Mickey felt the sharp edge of a knife against his chin.
The person holding Mickey was breathing heavily, panting.
“Dad?” Mickey said weakly.
“What the hell’re you doing in this apartment? Huh? You trying to rob us?”
“It’s me, Dad. It’s Mickey.”
“Who? What the hell’re you talking about you son of a bitch?”
Mickey felt the tip of the blade going into his chin, and he realized that his father could easily slit his throat. Mickey grabbed his father’s wrist, above the hand that was holding the knife, and squeezed as hard as he could.
“You fuckin’ bastard,” Sal Prada said.
When the tip of the knife was no longer piercing his skin, Mickey kneed his father in the balls. Sal grunted, then Mickey heard the knife fall onto the floor. Mickey went to his knees and felt around. The apartment wasn’t completely dark—there was some light coming from the lampposts outside—but Mickey’s eyes hadn’t adjusted yet and he could barely see. Finally, Mickey felt the blade part of the knife, but before he could grip the handle, his father grabbed it. Mickey went for his father’s wrist again; he could only squeeze with his right hand, the one without the stitches. They struggled on the floor. Mickey didn’t know where the knife was, and he was afraid it would go into his chest.
“Let go!” Mickey yelled. “Just let go!”
Mickey caught a glimpse of his father’s face—Sal Prada looked like a maniac, with his teeth clenched and his eyes wide open. Sal lunged forward and Mickey felt a slash on his left arm, above his elbow.
“Fuckin’ idiot!” Mickey yelled. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”
Sal tried to stab Mickey again, but this time Mickey saw the blade coming. He grabbed the handle, over his father’s hand, and gradually managed to pry his father’s fingers loose. Finally, Mickey freed the knife. He stood up and his father grabbed one of Mickey’s legs. Mickey kicked his father in the head and his father let go. Mickey went to the end of the hallway and turned on the hallway light.
Sal Prada stood there, looking confused. Mickey checked his arm—it was bleeding, but the cut wasn’t as deep as he’d feared.
“You could’ve killed me, you fuckin’ moron,” Mickey said. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”
“What’re you doing here?” Sal said. “There was a guy breaking into the house. I saw him breaking in.”
Mickey went into the bathroom and rinsed his arm in the sink. The bleeding stopped quickly, but he knew it could have been a lot worse.
Dressing the wound, he decided he couldn’t live this way anymore. He was going to put his father away in a home, like he should’ve a long time ago. That would solve problem number one. But he would still need money, to pay off the rest of the debt to Artie and to pay for his own expenses when he started college next year.
Mickey watched the end of the ten o’clock news, then he watched The Odd Couple, the one where Oscar goes to the fat farm. Mickey had seen the episode dozens of times before, and he just lay in bed in the dark, staring at the screen, hardly paying attention.
During The Honeymooners—the one where Ralph takes his boss out to dinner and tries to pick up the check he can’t afford—Mickey called Chris.
“I just walked in the door,” Chris said.
“About that thing we were talking about before in the parking lot,” Mickey said.
“What about it?”
“I want in,” Mickey said.
7
CHRIS WAS WAITING by his front door.
”My mom’s home, let’s go up to my room,” Chris said.
Mickey followed Chris past the living room, where Mrs. Turner was sprawled out on the couch in her nightgown with the TV going and a bottle of gin on the floor nearby. Her mouth was halfway open and she was snoring loudly. She used to be good-looking with long blonde hair and always wore tight, sexy outfits. Now she’d put on about fifty pounds, her face was wrinkled and drawn, and she had short graying hair.
In Chris’s room, Chris locked the door and cleared some dirty laundry off of a chair and told Mickey to sit down. Posters of Rush, Led Zeppelin, and Gladys Portuguese hung on the far wall, and the latest centerfolds from Penthouse and Hustler were thumbtacked to the wall above Chris’s bed.
Chris sat down on the bed across from Mickey and said, “So what made you change your mind?”
“I don’t know if I changed my mind,” Mickey said. “I just want to hear what the thing is first.”
“I can’t tell you anything unless you really want in,” Chris said. “I talked to Ralph and Filippo at the diner—they okay’d it, but I need your word.”
“Come on, just tell me,” Mickey said.
Chris waited then said, “We’re gonna rob a house in Manhattan Beach.”
“You’re kidding me,” Mickey said.
“What?” Chris said.
“That’s it?” Mickey said.
“Just hear me out, will ya?”
“I think I’ve heard enough.”
“Just listen. We’re not just gonna go to some house, ring the bell, and if no one answers break in. We’re not s
tupid. We’ve got it all figured out. We know nobody’s gonna be there, we know what’s in the house, and we know exactly how to get in and out.”
“Yeah?” Mickey said. “And how do you know all this?”
“Because Filippo’s cousin lives there.”
“His cousin?”
“The guy and his wife are gonna be away at the Poconos for the weekend,” Chris said. “They got another house up there—you know, a country house—and they go away all the time. They leave Friday, come back Sunday. So on Saturday nobody’s gonna be home.”
“So let me get this straight,” Mickey said. “Filippo wants to rob his own cousin?”
“He’s rich as hell,” Chris said.
“It’s still his cousin.”
“He’s a scumbag too,” Chris said. “Filippo said he cheats on his wife all the time, sleeps with whores, you name it. And the shit we’re gonna take—it’s all insured. The big prize, the wife’s diamond engagement ring, is two fuckin’ carats, worth twenty g’s easy on the street. Filippo heard his mother talking to the wife—she never wears the ring and she doesn’t keep it locked up, neither. She’s got other jewelry in the house too. All we gotta do is find where she keeps it, and we figure with one extra guy we got a better shot at it.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Mickey said.
“Why?” Chris said. “We got it all figured out. Last time, I cleared a thousand bucks, but we think we got a shot at more this time.”
“Who did you rob last time?”
“Filippo’s grandmother.”
Mickey shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was even listening to this.
“We coulda done better with that one,” Chris went on. “We heard a noise and left early, but we didn’t have to. That’s why we all think another guy might help. With another guy maybe we coulda got his grandmother’s wedding band and fancy silverware and made another couple grand easy.”
“I’m not gonna rob a house,” Mickey said, “and I’m definitely not gonna rob Filippo’s cousin.”
“Hey, you were the one who called me,” Chris said. “I was just trying to help you out, because I felt bad for you, but if you don’t want to get all your money back plus some, that’s fine. It was hard to talk Ralph and Filippo into it, anyway. They wanted to use this guy Jimmy instead, but I told them you’re in or I’m out, and that finally got them. If we find the ring, we could get at least five grand each. But if you don’t want a chance of getting five grand for fifteen minutes’ work with absolutely no risk, that’s up to you.”