Saving Room for Dessert

by K. C. Constantine

  Rayford stepped carefully, unobtrusively, between Hlebec and Scavelli, while remaining at least three steps away from Hlebec. Scavelli had moved to the bottom step of his porch.

  Hlebec was a large man, six feet two, two-forty, maybe two-fifty, who’d been a defensive lineman in high school and college and who coached the defensive linemen at Rocksburg High while working as a supervisor in a food warehouse. He’d never been violent in any of these confrontations, but Rayford was absolutely convinced everybody has a cracking point, so he never failed to maintain his reaction distance from Hlebec, no matter what Hlebec’s history.

  “Sir? Mr. Hlebec? Please go inside before your wife gets here, okay?”

  “Tell him go inside, don’t tell me! He wants to know whose dog craps in his yard, all he has to do is go in the back and look that way, he knows whose dogs are runnin’ loose. He knows it’s not ours. But we’re the ones suffer for it. Go ask the Hornyaks they ever had shit smeared on their doors. Ask the Buczyks. Five dogs they got between ’em. They’re the ones don’t keep their dogs tied, they’re the ones just open the door and let ’em run, I walk my dog on a leash—”

  “Sir, I know all this—”

  “If you know it, why don’t you arrest ’em? They’re the ones violatin’ the ordinance, not me. You wanna see it? I got a copy inside. All you gotta do is write ’em a ticket, hand it to ’em. Three-hundred-dollar fine. Plus costs! That’s what it’s supposed to cost ’em. But it never does ’cause you guys never write ’em up. They had to pay a coupla times, maybe they’d tie their dogs up, huh? You think? And maybe he’d stop hasslin’ us. Ask him why he don’t hassle them, go ’head, I wanna hear what he has to say—”

  “Sir, we did that last night, remember? And where’d it get us?”

  Mrs. Hlebec parked her Chevy Cavalier, got out shaking her head, and hurried toward her husband with her hands over her ears. ’I don’t wanna hear it, old man, don’t you start with me, I’m telling you. If he starts with me with that blow-dryer again, I’m gonna scream!”

  Rayford sniffed and licked his lips. “Please, Mr. Hlebec, take your wife inside, please—”

  “Exceeding the walking speed limit by two miles an hour—”

  “C’mon, Annie, don’t pay him no attention, c’mon—”

  “How much proof you need she’s a reckless walker, huh? Can’t you coloreds see the evidence? What, it’s only evidence if Johnnie Cochran says so? If it don’t acquit, you must convict.”

  “It’s if it don’t fit, you must acquit, asshole,” Matt Hlebec said.

  “Can’t you get anything right?”

  “Tell me he didn’t do the doorknobs again. Please tell me I don’t have to do what I did last night, please tell me that.”

  “No no no, he didn’t do that, huh? Rayford, he didn’t do that, did he? Why you here, Rayford? Who called you?”

  “Nobody called me,” Rayford said. “I’m here because I saw him with a shovel headin’ for your porch and I stopped him, okay?”

  “A shovel? He had a shovel? What was he gonna do with a shovel?”

  “Ma’am, please, you and your husband just go inside and let me do my job here, okay? I can’t handle him if you two stay out here jawin’ at him, okay?”

  “What, we’re not allowed to be on our own sidewalk? In front of our own house?”

  “Yes you are, ma’am, but I can’t get the man off a boil if you’re standin’ here agitatin’ him.”

  “Oh we’re agitating him now. Right? Us? I guess we’re the ones smeared crap all over our own doorknobs, is that right?”

  “No ma’am, what I said is, your presence out here is enough to agitate him and as long as you’re out here I can’t get him calmed down, so I’m askin’ you once again, please go inside.”

  “Well excuse me but that is not what you said—”

  “Well that’s what I meant, ma’am, even if it didn’t come out that way, that’s what I meant, okay?”

  “Well you ought to say what you mean, especially if you’re gonna start accusing people.”

  “Ma’am, I am not accusin’ you of anything—”

  “Well it sure sounds like it—”

  “According to the prophecy, the coloreds and the hunkies, even though they join up together they will be defeated—”

  “Will you stop with that prophecy noise? And stop callin’ names!”

  “According to the prophecy, 1 calls ’em the way I sees ’em.”

  “Did he just say what I think he said? Did he call me a hunky?”

  “Mr. Hlebec, for the last time, I’m askin you, sir, please take your wife and go inside.”

  “He called us hunkies, didn’t he? I know he did, you don’t have to answer that—why you scrawny old prick, you were half a man I’d throw you down the goddamn storm drain—”

  “I got no chance of calmin’ him down—oh man don’t make threats, please, this is bad enough already, don’t be threatenin’ the man, just go inside, will you please?”

  “Nobody calls me a hunky, I don’t care if you are seventy-five, you scrawny old prick, c’mon down here, c’mon, I’m sicka you—twenty years of your bullshit, c’mon! What’re you waitin’ on, huh?”

  “Mr. Hlebec, last warning, go inside now!” Rayford stepped in front of Hlebec and put his hand on his pistol. He turned quickly and shouted at Scavelli, “Mr. Scavelli, get inside your house!” Then he danced off the sidewalk into the street so he could see them both. “Mrs. Hlebec, go inside, please, ma’am. And take your husband with you.”

  “I will not! You heard what he called us.”

  Up to that point, Rayford had been forceful but controlled. Authoritative, commanding, but not overly loud and certainly not emotional. But when this woman defied him—this woman he was trying to protect—something cold rippled up from his stomach and he sensed that everybody was slipping and staggering wildly toward a sharp edge here. And inside the house, the dog’s barking became more intense.

  “How ’bout what he called me? What he’s been callin’ me for six years? I ain’t colored, ma’am! I’m black. He calls me colored, that don’t bother you at all, does it? But it sure bothers me. So whatta you think I oughta do ’cause he calls me that? You think maybe I should spray him? Or maybe you think I oughta shoot him—is that what you think? Tell me what’s that goin’ accomplish, huh? That goin’ solve everybody’s problem here? C’mon, answer me! C’mon, Mrs. Hlebec, tell me, I wanna hear what you think about that.”

  “No,” she said, suddenly very sheepish.

  “No what, ma’am?”

  “No I don’t think you should shoot him.”

  “Good. Excellent! I’m glad you think that. But then I have to ask, what’s wrong with you people? You and your husband, look at you, both educated people, both got jobs, two cars, your house is paid for, why you wanna throw all that away ’cause a fool call you out your name?”

  “Now look who’s callin’ names? You lousy colored, I ain’t no fool.”

  “Hear that? Did you both hear that? Now will you look around, please? And will you tell me where we are? We in Jerusalem? Huh? Maybe we’re in Belfast. Maybe I’m the fool here, ’cause I keep thinkin’ we’re in Rocksburg, and y’all oughta know better. But that’s what I thought last night. And that’s what I’m wonderin’ every time I come to this address—where am I? Who am I dealin’ with here? Am I dealin with two educated people or not? And why do these two educated people have to act like this fool? Huh? This man plays you, you don’t know that?”

  “We’ve put up with his bullshit for twenty years, he oughta be in Mamont—”

  “The people in Mental Health do not agree with you, sir. Every time I commit him, the longest they have ever kept him is thirty days, now you know that as well as I do, but every time he starts up, you let him play you! Why do you react to him? Why you lettin’ him play you right now? Why you still standin’ here? Why won’t you go inside and let me do the job your taxes pay me to do? Just let me do my job, that’s all
I’m askin’ you! But I can’t do it while you’re standin’ out here woofin’ at him, challengin’ him to come down off his porch! Go inside. Please!”

  “Let’s go, Matt, c’mon, honey. He’s right, let’s let him do his job, okay? C’mon, honey, we don’t wanna do this again, Mother of God, I’m gonna have a stroke we have to do this again.”

  “Scrawny old dago prick.”

  “Big-belly hunky! Go on a diet!”

  “Oh that’s it, I’m gonna break your goddamn neck—”

  Scavelli bent down and grabbed the shovel and held it out like a lance. “C’mon, I’m waitin’!”

  Shit! Rayford dropped into a crouch and drew his nine. “Stop! One more step, Mr. Hlebec, you’re under arrest!”

  “Arrest?! You gonna arrest me? The hell for?”

  “You move toward him, I’m goin’ charge you with riot, failure to disperse, and disorderly conduct—you hear me?”

  “Riot?!” Hlebec said, his eyes going wide and his mouth dropping open. But at least he’d stopped moving. “What the hell you talking’ about, riot?”

  “You’re makin’ threats, sir. And there are three of you here, and I’ve ordered you to disperse and you’re makin’ threats to commit an assault, that’s riot! And you’ve refused my order to disperse. And you’re disorderly, all three of you!”

  “You didn’t say nothin’ about arrestin’ him!” Hlebec pointed at Scavelli, jamming his finger into the air furiously. “Just me!”

  “I can’t say everything at once! If y’all don’t shut up and go inside, you’re all under arrest! You know what that means? Huh? Felonies, misdemeanors, second degree, third degree. That’s years in the joint, y’all! You listenin’? That’s thousands of dollars in fines, plus costs, plus lawyer fees, plus you get convicted you’re goin’ lose your jobs, you’re goin’ lose your house, who you thinks goin’ pay your taxes while you’re locked up? Y’all that stupid? Y’all sure act like it! I promise you, you make me call for backup here, I will arrest y’all, I promise you, you will be callin’ a bail bondsman tonight. Is that what you want? I can make it happen! Just don’t go inside, keep makin’ threats, see whether I make it happen.”

  “C’mon, Matt, c’mon, honey, he’s not worth it, c’mon, please?”

  “C’mon, honey,” Scavelli mocked her.

  Rayford pointed his nine at Scavelli and said, “Last warning, sir, put that shovel down and go inside. You got three seconds to obey my order or I’m goin’ arrest you—last warnin’.”

  “Me? For what? What for you gonna arrest me?”

  “Failure to disperse, disorderly conduct, harassment, ethnic intimidation—that enough? I got the Crimes Code in my briefcase, I’m sure I can find somethin’ else that fits. Terroristic threats, reckless endangerment, I’ll let the judge figure it out. Three seconds, sir … two … one.”

  Scavelli dropped the shovel and it bounced wildly off his porch step, coming to rest at Rayford’s feet. Then Scavelli turned around and stomped up the steps and into his house, trying to pull the storm door shut behind him; the pneumatic cylinder resisted his effort and he stood there yanking on it and muttering under his breath. His wife could be heard telling him to let go and get out of the way, she’d shut the door. “Go watch TV, get outta here, I’ll close it—let go!”

  Thank you, Jesus, for keepin’ Mary Rose inside, Rayford thought, and then turned toward the Hlebecs. “I got some disorderly conduct and failure to disperse for y’all, if that’s what y’all want. Do ya?”

  “Oh you’re going to threaten us now?” Mrs. Hlebec said.

  “Ma’am, when I say it, it’s not a threat, it’s an official warning, and I’ve given it to you and your husband for the last time tonight. Shoulda arrested y’all last night. Every one of you. You should all be payin a bondsman right now. Maybe that’s what it’s goin’ take to wise y’all up, I don’t know. To grow y’all up. Worse than a buncha junior high school kids. I just wish there was some way I could get a PFA against y’all. Wish I could get some judge to write an order sayin’ y’all had to stay a thousand feet away from me at all times. But I can’t do that. But believe me when I tell ya, I go to sleep at night prayin’ somebody could make that happen. Now get inside, both of you. And don’t y’all make me come back here tonight or I swear y’alls goin’ to jail.”

  Hlebec pointed at Rayford and started to say something, but Rayford swung his nine at him and said, “One more word, you’re under arrest—just one!”

  Mrs. Hlebec caught her husband’s arm and tugged and pulled it down. She leaned close to him and began talking to him. It looked to Rayford like she was pleading, but pleading, rationalizing, signifying, he didn’t care what she was saying or how as long as she got him inside and kept him there.

  Rayford holstered his nine and closed the retention strap. Then he went back to the MU, got in, and slumped forward, exhaling hard, then pulled his shoulders up and back, inhaling, filling his belly and then his chest, doing a complete yoga breath. He did five more complete breaths, feeling his heart slowing with each one as he held his breath for a few seconds at the end of each inhale and each exhale. Then he put his seat belt on, released the foot brake, put it in drive, and eased south on Franklin, noticing for the first time all the people milling around on the opposite sidewalk. There were four or five clusters of people, two or three in each cluster.

  He switched on the PA and said, “That’s it, folks, that’s all there is. Go on inside now and be safe. Have a good evening.”

  He didn’t wait to see what they did. He went to the end of the block, turned west on Miles Avenue and kept going for a couple of blocks until he ran into parking lots for the Pittsburgh and Lake Erie RR repair yards against which all the avenues in the Flats abruptly ended on the west. On the east, the avenues ended near the bank of the Conemaugh River.

  Rayford turned at the end of Miles Avenue and parked parallel with the fence outside the P&LE lots. He engaged the foot brake and put it in park and tried to remember when daylight saving time kicked in. Suddenly that was the most important thing in the world: knowing when he turned his clocks forward. Spring forward, fall back. Yessir, now that was some serious shit. When did that happen? Had to’ve been last week. No. It was the week before that. Why can’t I remember that?

  He switched on the radio and called the station.

  When Stramsky responded, Rayford asked him to switch to Channel 3, the channel they used to defeat the eavesdroppers.

  “What’s up?” Stramsky said.

  “When did daylight saving time kick in?”

  “First Sunday in April, 2 A.M. Same time as always. Why?”

  “First Sunday? Damn.”

  “I repeat, why?”

  “Couldn’t remember, that’s all. Seemed important.”

  “As important as you drawin’ your piece?”

  “Now how you know that?”

  “How many civilians you think saw you do that? More to the point, how many you think called in tellin’ me they saw you did it?”

  “Aw I just had to get the motherfuckers off the street, that’s all. How many?”

  “Four.”

  “Four? Is that all? I’m losin’ my star power, man. Used to be, when I drew my nine, everybody on the block called. Thought there was goin’ be a race riot.”

  “Two nights in a row, same address, you got those people all shook up.”

  “They oughta be shook up. They oughta get their pitchforks and torches and chase the Scavellis down the river and drown their asses.”

  “Hey hey, wash your mouth out with soap. If it wasn’t for people like the Scavellis, people like us’d have to find real jobs. So if you did see anybody come outta their houses with pitchforks and torches, it’d be up to you to stop ’em.”

  “Easy for you to say, Victor, my man. You’re just sittin’ there doin’ finger push-ups on a coupla buttons.”

  “Hey. I was respondin’ to bullshit with the Scavellis before you got outta diapers. Before they lived
down in the Flats, Franklin Avenue there, they used to live up on Norwood Hill. And they were just as big a pains in the ass up there as they are now, believe me. Worse. You know they had a fire?”

  “A fire? Kinda fire?”

  “A fire fire, what kind you think? Lost two kids.”

  Something cold hit Rayford in the middle of his stomach and spread upward over his chest and outward through his arms. He’d had the air conditioner on low, but now he had to turn it off, had to rub his hands together and blow on them.

  “You jivin me? They had two kids die in a fire?”

  “No, I’m makin’ this up. The old man got drunk, fell asleep smokin’, woke up, the chair was on fire, got his wife out, by the time he came back in the livin’ room, the curtains were on fire, the walls, it got into the wiring, inside the walls, it was an old wood house, they never got the kids out. Boy and a girl.”

  “Oh man,” Rayford said, wincing, rolling his neck from side to side, rubbing his hands and blowing on them. “Both of ’em?”

  “Both. Boy was six, the girl was four.”

  “Got his wife out, but he couldn’t get his kids out?”

  “I’m just tellin’ ya the way I remember it. You wanna ask somebody about it, ask Balzic. He worked it. Him and that asshole fire marshal we used to have around here. But you want details, ask him. Those people, hey, there’s no doubt they’re fucked-up, but they’ve had some shit, believe me. People used to holler at ’em, you killed your kids, you killed your kids. How’d you like to hear that every time you stepped out your front door?”

  “Oh man,” Rayford said again, the cold in his stomach spreading to his back and legs. “Oh man.”

  “Yeah. Oh man is right. I don’t know, but I’ve been told, ain’t nothin’ worse than buryin’ your kid. Kids. Can’t imagine it. Hey. That’s life. That’s death.”

  “Oh man.”

  “So you 10-7 or what?”

  “Huh? Yeah, I’m goin’ fill out the report. Then I’m goin’ make a sandwich, have some coffee.”

  “What’s your 10-20?”