El Bronx (The Isaac Sidel Novels)

by Jerome Charyn

  “No Shirley Temples,” Clarice said. “Why don’t you raid the freezer? There’s a lovely bottle of Polish vodka.”

  “But you’ll break Isaac’s heart, introducing alcohol, ma’am. What if all the Merliners got drunk?”

  “Then we’d have a wicked, wicked time.”

  “And Isaac would spank the both of us.”

  “That’d be sexy, wouldn’t it, Mr. Bernardo Dublin?”

  And Marianna didn’t have to play Nancy Drew, girl detective. She could feel Bernardo’s eyes under a hood, and it worried her, because Clarice must have felt them too. He wore that hood to hide his mustache and the red hair. But he had the swagger and the finesse of Fantômas. He held Clarice, steadied her, as if he were about to spin a prize top. And Marianna just couldn’t believe that Bernardo Dublin, counselor to the Merliners, would have crept into Clarice’s bedroom to toss her over the penthouse wall.

  7

  Alyosha didn’t run back to his mural. The Mouse could wait. He went directly to David. There were no Phantom Fives on guard outside the hobby shop, and Alyosha couldn’t see what was moving outside, because there was a big black curtain over the window, like a mourner’s shroud. He made a wish that David was still alive. He didn’t want to do David. No bruja had to tell him that drawing six fingers on a wall would bring bad luck. He liked David. He’d miss the model planes and the razor David kept inside his extra thumb.

  Alyosha knocked on the glass. “David, it’s me. Angel Carpenteros.”

  He saw a pull in the curtain. An eye appeared, like an octopus, and blinked. Then there was a crack in the door, and Alyosha had to enter sideways, or he’d never have gotten in. The hobby shop was all in a shamble. The struts of different planes were lying on the floor, like a mad assembly of wings. There were hundreds of chess pieces around, half of them guillotined. Someone had hacked off the heads of all the white horses, bishops, queens, and kings …

  “I’m an orphan,” David said. “My last two soldiers deserted me.”

  “Wha’ happened?”

  “Wha’ you think? While I was out, the Jokers left me their calling card. I swear on my mother, I never touched the Mouse.”

  “It wasn’t the Jokers, David. They wouldn’t chop up your pieces like that. Chess is sacred to the gang … it was Bernardo. He did the Mouse. It’s an old Apache trick. He gets rid of the Jokers, he gets rid of you, so he can sell our neighborhood to the Dominoes.”

  “Bernardo would give our fucking ’hood away to mad-dog Dominicans?”

  “What does he care as long as he gets his cut? He protects the Dominoes and their Dixie Cups, gives them a fucking license, and he cleans up.”

  “I’ll kill him,” David said, the razor flicking inside his thumb.

  “It’s out of the question, David. That’s what he’s expecting you to do. Come after him, so he can glock you and get a fucking medal from the city. But if the Jokers don’t grab you, David, he’s gonna go for you himself. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “Then you’re a bruja.”

  “No,” Alyosha said. “I’m not a bruja. But I can read Bernardo. You’d better hide.”

  “Where, man? Should I go to Miami and peddle snow cones to the Cubans? Or visit Frank Sinatra in Palm Springs? I was born under the El. It’s home. I hate it outside the Bronx.”

  “Then lock your door and prepare a couple of hundred darts. Because the Apaches are coming.”

  “Wha’ you gonna do?”

  Alyosha ran to one of the witches who lived in a cellar on Burnside Avenue. She had a pimple on her nose and warts everywhere else. A bruja had to have a lot of blemishes, or she couldn’t be trusted. Alyosha lit a red candle with her. You couldn’t give a bruja orders, or ask her anything. You could only use her as a message board. Alyosha handed her fifty bucks and made a wish … that Bernardo would turn into a blind man.

  But he must have been wishing out loud. The bruja rubbed her pimple. “Angelito, for five hundred dollars I can have Bernardo fixed.”

  Alyosha took back his fifty. “You’re a bruja,” he said. “You can’t go into business.”

  He got out of there before she could boomerang that blindness onto him. He took a gypsy cab to Queens and crossed over the Rikers Island Bridge. They stopped him at the control booth.

  “I have to see my brother,” he said. “Paulito Carpenteros … he’s in the max security center.”

  “What do we have here?” the guard said from inside his booth. “A little Latin Joker. Well, your brother’s busy sucking dicks. He can’t see you.”

  “That’s a lie,” Alyosha said.

  The guard laughed, made a phone call from his booth, and let Alyosha onto the island, a fucking Monopoly board of jailhouses built in funny shapes, like beetles with their legs in the air. Paulito’s building had thirteen legs at least. The guards were like high-tech clowns. They had crotch protectors and helmets with long plastic hoods. They prodded Alyosha with their riot clubs and delivered him to a conference room, where Paulito was waiting behind a grille. He was nineteen and could have been a hundred. He was wearing a silver cross with pure blue beads and the Jokers’ knotted blue handkerchief hat. His hands had little cuts in them. His white hair had started to yellow.

  “I hope it’s important, Angel. I’ll get twenty beatings for this visit.”

  “Bernardo’s gonna wipe out David Six Fingers … and there won’t be one hobby shop left in the Bronx.”

  “Your homeys are dying, and you worry about David Six Fingers?”

  “Paulito, you loved his model planes, you always said so.”

  “Fuck his planes.”

  “But Bernardo’s a rat bastard. He helped start the Jokers. He was a wise man once.”

  “Stupidhead, he’s still one of us.”

  “But he’s a cop … and the Dominoes are coming in … and David’s gonna catch the shit. How can Bernardo be one of us? He’ll collect dollars off every Dixie Cup.”

  “And so will we.”

  “But the Dixie Cups will sell in the schoolyards … to eight-year-old kids.”

  “And how can I deal with the crisis, huh?”

  “You own the neighborhood, Paul.”

  “I lent it to Bernardo while I’m in the graveyard. The Dixie Cups won’t go near a fucking school.”

  “And who’s gonna police them?”

  “Bernardo.”

  “The Apaches don’t care about kids.”

  Paulito walked away from the grille, and Alyosha got out of there before the guards could pick his pockets.

  He had a guest when he got home. The great Bernardo had picked all the locks and helped himself to a cup of coffee. He was standing in his mustard-colored holster, like the king of Mt. Eden Avenue. But he wasn’t smiling. He had a twitch in his dark red mustache. He sipped his coffee, turned, and punched Alyosha in the face. Alyosha sat on the floor with a bloody mouth while the Apache kicked him like a dog.

  “You went to a bruja and asked her to blind me.”

  “You can’t ask a bruja anything,” the boy said, catching his breath between Bernardo’s kicks. “I only made a wish.”

  “And you wished me blind and dead.”

  “It don’t matter, Bernardo. Brujas never listen.”

  “She listened … you little cocksucker, didn’t I risk my gold shield to get you out of Spofford? I had to kick ten counselors in the ass.”

  “Don’t call me cocksucker.”

  “What should I call you? Weren’t you wearing lipstick when I found you?”

  “Mousy’s cousin made me wear it.”

  “And what happened to the Mouse? He’s on your mural list.”

  “Thanks to you, Bernardo. You grabbed him and cut his throat, so it would look like David did it.”

  All Alyosha could see was red hair and little brown eyes as Bernardo began to kick him without mercy. “I’m a murderer, huh? Say it again. Who carved the Mouse?”

  Alyosha had to curl up and collapse himself like a telescope to kill
the pain. “I don’t know, Bernardo. I made a mistake.”

  The kicking stopped. Bernardo leaned over him in his mustard-colored boots. “Angel, I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped the blood off Alyosha’s mouth. Then he picked him up, sat Alyosha down in a chair, and gave him a cup of coffee from Alyosha’s own espresso bar. “You shouldn’t have run out on the mayor. He only started Merlin because of little cocksuckers like you.”

  “Well, I don’t need cultural enrichment,” Alyosha said, with strings of blood in his coffee cup.

  “You ought to be grateful that the Big Guy is interested in you. He picked me right out of the Jokers. I shouldn’t be a cop. It isn’t legal. But Isaac got rid of my rap sheet. He made my whole fucking record disappear.”

  “He’s Merlin the magician.”

  “Shaddap. He gave me the gift. I was a fucking illiterate cocaine sucker until the Big Guy turned me around. He taught me how to live. Have you ever been to Chantilly, France? Have you ever crossed the moat to the little castle and seen the painting of the woman with the snake around her neck? Well, I did.”

  “There are plenty of snake women in the Bronx.”

  “Shaddap. I’ve been to Europe and Hawaii. Where have you ever been?”

  “Nowhere, Bernardo. The only moat I ever crossed was the Third Avenue Bridge.”

  “Shaddap. The Big Guy loves your murals. You ought to be glad.”

  “How do I get to Chantilly?”

  “You’re coming with me to David’s museum. We’re gonna sniff some airplane glue.”

  “Leave him alone. He can’t harm you. He doesn’t even have a gang.”

  “He’s still a general. There won’t be any Phantom Fives after I pull on David’s chain. The gang dies with him.”

  Alyosha could see the logic grow out of Bernardo’s red hair. “What’s so important about the Phantom Fives?”

  “Don’t get stupid. The Dominoes are coming. And I have to give them guarantees.”

  “But their Dixie Cups will fall in love with David. They can fly David’s planes while they’re selling dope.”

  “Shaddap. David’s out of the picture.”

  “I’m not gonna help you butcher him.”

  “Yes you will. I own your little ass. Paulito promised you to me … you think I got you out of Spofford because I like your looks?”

  “Paulito shouldn’t have promised … he’s a fucking Apache.”

  Bernardo grabbed Alyosha’s collar and lifted him right out of the chair. “You’re nothin’ without Paul. You wouldn’t have your murals, you wouldn’t have a coffee bean.”

  “I can paint without commissions from Paul.”

  “Shaddap. Your brother owns every wall in the Bronx. Remember that.” He dropped Alyosha back into his chair. “Now finish your coffee.”

  They went down the hill to Jerome Avenue. Alyosha could already see the Dixie Cups working in the dark. The oldest of them wasn’t even Alyosha’s age. They were like cattle that you kicked around and could exchange for other cattle.

  Alyosha didn’t know what to do. How could he warn David Six Fingers with Bernardo sitting right on his tail? David must have been out of his mind. Or else he was playing the fox. Because he’d removed the black curtain from his window. And he’d dressed that window like Alyosha would dress a wall. Six Fingers had painted a sky in the background, with a beautiful red sun and not a single broken building.

  Alyosha didn’t have to ring the bell. David’s door was open. All the lights were on: it was like a soft, glowing midnight inside the hobby shop. Alyosha saw Messerschmitts and Lockheed Lightnings and Spitfires hanging from the ceiling like blind chandeliers. David must have rebuilt his best model planes, because there weren’t any struts lying on the floor.

  Bernardo stood behind Alyosha and called out, “David, darling David, where the fuck are you?”

  But he shouldn’t have bothered to call. Alyosha nearly shit inside his pants. He felt like a bruja who could read David’s midnight sun. He wasn’t even startled when he saw one of David’s shoes in the aisle. David Six Fingers was sitting in a chair next to his cashbox, with a razor inside his freak thumb. He’d slit his throat and sat there bleeding to death, with a smile on his face.

  Alyosha couldn’t even call it suicide. David Six Fingers had saved his fucking soul. Because it wasn’t David that Bernardo had zipped inside a body bag and sent to the morgue. David had gone out of his body while he sat in his own blood and went into those blind chandeliers, the Messerschmitts and the Lightnings, which Alyosha plucked out of the air before Bernardo could say a word and carried home to Mt. Eden Avenue.

  No one commissioned him to do a mural. The Phantom Fives were defunct. But Alyosha painted David on the wall outside his own building. He stood on his ladder and did Jerome Avenue, with the elevated tracks; the buildings all had one lit window, like a burning eye. And Alyosha painted a Messerschmitt over the tracks. David stood in the middle, and Alyosha drew the details of David’s extra thumb. He didn’t care if all the brujas and devils in the Bronx came after him. He couldn’t do David without the thumb.

  Dixie Cups began appearing under Alyosha’s ladder. They crossed themselves and squashed ten-dollar bills into Alyosha’s pants. The Dominoes arrived in a Cadillac, blew on their hands, blinked at the mural, and rode away. And then Alyosha heard sobbing behind him.

  The Big Jew had come to the South Bronx. Sidel, with his sideburns all white. He cried so hard that a gun fell out of his pants and clattered on the pavement with the dull, dead ring of a Glock. And Alyosha remembered now. It was Sidel who had started the craze, who was the first policeman in New York to have his own “designer gun.” He’d brought the Glock back from Austria after visiting the birthplace of some bruja called Freud.

  “Uncle Isaac,” Alyosha said, taking liberties with the Big Jew. “You shouldn’t cry while I’m painting. It brings bad luck.”

  “Sorry,” Isaac said, blowing his nose with a mustard-colored handkerchief the Apaches must have given him. He watched while Alyosha did the lettering.

  DAVID SIX FINGERS OF JEROME AVENUE

  REST IN PEACE, GENERAL

  PAID FOR BY THE PHANTOM FIVE RESCUE FUND

  “He must have been a golden boy,” Isaac said.

  “He was a gangleader. He slit people’s throats.”

  “I’ve done much worse than that,” Isaac said.

  “Your Honor, you don’t have to confess.”

  “I’m not. I just wanted you to know where we stood. The next meeting of Merlin will be at my house.”

  “I’m not so sure I’m coming,” Alyosha said.

  “I hope you will,” the mayor said. “You’re a Merliner, one of us.”

  And the Big Jew vanished in his car like the magician that he was.

  “Merliners,” Alyosha muttered to himself, Merliners, and went back to his mural.

  Part Three

  8

  The baseball czar was rushing to Milwaukee. Isaac had to sit with him in Continental’s first-class lounge at JFK. Isaac didn’t have a first-class ticket, didn’t have a ticket at all, and J. Michael had to sneak him into the lounge. He was a trespasser here, and J. Michael was enjoying himself. He ordered a preflight vegetarian meal. The hostess brought him chopsticks, and Isaac watched J. Michael eat grilled vegetables and guzzle three screwdrivers.

  “J., give me one fucking sign of hope that I can bring back to my deputies.”

  “Why? The owners are already talking about phantom teams, with players they can pluck out of the bushes … like they did during World War Two. I’ll have to punish them, Isaac. It’s the only solution.”

  “J., I hope you drown in your own poisoned spit.”

  “Isaac, I’m a hero. The Democrats and the Republicans are putting out feelers.”

  “Feelers for what?”

  “I’d make a terrific backstop in ’eighty-eight for either Party.”

  “With your past? They’ll crucify you.”


  “Don’t bet on it. Ex-radicals are the rage. Didn’t Ronnie Reagan come crawling out of the far left? J. Michael Storm for vice-president, the man who fought the baseball owners tooth and nail, who wouldn’t give in to monopolies.”

  “It won’t wash. The players have their own monopoly …”

  “Isaac, enjoy the sunshine, will you? The strike is bringing you prominence. Even Billy the Kid has been backing away from you.”

  “He knows I’ll bite his face if he comes near me.”

  “That’s not the reason, old son. I saw Seligman last month … from the Democratic National Committee. They are warming up to you, Isaac, a guy with your voter appeal. ‘Vice-presidential timber,’ that’s what Seligman said. But not for ’eighty-eight. Can’t have a pair of New Yorkers on the same ticket. It would scare the pants off the Southern boys, and kill our chances in the West. But you have a future, Mr. Mayor.”

  “The only future I want is an end to the strike.”

  “Then talk to the owners and start kicking ass. Because if they use phantom hitters and fielders, I will personally demolish baseball. And you can quote me on that.”

  “What about your own phantom fielder?”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Somebody tried to deck Clarice … and he was wearing a mask.”

  “You believe her fantasies, huh Isaac?”

  “Marianna saw him too.”

  “And you think …?”

  “You’re short of cash, and don’t deny it.”

  “So I advertise for a man in a mask and send him after Clarice? Isaac, I don’t have the money to enter that kind of league. Raskolnikov is aging a little. I have two mistresses I can’t afford …”

  “Why don’t you punch me in the face? I accused you of plotting to murder Clarice.”

  “Because I’m not so innocent that I haven’t considered it. But the strategies never seem to work. I didn’t become the players’ czar out of kindness. I’m a field general, a damn good one. I’d rather Clarice were dead. I’d have my daughter back …”

  “I doubt it, J.”