Skells

by F. P. Lione

  “Well,” she paused. “He was always headstrong.” Her tone was guarded.

  “Mom, how about an answer here? I’m trying to find out what his problem is with me.”

  “Well, he was from South Beach and a lot of his—”

  I cut her off. “Don’t give me the recap of his childhood. I know all about the gang he hung with in South Beach. I know he says the Marine Corps was the best thing that ever happened to him, that it straightened him out. Tell me about him. What about when he came back from Vietnam?”

  She sighed. “He was quiet. He’d been through a lot over there, but he wasn’t bitter about it like a lot of guys that went over there. He felt he served his country and was proud of it.”

  “He said he didn’t have any of that post-traumatic stress stuff or battle fatigue—is that true?” I asked.

  “No, he didn’t. He was happy to be home, happy to be with you and me. As much as Marie would like to say he married me when he didn’t want to, that was a lie. We were engaged before he went in the service. I’m not saying I wasn’t pregnant when we got married, but he wanted to get married. It was after Denise was born that we started having problems, and even that had nothing to do with our home life. It was something that happened at work,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  “Tony, I don’t think it’s my place to tell you. It’s something very personal to him, and if he wanted you to know, he would have told you. But it was after that happened that he changed. He became angry and distant, and we started having problems.”

  “What was it?”

  “Tony, I really don’t—”

  “Come on, Mom, I have a right to know.” I raised my voice. “If something happened that affected all of us, I’d like to know so at least I could understand.”

  She sighed again and was quiet for a couple of seconds. “He killed a kid.”

  “What? When?”

  “He was a rookie, working a four-to-twelve. The kid was ten years old and came out between two parked cars about ten o’clock at night. It was dark…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Where was this?”

  “The lower East Side, down by Knickerbocker,” she said, meaning Knickerbocker Village.

  “Did he get in trouble?”

  “No, it was an accident. This was a long time ago, Tony, back in the days when an accident was an accident and didn’t wind up in riots and cops going to jail. But it changed him. I couldn’t get him to talk about it, and back then the department wouldn’t force him to go for counseling.”

  “Wow,” I said, trying to absorb it. “I don’t know what to say. He’s my father and I feel like I don’t know anything about him.”

  “I know. I think that was a lot of my problem. I kept waiting for the person I married to come back, but he’s gone, Tony. He’s been gone for a long time,” she said sadly. “But,” she tried to sound cheerful, “that’s all water under the bridge. This is a new start for you, so enjoy it and don’t let anyone ruin it for you.”

  “Any more skeletons in the closet that I should know about?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted to know.

  “Sure, we’ve got graveyards in this family. But today’s not the day for it. Go get some sleep, I love you,” she said.

  “I love you too, Mom. Thanks for telling me about Dad. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  I went outside and sat on the front steps to smoke a cigarette. It was so quiet compared to the city. I could hear the wind rustling through the pine trees and actually saw some rabbits out on Michele’s lawn. This area of Long Island was in the Pine Barrens, thousands of acres of protected pine forest. The cul de sac across from us had three houses whose property touched the Pine Barrens. It was pretty rural out here. Directly across from our house was a horse farm.

  No cars passed by, no sirens or horns honking, just peace and quiet. I could live here. I think the only things that bother me are the skunks and the commute. The commute is only for another nine years, but the skunks are a different story. We don’t have skunks in Manhattan or Staten Island. It’s a disgusting smell—maybe it’s me, but I’ll take rats and garbage over skunks any day.

  I went inside and changed into sweats. I didn’t set the alarm—the minute Stevie saw my truck, he’d come barreling in and jump on me. I slept in Michele’s room. The bedroom set we picked out wouldn’t be delivered until September, and like me she had a full-size bed with no headboard. Granted, hers had flowered sheets and it smelled good, but pretty much the same bed I had at home.

  I lay awake for a while; I don’t know if it was too quiet or too bright in the room. I found myself thinking about my father. I also must have been thinking about the female who was assaulted last night, because I saw her face being smashed and my body jerked me awake. The last time I looked at the clock, it was five to eleven.

  I heard Stevie’s squeal and rolled over to look at the clock—4:30. I groaned and rolled back over on my stomach so at least when he jumped on me, he wasn’t hitting anything important.

  “Tony! I didn’t know you were coming!” He jumped on my back and was trying to tickle me.

  “Hey buddy!” I rubbed my hand over my face. “How’s your ear feeling?” I asked, turning to look at him.

  “Good, but I still have to take the medicine.”

  He looked fine to me. “Do you know how to make coffee?” I asked him.

  “Nooooo,” he giggled. “But Mom does. Mom, make us some coffee,” he called to Michele.

  “Come on, get up,” he said trying to pull my arm.

  “Okay, do me a favor, let me talk to Mom a second, then I’ll get up.”

  “You always say that and it’s more than a second!” he argued.

  “I mean it, give me five minutes.”

  “You promise?” He had his hands on his hips.

  “I promise.”

  “O-kay,” he said as he walked out, dragging his feet. Michele was leaning against the door frame, dressed in a blue suit with a white silk shirt. She was tall and thin, with big brown eyes and shoulder-length light brown hair with some blond threaded through it—the best-looking teacher I’ve ever seen.

  “Come here, legs,” I said and smiled at her.

  “Not on your life, Tony, I’m staying here.”

  “Afraid to be alone with me?”

  “Absolutely. Especially when you look all rumpled and sexy in my bed.”

  “Rumpled and sexy, I like that.” We stared at each other for a couple of minutes until she asked, “What do you want for dinner?”

  “Let’s go out. I thought we’d have dinner and take Stevie to a movie.”

  “Out to dinner with Stevie is a happy meal,” she said.

  “I know, but it’s nice out. We can pick up food for you and me, get him the happy meal, and eat it outside at the McDonald’s on Main Street where they have that play thing. There’s tables there.”

  “I don’t know if we can bring food in.”

  “They’re not gonna say anything. We can stop at that fish place, the one with the shark jaws, and take it to go.” I was talking about a seafood place on Montauk Highway. It was a fish store with a restaurant in it. You can buy the fish fresh and take it home and cook it, or you can eat it there or take it out.

  “Sounds good.” She smiled. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “Nice to see you too.”

  “Are we going to finish our discussion from the other night?” she asked, still smiling.

  “Is there any way I can convince you to marry me in the biblical sense before November?”

  “No.”

  “Then I guess there’s nothing to discuss,” I said, a little disappointed. “It’s not worth fighting over.”

  “No more alone in the bedroom,” she said seriously. “Even if it’s under construction.”

  “We’re alone in the bedroom now,” I pointed out.

  “No, you’re in the bedroom and I’m in the hallway, heading for the kitchen.” She turned and walked toward it. “
I’ll make some coffee.”

  “Coward!” I yelled after her. I go back and forth between being frustrated out of my mind and wanting to do the right thing. Right here proves the basic differences between men and women—michele counts the days until we get married, I count the days till we can have sex.

  I got in the shower and couldn’t find shampoo that didn’t smell like flowers or come in a Winnie the Pooh bottle. I took the Winnie the Pooh over the girlie one, and my hair felt like straw, so I had to use the pink crème rinse anyway.

  I ran my electric razor over my face and changed into a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Michele had changed into jeans and a black shirt and was packing a couple of juice boxes and some fruit snacks to take with us. She added some hand wipes and an apple and zipped the thing closed. Stevie was jumping up on me, his blond hair was spiked up, and he was wearing a Bob the Builder shirt.

  We took my truck, stopping first at the fish store for two dinners. Michele got crab-stuffed shrimp with Newburg sauce, and I got sole stuffed with crab, spinach, and artichokes. Both dinners came with herb risotto and grilled asparagus.

  Since the weather was nice, the playground at McDonald’s was packed. We got Stevie a chicken nuggets happy meal, but he was too interested in climbing in the playground. He’d go through the tubes and take a bite, then go down the slide and take a bite. It was only four chicken pieces and a small fries, and Michele gave him the juice box instead of the soda. The toy with the meal was from Shrek, the movie we were taking him to. It was a statue of the princess in a green dress, but when you turned her head around, she turned into an ogre. I hoped the movie wasn’t scary, because the toy was.

  We sat at one of the tables and ate while Stevie played. We stayed at the playground until 6:45 and drove down Montauk Highway to the movie theater in Shirley. I got a bucket of popcorn, a box of DOTS, and two sodas. Michele didn’t like to give Stevie soda to begin with, never mind this close to bedtime.

  I always think these kids’ movies are gonna be boring, then I wind up liking them more than Stevie does. This one was really good. There were a lot of adult innuendos, but they went right over Stevie’s head. I thought at the end that the princess was going to stay a princess, but she turned into a girl ogre. It was cute, but what do I know?

  Stevie fell asleep in the car on the way home. We woke him up to give him his medicine, and he went right back to sleep. Michele made coffee for me and tea for her, and we sat talking in the kitchen. I told her about being at Grandma’s and what my mother told me about my dad killing that kid.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s tragic. For everyone—your family, the child’s family.” She shook her head sadly.

  “My mother said he changed after that,” I said with a shrug. “I’d think the war would have more of an effect on him, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.”

  “Doesn’t bother him? He can’t even talk about Vietnam without getting enraged—remember how he was Christmas Eve when he was talking about the protestors from the war?” She shook her head. “Tony, he has issues from that war.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “But I could see how killing the child would be the thing to get him. Vietnam was war. This was an innocent child, and I’m sure the fact that it was an accident doesn’t make him feel any less responsible.” We were quiet for a couple of minutes, and she looked up and smiled at me. “So how’s work?”

  A few months ago I started doing something I’d never done with anyone else, telling her about my job. I don’t like to tell her a lot of stuff because it’s depressing. She says it doesn’t bother her, she’d rather know what’s going on while I’m at work. I told her about the guy that got stabbed and the woman that was assaulted last night. She usually asks me their names so she can pray for them. A lot of times I don’t know the names, but she prays anyway. She says God knows who they are.

  I stayed until 11:00. Michele watched me walk out to my car, and I started the long drive back to Staten Island. There was no traffic on the road and it only took me about an hour and a half, putting me at my door by 12:20. I was tired by then—I’d only gotten about five and a half hours’ sleep. I set my alarm for 6:15 and was showered, shaved, and on the road by 6:45.

  8

  The sun was bright, and a warm breeze blew as I cruised along Father Cappodanno Boulevard. Because I grew up along the Narrows of New York Bay, seeing the water was part of my everyday life. I miss it, so I found myself staring at it as I drove along this stretch of road that lets me see the ocean.

  I watched the sun dance on the calm waters, thinking that it would be low tide now. I couldn’t see the shoreline, but I knew the dirt-colored sand would be clear of footprints. I snapped out of my daydreaming when I almost slammed into the back of a silver BMW that slowed down around the turn at Lily Pond Avenue.

  Rush-hour traffic was horrendous. It bottlenecked at the tolls on the Verrazzano Bridge, it eased up somewhat through Bay Ridge, but it was stop-and-go along the Gowanus. As I came around where it meets the Prospect Expressway, I could see the line for the Brooklyn Bridge. I took the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel—I’d rather pay the three bucks than spend half my life trying to cross the bridge for free.

  The West Side was congested until Chambers Street, then backed up again in the meatpacking district. I got off and took 10th Avenue. I threw my parking plaque that showed my license plate and precinct name in the windshield and parked on the sidewalk on 36th Street.

  The daytime skells were hanging out on the corner of 36th and 9th. I threw them a couple of bucks to watch my truck. They’d stay until they got bored or someone chased them.

  The day tour is a lot noisier and a lot more crowded than the midnights. Horns blared, parking lots were backed up, and there was so much pedestrian and vehicular traffic. The streets were full of cabs, city buses, express buses, private express buses, school buses. Trucks making deliveries were double-parked. Businesses were open now, so people were going in and out.

  I stopped on the corner of 9th Avenue for a cup of coffee. Geri was gone and a Korean guy waited on me. He wasn’t as friendly as Geri, but at least I didn’t have to bend over to get my change.

  The precinct was busy. The day tour has a lot more cops, plus the bosses were in. People were coming in filing complaints and were sitting on the benches outside the desk. I signed the court sheet, seeing that Romano and Fiore had already signed in. We sign the sheet so whoever is behind the desk can keep track of who’s working a day tour and make sure you’re on the roll call.

  I went downstairs to change. We were testifying in uniform, so I put on a short-sleeved shirt so I didn’t swelter later on. I met Romano and Fiore at the desk, and we walked over to 34th Street to catch the train. We bought the Daily News and the Post and went down into the subway. The temperature in the subway had risen 10 degrees, intensifying the smell of urine and homeless. We were taking the A, C, E line, and we only had to wait a couple of minutes for the train.

  People tend to stay in the center of the subway platform. New York is famous for psychos pushing people who get too close to the edge of the platform into the path of an oncoming train.

  We caught the C train. A lot of people had gotten off at 34th Street, but it was still crowded. Joe and I stood on opposite sides of the train in front of the doors, while Romano held on to the overhead bar. There was a mix of students, suits, and blue-collar workers on the train, all keeping to themselves and not making eye contact with anyone. Aside from a couple of kids talking to each other, no one interacted.

  “I hate testifying,” Romano said, shaking his head. “The last time I testified, the guy’s lawyer reamed me. He was such a snake.”

  “They’re all snakes,” I said. “I was reading something in the paper that said these defense attorneys actually take acting lessons so they can showboat for the jury.”

  “Acting lessons?” Fiore laughed. “They need acting lessons—lessons how to act right.”

  “This guy kept twisting
my words,” Romano continued. “Firing off questions to me, one after the other. Then he starts asking me these bogus questions, like did I know the defendant had diabetes. How was I supposed to know that? And the ADA was no help. Every time I looked over at him for help, he had his head down, writing on a legal pad.”

  “The ADA can’t look at you—the defense attorney will say you’re looking at him for the answer,” I said. “All the lawyers do that stuff, Nick. When they do that to me, I mess with them. I watched an old-timer do it once. I was in the courtroom on an unrelated case, and this homicide cop was testifying in front of one of the meanest defense attorneys I’ve ever seen. The detective knew what he was doing, and the lawyer couldn’t rattle him. I studied what he did, and I’ve used it ever since.”

  “What do you do?” Romano asked.

  “I take a sip of water and ask them to repeat the question slower. Then I take another sip of water and tell them I didn’t understand the question. I usually answer the third time, but I say Ummm and talk real slow,” I said.

  “Don’t mess with the lawyers, Nick,” Fiore said. “Tony does that stuff ’cause he enjoys it. You’re too nervous. You can slow it down to your pace. If you don’t know the answer to a question, say you don’t know. If you don’t remember, say you don’t remember.”

  Romano nodded, looking like he was trying to remember all of it.

  We got off at Canal Street, which is actually a block off Canal, and walked two blocks over to Lafayette Street.

  Traffic was bumper-to-bumper on Lafayette Street as the cars fought with the trucks that were loading and unloading merchandise.

  The Chinese were in Columbus Park doing their morning routine, like they are every time I come here. I watched as they did these slow, fluid movements in unison as they faced the morning sun. They were older; some looked at least eighty years old as they stretched and turned. They looked like something out of an old Kung Fu movie, and I wondered if there was a three-second pause from the time they talked until the words came out.