Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  “What luck,” Vinny boomed as he pointed up the road. “Look over there past the clearing in the trees. It’s a gas station sign. Pull in over there.”

  Land was cheap in Beechum County. As they drew closer, they saw that the service station sat on acre upon acre of unimproved land, a Shangri La for rusted pickups and tractors. Weeds grew tall between the disintegrating car frames, taller than the cabin of one of the backhoes. A sapling had grown into a thick tree within a rusted car chassis and was now imprisoned by it. A scruffy white and gray mutt dashed out and howled at Vinny as he got out of the car. “Easy, boy,” he said as the dog sniffed his pointy western boots.

  Lisa glanced at the dog. “How do you know it’s a boy?”

  “What?”

  “You said, ‘Easy, boy.’ How do you know it’s a boy?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Lisa, are you for real? I didn’t literally mean the dog was a boy. Did you see me get down on my hands and knees and do an anatomical inspection of the dog’s under parts? It’s a figure of speech.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I get it. It’s a figure of speech, like when I say you’re a pain in the ass it doesn’t actually mean that my butt hurts.”

  The dog cautiously backed away only to dash after the next car coming down the road. Vinny threw his hands in the air and walked to the pump. He tried to lift the nozzle out of the slot but the pump was locked. “Shit!” He glanced in through the open doorway and saw someone behind the counter. “The pump’s locked,” he said wearily. “I’ll be right back.”

  An obese man sat behind the counter. His T-shirt-covered belly billowed over his belt like suds over the top of an overfilled glass of beer. He had a full gray beard and wore a hunting cap. Before him, a slab of meat swam in a plate of brown gravy. He looked up at his new customer, covered his mouth, and belched before taking a bite of heavily buttered corn bread. He picked up a plastic knife and fork and used the disposable utensils to saw through his steak. “Kin I hep ya?” The morsel he stuffed in his mouth was large enough to feed an entire migrant family for three solid days.

  Vinny’s eyes grew large at the spectacle. “That’s quite a lunch you’ve got there. You always eat like that?”

  “Nope, I’m cutting back,” he answered with a full mouth as he pulverized the meat between his molars. “But I had a big breakfast and my wife is bellyaching that I’m gittin’ too fat.” He focused on his steak, slicing the boneless cut into large chunks. He belched, this time without covering his mouth, just as a gray-haired woman in a housecoat emerged from the back room carrying a hefty plate of meatloaf also swimming in gravy.

  “That’s all I got left, Buck,” she said. “That’ll have to hold you ’til dinner.” She smiled at Vinny politely.

  “You gonna eat that too?” Vinny asked.

  “Figure I am.” He covered his mouth and made a sour face before narrowing his eyes at her. “Damn GERD. Jozelle, how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t cook with so many onions.”

  “It don’t taste like nothin’ without the onions, Buck. How many times you tell me not to cook insipid? ’Sides, Oren’s coming home for a visit tomorrow and you know how he’ll holler if my cooking got no taste.” She turned to Vinny beaming with pride. “Oren’s our son. He’s in his third year of medical school at Johns Hopkins Medical School. My boy is gonna be a pediatric surgeon one day.”

  “I’m impressed. A pediatric surgeon? He must be one hell of a smart kid.”

  “Smart? Hell, he was number one in his class at Northwestern. Didn’t cost me a cent all four years he went to college.” Buck looked up and drew a deep, fortifying breath. “He keeps warning me about my weight—I think startin’ tomorrow I’m gonna go on some kind of diet.”

  “Hell, Buck, we goin’ to dinner with Oren and the grandkids at the Chomp-N-Chicken tomorrow,” she reminded him. “Maybe you ought to start the day after.”

  The gas station mutt poked his head in the door, barking and howling loudly.

  “Damn mutt,” Buck groused. “Throw that damn dog one of them hush puppies and keep it from yapping, will ya, Jozelle?”

  She reached into the pocket of her housecoat and hauled out a smoked pig’s ear the size of a dinner plate. Cocking her arm, she flung it Frisbee-style and it went whizzing past the dog, which yelped excitedly and took off running.

  Buck covered his ears. “I swear I’m gonna shoot that dog one of these days.” He grimaced and put a hand on his chest. “I think I need a gas pill. I swear, if I thought my insurance would cover it, I’d get one of those lap band things.”

  Vinny was growing impatient. “I’m glad you’re trying to take better care of yourself, Buck, but I’m kind of in a hurry and I noticed the gas pumps are locked. So…how come?”

  Buck was still grimacing as he answered. “How come? I guess you ain’t from around these parts, are ya?”

  “Me? No, I ain’t from around here.”

  “You from up north?” Jozelle asked.

  “Why?” he laughed. “Don’t I sound like a good ol’ boy?”

  She looked at Buck and shrugged.

  Vinny continued, “Yeah, you guessed it. I ain’t from around here. I’m from New York. Why do you ask?”

  “That explains it,” Buck said. “You probably ain’t heard about the atrocious murder over at the Sack-O-Suds convenience store. I’m fixin’ to install me one of them closed circuit TV systems. Two Yankee boys done shot young Jimmy Willis in cold blood.”

  Vinny thought about keeping his mouth shut, but he just couldn’t. “Um…I don’t think you got your facts straight, Buck. Those two Yankee boys were exonerated.”

  Jozelle became alarmed. “What? They fried them boys already?”

  Vinny laughed. “No, dear,” he explained. “I said ex-on-er-ate-ed, not elec-tro-cute-ed. They were acquitted,” he said with a robust smile. “Found innocent of all charges.”

  “That so? Well then who shot Jimmy Willis?” Buck asked.

  “Two other guys were arrested in Jasper County, Georgia, a couple of days ago. They found the gun they used and everything.”

  “That sounds like horseshit to me,” Buck said. “They found another pair of boys with the same gun?”

  “Not the same gun, Buck. The first set of kids…well they didn’t have a gun…only a can of tuna fish.”

  “Where was those guilty boys from?” Buck asked.

  “Sorry, I really don’t know.”

  “Huh. What did I tell you, Jozelle? I heard them Yankee boys had some kind of slick, hot shot attorney. That’s how them New York ambulance chasers work. They probably found two local boys to use as scapegoats.” He reached under the counter and withdrew a Smith & Wesson 9mm. “I tell you what—I don’t know much about any fancy legal mumbo jumbo, but this here sidearm is the only kind of justice I need. I’m surprised Jimmy wasn’t carrying over at the Sack-O-Suds. For my money, I think everyone ought to carry a gun.”

  Vinny recoiled at the comment. “Really? You really think that?”

  “As the Lord is my witness.”

  “Whoa. Ain’t you ever heard of gun control?”

  “Gun control, my ass,” Buck said. He turned the gun around and offered it to Vinny. “You hold this gun in your hand and tell me it don’t make you feel like a better man.”

  “Ah, that’s all right. I think I’ll just get some gas and go. Thanks anyway.”

  “Nonsense,” he bellowed. “I ain’t unlocking the pump ’til you hold this here gun in your hand. Careful, though—it’s loaded.”

  “Uh, that’s okay. Really…no. No, thanks.”

  “You want gas or don’t ya? Take it. Go on. Take it I say. It’ll change your life.”

  Vinny thought about the Caddy’s empty gas tank and the prospect of getting stranded in the middle of nowhere. “All right…but just for a minute.” He reluctantly accepted the weapon and considered the substantial piece of ordnance as he weighed it in his hand.

  “How’s that feel?” Buck asked with a grin. “
Tell me that ain’t a better solution than a room full of slippery-tongued lawyers.”

  “Still, you really think everyone should have a gun?”

  “Damn right. Gun control ain’t nothin’ more than political horseshit. You show me a shootin’ and I’ll show you a criminal with a stolen gun. It ain’t the law-abiding types that are killin’ folks.”

  Buck’s backwoods way of thinking was getting Vinny riled up. He considered keeping quiet, but once again, he just couldn’t. “Wait a minute. What about all those poor innocent kids that got killed at the elementary school shooting? Are you trying to tell me that’s not a valid argument for gun control?”

  “Look stranger.” He seemed to be growing hot as he stuffed another chunk of steak into his mouth. A loud burp came out that made him grimace. “I don’t mind you being from up north and all, but no one’s gonna walk into my place of business and tell me who can and who can’t—” His eyes bulged and his cheeks ballooned.

  Jozelle panicked—she rushed to Buck’s side as he keeled over face-first into his plate of chicken-fried steak and gravy. “Buck! Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  “Shit. Call nine-one-one!” Vinny hollered, still holding Buck’s gun in his hand.

  Just then the sound of a gun being cocked registered in his ears and a hostile southern voice shouted, “Freeze!”

  ***

  Vinny felt his legs being swept out from under him. He barely had time to process what was going on when he slammed face-down onto the floor with a knee embedded dead center in his back. “Excuse me,” Vinny said, “there’s been a misunderstanding. You see, I’m a lawyer and—” He felt handcuffs ratcheting over his wrists. “Hey! What did I just—”

  “Shut your trap, mister.” Squawk from a handheld radio filled the air. “This is Deputy Ty Bembrey over at Buck’s fillin’ station. Better send an ambulance quick.”

  Jozelle blurted. “Buck ain’t shot. He’s choking.”

  “He’s what?” Ty asked.

  “He’s choking, Ty. Can’t you do the Heineken or somethin’?”

  The deputy raced around the counter. Standing behind Buck he extended his arms as far as they would go, somehow managing to lock his fingers just below Buck’s diaphragm. He grunted and his face turned red as he administered the Heimlich, repeatedly jerking him upward with all his strength.

  Jozelle burst into tears. “The dern fool—I always tell him he don’t chew his food.”

  Vinny managed to lift his torso off the floor and attempted to crane his neck to see what was going on. His eye level had risen just enough for him to see a slab of steak come flying out of Buck’s mouth. He tried to dodge it but it smacked him squarely in the face.

  Chapter Four: Still Stuck in Ala-Fuckin’-Bama

  By the time Vinny and Lisa were back in the car, the sun was little more than a sliver of orange on the horizon. The deputy had saved Buck’s life, and Jozelle had explained that Vinny was nothing more than an innocent bystander. She asked Vinny and Lisa to stay for dinner but they thought better of the invitation. They were given a tankful of premium gas, a gift they gratefully accepted.

  Lisa couldn’t stop laughing. “When I walked in and saw you lying on the floor with steak on your face…what a sight you were, Vinny. Thank God my camera goes everywhere I do.”

  “You wouldn’t dare show that to anyone.”

  “Oh yeah? You think I wouldn’t? You got another guess coming, Steak Face. I’m gonna hold onto it for just the right moment, and one day when you piss me off real good…”

  He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “How in the world does crap like this happen to you anyway?” she said as they drove off. She’d walked in on the chaotic scene at the moment the deputy had forced Vinny face down on the floor. “And what in God’s name were you doing holding a loaded gun?”

  “I already told you. Buck and I were having a philosophical discussion.”

  “A philosophical discussion? With the guy choking on chicken-fried steak?”

  “Yeah. Him.”

  “You have got to be kidding.”

  “I wish I was.”

  “So, what was this very important conversation about anyway?”

  “It was about gun control and Buck wanted to make a point about gun ownership. It was just a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Simple is the operative word,” she sniped. “Are you out of your mind? An officer of the law walked in on you while you were holding a 9mm on the cracker from Duck Dynasty. You’re lucky that good ol’ boy didn’t shoot first and ask questions later or there would have been a second murder in Beechum County this year. Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be sitting here alive?”

  “Stop exaggerating, Lisa,” he said as he brushed dust off his jacket. “No harm no foul.”

  A large yellow banner adorned the roadside high above the opening of a giant tent. “Look. Fireworks,” he said. “Let’s bring some back with us to Brooklyn.”

  “No way. You’re kidding, right?”

  “No?”

  “No.” She had a way of making even that simple word sound flirty.

  “Why not? I’ll hold them until the Fourth of July. The neighborhood kids will love ’em.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Think about the kids.”

  “You mean the one I’m sitting next to?”

  “Very funny. Come on, Lisa. You know you can’t get this kind of stuff in New York. Stop being like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a Catholic school nun. When did you turn into Mother Theresa?”

  “Vinny. I’ve been sleeping next door to a stockyard for weeks. I’ve been awakened by freight trains and ear-shattering sawmill whistles in the middle of the night. I even spent a night sleeping in the car out in the middle of nowhere. I just want to get home, Vinny. I want to take a hot bath and sleep in my own bed. I want to sit down to a dish of homemade pasta and wrap my lips around a fresh cannoli. Do you know how badly I ache for a delicious piece of pastry and a decent cup of espresso? All they had in the local restaurant was that awful Bundt cake that smelled as if it was made with lard instead of vegetable oil. Do you think we can get home without you getting us into any more trouble? Is that too much to ask?”

  “I guess not.”

  “You guess not?”

  “Yeah, I guess not.”

  “Thank you,” she said before pressing down on the gas. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

  Chapter Five: I’m Outta Here

  Sullivan Correctional Facility, Sullivan County, New York

  Clang. The gate abruptly opened, permitting Sammy “Tool Man” Cipriani to walk from the prison yard to freedom for the first time in seven years. The rural countryside was covered with snow, the roads white from heavy salting. He’d never gotten used to the bitter cold and flipped up the collar on his beat up Knicks basketball jacket as a harsh wind whipped by stinging his cheeks. Just yards away, the passenger door of a jet-black BMW sedan swung open. The stunning vision now standing before him thawed him clear down to the bone.

  Theresa had waited so long for this moment and began to cry the moment her arms closed around him. She’d only seen him in the prison visitor’s room, under unnatural fluorescent lighting and he now looked especially pale and tired as she studied his face in the light of day for the first time in years. But it didn’t dampen her spirit. The eyes she saw were still his eyes. The lips she longed for were still his. She put her mouth on his, trying desperately to wipe away years of emptiness and separation with one magical kiss. For a moment, all the pain and hurt faded away. No past, only a future. She had always been the strong one and tightened her grip around him so he could melt into her arms. They lingered, treasuring each other’s embrace until a hearty voice broke their spell.

  Anthony Cipriani bounded toward his kid brother and wrapped him up in his massive arms. He choked out a solitary word, “Christ,” then buried his head on his brother’s shoulder. His chest heaved
as he choked back tears. “You crazy son of a bitch. It’s been so friggin’ long.” He looked him over. “When did you get so bald? I mean you’ve been losing your hair little by little, but…”

  “There wasn’t much left up there. I shave it,” Sammy said.

  Anthony ran his hand over his brother’s smooth head. “You look like Mr. Clean. No one in the old neighborhood will recognize you for God’s sake.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Sammy said.

  “Hey! You okay?” Anthony asked. “You just got sprung. This is no time to get bummed out on me.”

  Sammy shrugged. “I’m a jailbird, Tone. We’re all the same when we’re on the inside, but now that I’m out…everyone’s gonna look at me like, What’s this piece of shit doing back in the neighborhood?”

  “Screw them,” Anthony said. “You paid your debt to society. If that’s not good enough for your cranky neighbors, it’s too goddamn bad.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll just have to take it a day at a time.”

  Theresa nuzzled his neck. “I’ll bet I can make you forget all about it,” she said with a naughty gleam in her eyes. “Anyway, that’s enough out of the two of you and your screw-the-neighbors shit. Home, James,” she ordered. “I’m freezing my firm young ass off out here.”

  Sammy slapped her on the butt prompting an impish giggle.

  “Want to stop for a bite?” Anthony asked. “You must be dying to eat some real food. We passed a nice-looking steakhouse on the way up.”

  “No way,” Sammy replied. “I want to go straight home to Brooklyn. I’m gonna christen my mouth with a plateful of Mom’s veal parmigiana. I’ve been thinking about her cooking since forever. For the last seven years, every time I bit into a piece of mystery meat I tried to imagine it was one of Mom’s veal cutlets.”

  “Excuse me!” she protested. “What? I can’t cook?”

  He kissed her hand. “Of course you can, babe.” He winked at her. “It’s just that I need you to save your energy for certain other activities.”

  “Good save, brother of mine.” Anthony watched her throw her arms around him as they piled into the back seat. She kissed him deeply as his hands found her for the first time in years. “Too bad I can’t raise the divider and give you two a little privacy. Had I known how horny you both were I’d have rented a limo.”