Brooklyn 1975

by Robert Moeller

  Rainie gets an egg sandwich to take to work and a thermos of coffee. Ricotta pies are sitting there on the stove still bubbling away. My father and I sit down to bacon and eggs, fresh bagels and bialys, fruit, cheese, and home fries.

  I mean, every day starts with a feast, which makes it hard to do anything else for a few hours, so I don’t. I just sit around and take it all in. I’m telling you, it was great. But things that are great are great because they never last, right?

  So now that I’m starting to feel like a regular kid again I’m being treated like one too. Like anything it started with a bunch of questions:

  Where’s your report card?

  What about a summer job?

  Is that pot in your room?

  You drinking?

  Where are you getting your money?

  Why’s that girl Angela call you all the time?

  What’s Junior got his nose into now?

  Blah. Blah. Blah…

  Nothing ever lasting, nothing does.

  For the most part, my father kept out of it. It was mainly my mother, the new fucking Suzy Home-Maker busting my balls. It seemed like she was in my face all the time. Maybe, she thought she was making up for lost time but it seemed like over-kill to me.

  Anyway, like I said, on the day Junior was shot I woke up feeling sick. My father wanted me to go to the city with him but my mother went with instead. She’s fucking Super Woman now, right. “Stay in bed today.” She said, before leaving, ”We’ll call you this afternoon.”

  I shook my head.

  She put her hand on my head again and said. “Don’t look so glum, you don’t have a fever, or anything. You’ll feel better in no time.”

  “I feel like shit.” I said. Happy to know that at least my language wasn’t being regulated like everything else.

  “Shut up and go to sleep. When you wake up we’ll be home. I’ll make a nice dinner, sauce and gravy, just like you like it.”

  I was tempted to ask her how she knew what I liked but just closed my eyes instead.

  Maybe it was the garbage men’s strike, which was all over the newspapers, that influenced my dreams but soon enough I was asleep and dreaming about chasing a garbage truck through the streets. It had everything I owned tossed in the back and my parents were riding on those little steps waving to me. The truck was the usual white garbage truck and the back of it looked like a dirty mouth. My father was wearing big heavy gloves and my mother wasn’t wearing a shirt, not that I could see anything because she was turned away from me. She was wearing white gloves and looked like she was crying. Instead of waving at me, like urging me to catch up with them, they were waving goodbye

  When the truck turned a corner, I could see that Rainie was driving and sitting right there next to her was Melo. She wasn’t wearing a shirt either and her breasts hung out the window of the truck when she turned to smile at me.

  It’s only a dream, right? So I looked.

  Then, like out of nowhere Junior appeared next to me. He was riding a bike that had no handlebars. It was like he was a unicorn, or something, except the horse was a bike. He didn’t say anything but just kept riding along next to me. He was wearing a cowboy outfit and had a holster on with a gun on each hip. It reminded me that I had a gun somewhere and I kept patting myself looking for it. Then, the truck disappeared and when I turned to look at Junior he was gone too.

  When I looked up, and this is in my dream, right, I was in the country. There was a house off in the distance. It was like a little country house surrounded by trees. Outside, people were milling around. It looked like a little party, or something. But even though it looked harmless enough from a distance, something told me not to go over there. It was like having street smarts in the country.

  Anyway, I turn around and go in the other direction and I’m walking through the woods like Little Red Riding Hood and soon I’m in a swamp. And pretty soon the swamp is like quicksand and I’m getting sucked into the ground, so much for street smarts working in the country, right? Maybe, it was from a Tarzan movie, or something but I remembered that the more you struggled the faster you sank. Better not to fight it and maybe you won’t get sucked under. So I just let the ground pull me down into it. I just relaxed and let the sand cover me. And that’s where I was when I woke up, buried like a clam in some dream—sandy grave and all.

  The first thing I did when I woke up was to feel my head with the back of my hand. Nothing. I was cold. I mean, not freezing or anything but no fever. For a minute I just lay there listening seeing if anyone was home. Outside, the birds were chirping and a siren was racing along in traffic but it sounded like nobody was home. I got up, went to the bathroom and peed, and went out to the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat. I spotted my cigarettes on the coffee table and decided to have a smoke first. While I was sitting there smoking the phone rang. I answered it and it was Junior.

  What are you doing?”

  “I’m sick.” I said, exhaling smoke in a big ball that hung in the air.

  It’s cause you’re smoking too much.” He said.

  “What do you want? You calling just to bust my chops?”

  “No, meet me in a little while. We’ll make a little money. Fifty, maybe a hundred each.”

  “I have plenty of cash at the moment.” I said.

  Yeah, well this is something extra.” He said.

  What?”

  Come out. Meet me on the avenue. I’ll tell you then.”

  “What, are you the “Man From U.N.C.L.E” now? What time is it anyway?

  “Like four or something. Meet me in half an hour, will you?”

  “All right. All right.” I said. “What else?”

  “Nothing. Just be there.” He said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I showered and got dressed. It was hot out so dressed was just a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. Before I left, I grabbed a piece of cake that my mother must have baked in her recent cooking frenzy. Then, I though about bringing my gun, which was hidden in my room, decided not to take it, and then went back and grabbed it out of my football practice bag that was under my bed and tucked it into my shorts. As I was walking down the stairs I was silently giving myself shit for bringing it. What? You’re going to shoot someone now? You a big man today? You need a gun, you a pussy or something? On and on... By the time I was on the first floor I decided I would just give the gun to Junior, let him sell it or whatever. Outside I ran into Mrs. Numbers, the woman who came here from the concentration camp in Europe. She was wearing a sleeveless dress and I could see a second set of numbers tattooed on her arm. She looked at me like she had something to say but didn’t say it. I smiled at her and opened the door for her. Me, I don’t think she trusted anyone anymore and can you blame her? Someone did that shit to me I’d have a major attitude.

  My plan was to eat and walk until I met Junior. I stopped at the bagel place first and picked up two bialys and proceeded to carve out the onion-center of one with my tongue as I walked. When I finished the bialys, I stopped at the candy store and had a large egg cream. I sat at the counter and looked over The New York Post while I slurped it down. The city was going to hell in a hand basket. No money for this, no money for that. All the politicians were doing is bitching and moaning. A couple of people were shot on the trains, big surprise there and according to one head line, most Americans thought New York sucked. It might but fuck them anyway. I didn’t walk around saying Delaware sucked, even though it probably did and that was if you could find it on a map.

  When I turned on to the Avenue I could see Junior standing there waiting for me, he was standing by a phone booth checking out a couple of girls that were walking by. I was too far away from him to hear what he was saying but whatever it was it wasn’t working, the girls just ignored him. When he saw me, he put his hands in the air as if to say “What’s wrong with them?”

  Now, I’m about like fifty feet from him and a car pulls up. I can see that it is Dom the Clip and another guy. They
double park and the guy sitting next to Dom waves Junior over. Junior smirks at me, like he’s a big man now and walks over to the car. I hear Dom say “You cocksucker.” and then two shots are fired. Junior falls back like he was pushed hard and lands half in the street and half on the curb. I start running toward him unsure what to do. I pulled the gun out and the first thing I did was empty it into the back of Dom’s car. The rear windshield exploded and glass flew in the air. I fired every bullet in the gun into that car as it drove away and then flung the gun at it. The gun bounced on the trunk and then fell into the backseat.

  Junior’s legs were sort of between to parked cars and I sat on the curb next to him. He was lying there smiling. But it was more like a grimace. “It fucking hurts.” He said. “They got me twice.”

  His shirt was soaked in blood and I didn’t know what to do. A small crowd of people was beginning to gather around us. I stood up and yelled, “Someone call an ambulance.” People looked at me and no one seemed to move. “I said, call an ambulance. Someone has been shot.”

  Then I sat down with Junior and by now blood was spilling out of his nose and mouth and running up his face into his hair. I lifted his shirt and there were two holes in his chest and below them, tucked into his pants was a pistol. I took the gun from him and stood up. “Nobody better say anything.” I said, and dropped the gun down the sewer.

  While I was standing there, I took my shirt off and tried to wipe the blood off of Junior’s face. He was saying something, like mouthing the words, and I couldn’t hear him.

  “Tell me Junior.” I said, feeling like I was going to lose it and start crying.

  I leaned closer to him. “Come on, stay awake. Say something to me. The ambulance is coming, just hang on.”

  A woman knelt down beside him and cupped his head in her hands. Instead of looking at him she was looking at me. I noticed that she had big blue eyes and a necklace that had a Star of David dangling from it. I could see the tears forming around the corners of her eyes. “He’s dead.” She said.

  “No.” I screamed. I took him by the shoulders and shook him. His head hit the concrete and blood splattered across the sidewalk. “No. Wake up.” I yelled. Some guy grabbed me from behind. He was being gentle and trying to pull me away from Junior’s body. “Come on, son.” He was saying. I was almost frothing, screaming. “Junior.”

  Come on, nothing you can do now for him, he’s gone.” I wanted to punch this guy, lash out at everyone, everyone standing around looking at me funny. I wanted to put my fist through a car window. I stamped my feet like a child. “No” I screamed again. “No.”

  I bent down and grabbed Junior’s hand. It was still warm. I slid his big gold ring off of his finger and stood up and put it on. I could hear the sirens approaching and for some reason the sound composed me. I looked around at the people standing there and said, “Dom the Clip shot him. I saw him do it.” At the mention of Dom the Clip’s name everyone looked at the ground. Some people started moving away from me. I could see that people were afraid and nobody would say anything to the cops.

  Then, I started running.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  So I’m running, really hauling it. And at the same time I’m thinking that I’m just going to go straight to the Motor Service and do what, I don’t know. I walk in there without a gun and I won’t be walking out again. I cut down a side street and stop to catch my breath. I thought about ditching in a tunnel under an apartment building but didn’t want to get trapped in there. So, I’m walking along, trying to figure out what just happened when I hear a car racing up the street behind me. At first, I thought it might be the cops but when I turned around it was a big-assed black Lincoln, a grease ball-limo, if there ever was one, flying toward me. It was going so fast that I didn’t have time to do anything but lean into a tree and hope they didn’t see me. It worked, for a second, and then the brakes were screeching and whoever was driving was backing up toward me. Some guy who I didn’t recognize yelled out “Come here, kid. We just want to talk to you.”

  Talk my ass.

  I ran down a driveway and hopped a fence and then ran out onto the street on the next block. I could hear the car revving around the block after me. Instead of crossing the street and hopping another fence, I turned around and backtracked, jumping the same fence I just came over. No one was out there and if I was lucky the wise guys would be heading after me in the wrong direction. So much for luck because the minute I started to cross the street the big Lincoln was barreling toward me coming up the street the wrong way.

  The guy on the passenger side was leaning out of the car with a gun firing at me. The gun was louder than the car. I turned and ran down the same driveway again and hopped the same fence. This time I ran as fast as I could, crossing the street and running behind another house and leaping over a wall so that now I was two blocks away from them.

  Then, instead of heading across another street, I began hopping backyard fences until I came to an apartment building. In the courtyard, I jumped up onto a fire escape and climbed up to the roof. I don’t think anyone saw me and when I got to the roof I collapsed in a heap. Even though I was out of breath, I lit a cigarette to relax me. The first puff burned my already scorched lungs and I started to cough. I crushed the cigarette out and peered over the edge of the roof. Several blocks away I could see flashing lights where they shot Junior but the trees and other apartments blocked my view of the street and I couldn’t see shit.

  I lie down again and just looked up at the sky. It looked back at me saying nothing. My best friend was just killed and I’m telling you, the sky didn’t give a shit. Not even an odd shaped cloud floated overhead, like a sign, or something.

  I waited for like a half an hour and then checked the roof door, it was open so I went down the stairs and let myself out. There was no sign of the black Lincoln, so in a round about way, I headed home.

  The wise guys might be waiting there but I needed to get into my house and get some money. I had about four hundred dollars stashed in my football bag and I needed to get it. When I got there, I cased everything out. No one was watching my building and so I dashed in. No one was there. My parents’ must still be I the city and Rainie was working. I grabbed the money and stuffed it in my pocket. Next I called Betty and told him what happened.

  “They killed Junior.” He said and started to cry. “When?”

  “Just now, up on the Avenue. I saw them do it. It was Dom the Clip and another guy.”

  “He was fucking around with the wrong people.” Betty said, gasping through the tears.

  “Yeah, still no reason to shoot him. He’s just a kid.” I said.

  “You’re not a kid anymore if people don’t see you that way.” Betty said. “Nothing you can do about that.”

  “You still have that shotgun?” I asked.

  No, I gave it to my father. He was going to threaten some guy.”

  “Threaten some guy?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, threaten some guy. Put the barrel in his chest. It was some shit with a meat supplier. You know, my uncle’s a butcher and him and my father have some problem with some guy. I let them borrow the gun.”

  What about that little gun your mother has? I asked.

  Oh, come on. She needs it. She doesn’t go out without it. Even brings it to church. Besides, we can’t go back at them for this. Forget it. There’s too many of them. We’ll end up like Junior, or worse.” He said.

  “What’s worse?”

  “Don’t ask.” He said. “Did you get involved or anything when they shot him? Did they see you?”