New York Minute

by Bob Mayer

  Kane only hears Theodore Marcelle’s welcome to the Corp of Cadets as he’s greeted by a hell-fire cluster of cadre.

  Kane almost falls to his knees as he shuts the barracks room door and drops the load of clothing and gear. It is the first time he is out of range of a cadre member since reporting to the Man in the Red Sash four hours ago.

  Kane has reported to the Man multiple times, each leading to orders to go to a new place as a list safety-pinned to his newly issued shorts is checked off. The old, musty gym where he’s weighed, needled with shots, given the same confusing physical fitness test he’d had to pass to even be considered for entry consisting of pull-ups, push-ups, a shuttle run and throwing a basketball for distance while kneeling.

  He imagines the last one might have something to do with throwing hand grenades? But why kneeling?

  He’s visited the barber and been scalped. The tailor and been measured. Photographed. Issued an identification card. Other places to collect an ever-growing, confusing array of uniforms, shoes, and other equipment until he can barely carry it all.

  Finally, to receive this room assignment.

  He is not alone. Another New Cadet is sitting on his bed, his accumulation at his feet. He’s staring at a broken tennis racket.

  “Did they do that?” Kane asks.

  Surprisingly, the young man smiles. “Yeah. They don’t have much of a sense of humor.” He stands, extending his hand. “Ted Marcelle.”

  “Will Kane.”

  Ted has olive tinged skin, cropped hair, a hook nose, and black eyes. He’s solidly built and possesses what can only be defined as presence.

  “Where from in the city?” Ted asks. “I can hear it.”

  Kane nods. “The Bronx.”

  Ted laughs. “Da Bronx. Manhattan here.”

  The door bursts open and they’re startled, but it’s another victim of the Red Sash. A hulking, six foot two, New Cadet staggers in, followed by Cadre screams. A football recruit.

  His face is smeared with tears.

  Kane and Ted exchange a glance.

  “As was true for all of the 24,400 who have preceded you, this has been a day none of you will forget,” General Richard Stilwell, the Commandant, informs the New Cadets dressed in freshly issued uniforms. They are formed on the Plain, their ranks amazingly straight given they’d been civilians when they woke this morning. This is a tribute to 160 years of tradition channeled through the cadre of upperclassmen.

  “It has been a tough one and designedly so. There will be many others. West Point is tough. It calls for leaders who can stand straight and unyielding under the sternest of physical and moral pressures. The security of this nation cannot be entrusted to men of lesser mold.

  “The history of the United States of America and the history of the United States Army and the history of the United States Military Academy are so closely intertwined as to be inextricable, one from the other. As goes the Army, so goes the nation. West Point is tough! It is tough in the same way war is tough. My constant theme, sirs, is that the history of the United States of America and the history of the United States Army and the history of the United States Military Academy are so closely intertwined as to be inextricable, one from the other. As goes the Army, so goes the nation.”

  “Lotta history,” Ted whispers next to Kane, who shifts eyeballs right to see if their squad leader overhears. “If one gotta shit, do they all?”

  The Commandant pauses, allowing his words to reverberate and sink in. He is back-dropped by Trophy Point with Battle Monument directly behind him. Forty-six feet tall and five feet in diameter it is reputed to be the largest column of polished granite in the Western Hemisphere.

  On top of the column is a statue of a woman with wings, blowing a horn she holds in one hand and a wreath, much like Caesar’s, in the other. She is supposed to represent ‘Fame’ and the New Cadets will soon learn the proper response to a piece of Plebe ‘Poop’, aka required knowledge, involving the statue. When asked ‘How are they all?’ by an upperclassman, the Plebe is required to reply: ‘They are all fickle but one, sir.’ To which the upperclassman asks: ‘Who is the one?’. The reply: ‘She who stands atop Battle Monument, for she has been on the same shaft since 1897.’

  That piece of trivia, among much else, is in the New Cadets’ future. At this moment, they face the commitment that will shape the rest of their lives. Even Ted falls silent as Commandant’s tone becomes sterner.

  “Men of ’66,” General Stilwell intones. “Your great adventure is under way. Now raise your right hand.”

  Kane, Ted, and the rest, automatically do so. They all repeat:

  “I, William Kane, do solemnly swear that I will support the Constitution of the United States and bear true allegiance to the national government; that I will maintain and defend the sovereignty of the United States, paramount to any and all allegiance, sovereignty, or fealty I may owe to any state or country whatsoever.”

  As night creeps over the Hudson and mist rises above the water, the exhausted, scared and bewildered New Cadets have one last task they are ordered to accomplish before Taps: write a letter home on their newly issued West Point stationery with their newly issued pen to reassure their parents all is well. The sealed envelope will be shown to the squad leader at 2155 hours.

  There are only two desks for the three New Cadets but three chairs. Kane puts his stationery on a copy of Bugle Notes, the Plebe bible containing everything they are required to memorize and be able to recite verbatim. He leans it against the window sill and writes a brief missive:

  Mom & Dad.

  Alive. Much to do and must write this letter.

  William.

  Kane looks out, across the Plain and spots the flicker of lights from a train on the far side of the Hudson, trundling south for the city. He wishes he were on that train.

  The football recruit has stopped crying but this requirement brings a sob, perhaps thinking of home, a girlfriend left behind, no longer being big man on campus?

  Ted is writing away as Kane seals his envelope and puts it on the edge of the sink near the door. He returns to polishing his shoes, trying to emulate what the squad leader demonstrated earlier.

  The door flies open at 2155.

  “Attention!” Kane yells.

  “Letters!” the squad leader barks. Kane hands his over as Ted and football recruit scurry to fold and seal theirs.

  “In your racks at Taps, beanheads. No horsing around.”

  The door slams shut.

  “’Horsing around’?” Ted repeats. “Either of you guys feel like horsing around?”

  Football recruit doesn’t respond, crawling into his bunk, sliding between the sheets. Kane keeps polishing. Taps echoes across the Plain from a Hellcat bugler standing at Trophy Point.

  Kane turns off the lights and lies on top of his made bed, not daring to break sheets. They’d been shown earlier by the squad leader how to correctly make a West Point rack. It was Kane’s luck that the example had been his and he figures he can’t go wrong leaving it the way the squad leader made it. It is a habit he will keep for four years, never getting between the sheets except the night before the laundry goes out. Even on the most bitter winter night, when the radiators can’t defeat the frigid wind coming off the Hudson, Kane will only huddle under his ‘brown boy’, a thick comforter. Making a bed each day takes too much time and time is the most precious commodity at the Academy.

  Ted sits on the radiator near the window, reading something by the light of the moon. Kane is impressed his roommate dares the wrath of the roaming cadre who randomly open doors to assure compliance with lights out. Kane escapes his bed.

  “What are you reading?” Kane asks. As he gets to the window, he realizes it’s a letter. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Ted smiles. “My sister gave this to me this morning when she said bye. Seems like forever ago.” He holds it out to Kane.

  “It’s personal,” Kane says.

  “It’s all right.
”

  Kane takes the letter, tilts it to catch the moonlight. There’s a faint whiff of something enticing.

  Dearest Theodore,

  I use your full name because I know you don’t like it. It’s what older sisters do. They torment their younger brothers.

  I tried to tell you what you’re getting into it. You wouldn’t listen to me. That’s what little brothers do to their older sisters.

  I know you don’t have much time so I’ll keep it short. Since you won’t take my advice, I want to let you know two things.

  I’ll always be here for you.

  If you truly believe you’ve made a mistake, not just get depressed or tired or overwhelmed or homesick, but in your heart you know West Point and especially the Army, isn’t for you? Quit. You’re going to find that quitting is harder than staying. Everyone will think you failed. I won’t. No matter what you do, you will be a success. You can call me, any time, and I will drive up immediately, no questions asked, and bring you home. I promise.

  Love,

  Toni

  Kane blinks a couple of times and pretends to read it a few seconds longer. He folds the letter and hands it back to Ted. They both turn their heads as the football team recruit sobs.

  “We’d better get some sleep,” Ted says.

  They shake hands and go to their respective racks. As Kane stares at the ceiling he knows one thing.

  His father won’t come get him if he wants to quit.

  The longest night of Kane’s life to this point begins.

  Monday Morning, 11 July 1977

  MEATPACKING DISTRICT, MANHATTAN

  Kane didn’t put the five spot on the edge of the table, but folded it the way Dutch had taught him and kept it in the palm of his hand.

  Morticia glided over, coffee mug, water with two cubes, raised a narrow eyebrow at the lack of the bill, but didn’t say anything.

  “Did you know Gansevoort aligns along the spring and fall equinoxes within one degree?” Kane asked her.

  “Is this you initiating conversation?”

  “Got to start somewhere,” Kane said.

  “No, I did not know that.” She folded her arms over her chest. “But it is an interesting tidbit. Are you full of them?”

  “I had a great history teacher in high school. Brother Benedict. He knew everything there is to know about New York City’s history.”

  “A priest? Catholic school?”

  “A Jesuit. Mount Saint Michaels in the Bronx.”

  “Wow, you’re practically gushing with information this morning,” Morticia noted. “I feel privileged.”

  “I probably know too much,” Kane said.

  “That’s a burden the Gods bestow on certain people they desire to curse.”

  “Was that a sideways compliment?”

  “No. An observation. People are full of all sorts of traits.”

  “Yeah,” Kane said. “And sometimes people disappoint.”

  “No shit. Anyone we know?”

  The Washington Street door jangled open and a partied-out foursome of lost discophiles staggered in. Morticia headed away to serve.

  The Kid came in Gansevoort looking as rough as the foursome, paper tucked under his arm, wearing designer jeans, either the same or a similar lumberjack shirt with no sleeves and his brown boots. His hair was mussed and his eyes half-lidded, but he tried a smile nonetheless.

  He tossed the paper close to the coffee and was reaching for the money when he realized it wasn’t there.

  “Have a seat,” Kane said.

  The Kid hesitated the offer, then slid in.

  “You want some breakfast?” Kane asked.

  The Kid shook his head. “I need sleep more than food.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Messes with the sleep.”

  “I’m Will Kane.” He extended his hand across the table.

  The Kid automatically reached out and returned the shake, getting the five-dollar bill in the process. He looked at his palm. “Pretty slick, Will Kane.”

  Kane waited, but the Kid didn’t offer reciprocation.

  “I assume you have a name?” Kane finally said.

  The Kid grinned. “Sure. But I like being the Kid. It’s what my friends call me.”

  “I need a favor,” Kane said.

  The Kid waited.

  “A fast car. I have to drive to a place near Boston. And back. Today.”

  “Faster than your Jeep, you mean? That won’t be hard.”

  “Much faster.”

  The Kid nodded. “How much are you willing to pay to borrow a car for the day?”

  “How much will it cost me?”

  “Two hundred.”

  Kane peeled the money off his clip. Handed it over.

  “You should learn to negotiate,” the Kid said.

  “How much would you have settled for?”

  The Kid smiled. “Two hundred.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll have it here in thirty minutes,” the Kid said, more energized. “See you in a bit, Will Kane. You’re going to have a bright, sunny day for the drive. I’ll make sure the car has air-conditioning.”

  Kane dropped the two ice cubes in the coffee and wrapped his hands around it. Resisted the impulse to stand as Toni came in via Washington. She was dressed for work, not looking like someone who’d partied the night away except for the big sunglasses. She made a beeline for the booth.

  “I checked,” Toni said as she sat. “No warrants yet, but its early. If Strong is pursuing this, he’ll push forward today.”

  Morticia placed coffee in front of Toni without a word and retreated.

  “What did I do to her?” Toni wondered.

  “I don’t know,” Kane said. “Maybe she’s intuitive.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Toni hadn’t removed the sunglasses.

  “You said your father doesn’t know you’re representing Mrs. Delgado, right?”

  The coffee cup paused halfway to her mouth. She lowered it. Took off her sunglasses. “What’s wrong?”

  “You go dancing last night?”

  “I did.”

  “Studio 54.”

  “What’s with the interrogation?”

  “That last one was a statement, not a question.”

  Toni pursed her lips. “You were following Delgado?”

  “Yes.”

  “Once more, as I told you, no, my father doesn’t know I’m representing Mrs. Delgado.”

  “Sofia,” Kane said. “Seems you two should be on a first name basis at least.”

  Toni laughed. “Are you jealous?”

  Kane blinked at the abrupt shift. “What?”

  “Come on,” Toni said. “I’ve felt it coming off you, Will. You aren’t subtle. The other day in the office?”

  “That was you.”

  “That was me responding,” Toni said. She began lightly tapping the table with a long red fingernail, slowly, to a rhythm only she knew.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Will.” Toni shook her head. “All those years at West Point and afterward, I loved you like I loved Ted. My little brothers. All that changed after Dak To. Everything changed.” She pushed on. “But there was Taryn. And Joseph. The accident. That affected everyone, not just you. Then there was Robert and my fucked-up marriage, although that was never really a factor for me.”

  “You screwed around on Robert?”

  Toni laughed bitterly. “Will, you are really naïve. Even you said I shouldn’t be working at the firm. In the man’s world. I’ve had guys pull their dicks out in front of me in their offices. Somehow thinking that would turn me on.”

  “Bullshit. No one would do that.”

  “Oh, Will. You wouldn’t. Stop judging the world by your standards. I get hit on every day, every place. I’ve had judges grope me in chambers, ask me to sit in their lap. Have to admit I did when it was important. I never went for the dick-waving though. That showed a lack of intelligence and, frankly, they’re pretty gro
ss. I deal with enough stupid in my job. So, yeah, I’ve screwed around. Selectively. So did Robert. Not so selectively. A point of contention between us as it showed he wasn’t as smart as I’d thought he was.” She shook her head again. “You haven’t kept up with the world or your own life, Will. It’s moved so far past you. It makes me sad.”

  “What’s going on between your and Sofia Delgado?”

  “She’s a lot of fun,” Toni said. “I don’t think you know how to have fun, Will. What do you do for fun?”

  “She’s a client.”

  “A bonus. Getting paid and having fun. And she has connections.”

  “The Mob.”

  “Other connections. You’d be surprised who she knows. You’d be surprised who wants to know her. Who wants to experience the aura of the mafia by hanging around her. They’re all thinking Godfather.” She laughed. “Al Pacino was at Studio 54 a few weeks ago and wanted to meet Sofia. Al fucking Pacino came to our table.”

  “Why would you go back to that place after Delgado came after you there? And with his wife?”

  “Told you. Fun. And business.” Toni stopped tapping and leaned forward. “My father? He’s into politicians. Builders. Contractors. Others. One sort of power. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing dirty divorces for rich women. I want my own power.

  “Studio 54? Do you know who goes there besides Pacino? Mick Jagger. Elizabeth Taylor. Cher. Bowie. Warhol. It’s where the artists go. Actors. Singers. Writers. Every night there’s famous people there. Movers and shakers. They’re the ones I’m going to represent. I’m setting up my own firm in entertainment. That’s my future. I want it to be honest. I want it to be successful. I want it to be exciting. That’s why I go there. Contacts. Sofia helps.”

  “The bodyguard gigs you gave me,” Kane said. “They didn’t come through the firm. Those were from you. That’s why Frank didn’t do those jobs. They were entertainment people.”

  Toni nodded. “Sure. It’s a way in to these people. When they come to the city from out of town they’re worried about their safety, given all the bad press. Fear City. I send you. And every one of them thought you were great. You didn’t try to talk to them, were unobtrusive and they all sensed you knew what you were doing.”