by Thomas Pluck
Jay was urged to be friends with the Strick boy. Matthew Junior read adult books and wore khakis and short-sleeve collared shirts like his father. Matt was at home in the sickly green light of his IBM XT personal computer while Jay preferred to explore the creeks that wandered the town like veins on the back of an old man’s hand. He caught a big brown crawfish and brought it home for Mama to cook, but it tasted like mud, and they spat it out. Jay was fixing to pack a bindle and camp in the woods that summer when the company pool opened and everything changed.
The rippling pool was caged in sixteen-foot green chain-link to keep teenagers out at night. Executive cabanas sat under the trees, and the rest of the folks arrived early to stake out spots the shade.
Angeline strutted in wearing a yellow bikini and bug-eye sunglasses. She ignored the stares and hopped on a chaise lounge among the executive wives. Jay scratched the melted-wax scars on his back as the boys in the water sized him up. Angeline prodded him with her big toe. “Jump in. You can leave your shirt on.”
Jay cannonballed at the six-foot line and splashed into icy silence.
The chlorine tingled his nose and eyes. He’d only swum in swallow fishing holes off Bayou Teche, never in water so clear and cool and empty of life. The waves above flickered crystal, and the water’s embrace muted the buzzing in his head, leaving him to marvel at this newfound quiet at the bottom, all alone with his heartbeat.
The lifeguard grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to the surface. “If you can’t swim, you gotta stay in the kiddie end.”
“My boy can swim just fine,” Angeline called from behind a folded paperback. “Jay, quit fooling around. Show him you can swim.”
Jay dived under and swam from the wall of the kiddie side all the way to the diving boards, waving as he tread water.
The lifeguard gave a nod and returned to his wooden aerie.
Jay climbed out by the diving boards. His eyes fell on a cheeky girl in a blue bathing suit in the line for the twenty-footer. Long black hair, cobalt eyes, a defiant pout to her lip.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she said.
“Hi. I’m Jay.”
“So what?” She rolled her eyes and climbed the ladder. “Creep.”
Her dive was the most graceful thing Jay had ever seen. He waited for her to climb out and dive again, but she free-styled to the far side. Didn’t even look over her shoulder at him as she got out and dried off in the shade.
Jay swam to the shallow end, where a trio of boys his age huddled to squint and scan.
A chubby black-haired boy who wore a white tee to hide his fat, and a pair of dusty-haired twins, tall and lean. One quiet, the other brash, holding court with a permanent sneer.
“See, Tony?” The soft-eyed twin said, nudging the chubby kid, nodding toward Jay. “He wears a shirt, too.”
“Whatcha all looking at?” Jay asked.
“The boobs on that blonde,” Tony said.
The boys basked in the magnificence of a full pair of breasts barely constrained by a bikini top. They were the broad palette for a spray of freckles, which the trio seemed to be counting. The woman they belonged to shook her bleached Fawcett locks and rolled onto her stomach, to their groans of dismay.
The tall twin clucked his tongue. “Those aren’t boobs, Tony. They’re tits. Big, beautiful tits.”
“She sure is one hot canary,” Tony said.
“Canary?” Jay asked. “You calling her a bird?”
“Yellow bikini means canary, dupek,” the bigmouth twin said. “The stuck-up girl by the diving boards, with the Phoebe Cates titties? She’s a bluebird. Get it?”
“I reckon,” Jay said.
“You reckon? I got an e-rection for that canary,” Bigmouth said, nudging his twin brother, who did not take part in the ogling.
“She’s a real peach, ain’t she?” Jay said.
“Those are a lot bigger than peaches.”
“I’d suck on those for a week,” Chubby said.
“Well, she’s my mama,” Jay said. “Why don’t y’all go for a swim and stop making her feel uncomfortable?”
Chubby froze.
Bigmouth slapped the water and splashed Jay in the face. “It’s a free country, redneck. I’m gonna stare at her big boobs all day.”
Jay leapt on him and pounded his ribs. The kid tried to knee his nuts, so Jay bit his shoulder and left a ring of marks. His twin brother tried to pull them apart and got an elbow in the chin as they thrashed against the wall.
“Boys! Settle down.” Mama Angeline held them both by the ears. “Thank you, Jay, but I can fight my own battles. What are your names, boys?”
The chubby kid was Tony. The bigmouth twin’s name was Billy, and his well-mannered brother was Brendan.
“And where’s your mother?”
“My mother dropped us off,” Tony stammered. “She had to go to Bradlee’s. But she works here, I swear.”
“Why don’t you boys make better sport,” Angeline said. “I bet Jay here can make it to the deep end and back before any of you can. You beat him, without cheating?” She leaned over with her arms folded and whispered, “You can rub tanning oil on my shoulders.”
Tony’s eyes bulged.
“Well? Go!”
The boys attacked the water. Jay kicked their asses.
Billy held a grudge for a little while, but the three became fast friends. Sharking the pool, fishing sunnies out of the Mud Hole and carp out of the grimy Passaic. They climbed the rusted dinosaur skeletons of railroad trestles and roved on their Huffy bikes like kings, exploring their twelfth summer’s universe of boundless possibility before anyone told them their place.
“You heard me, Billy boy.”
“Detective William Zelazko to you, peckerwood,” Billy said.
“I heard you were a prick cop like your old man,” Jay said. “The horse apple don’t fall far from the tree.”
“Get in the cruiser.”
Jay narrowed his eyes. “I maxed out, if you recall. No parole, no probation. Full citizen.”
“In the front,” Billy said. “To talk. This ain’t a roust. Think I’d come alone, with your jacket?”
Jay ducked by the taxi’s window. “Sorry, Hersch. Gotta do what the lawman says. I’ll find my way home.”
Herschel exhaled slow and scooted to the driver’s seat. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Billy waited in the cruiser with the air blowing max. After Jay sat shotgun, Billy stared at Herschel until he pulled away.
“Newark ain’t candy-ass Nutley,” Billy said, “and I’m not my father. I’m here as a friend.”
Jay stared at the street corner, where condos had replaced the old electroplating factory they had explored as children. Inside, information was currency. He’d learned not to give it freely. He wanted to know who sent the goons after him on freedom day, but if Billy wasn’t aware of them, there was no need to clue a cop in that he’d assaulted two men. “How’d you even know I was out?”
“You know this town,” Billy said. “Bello used the news of your upcoming release all over the last election. Not that anyone ran against him, except that crazy guy with all the Roman statues in his yard. But he thinks aliens built the Coliseum.”
“I could move back,” Jay said. “Nothing stopping me.”
“Oh yes there is,” Billy laughed. “Remember, I’m the nice one. The official welcoming committee won’t be so friendly.”
“You’re a regular bucket of sunshine,” Jay said. “I can’t even go see my old house?”
“I’ll drive you up there, you want.” He held up a finger. “One time. I’m here doing you a favor. You never were good at knowing when the world handed you a favor, but you’re gonna learn today. Nutley is off limits.”
“I’m a citizen with a job. You can’t even bust me for vagrancy. And this ain’t Newark.”
Billy grinned. “I figured you’d hit up Tony first.”
“He promised me work, and I took him up
on it.”
Billy huffed through his nose. “You think he wants you there? Quit fooling yourself. Here’s a reality check, you’re nothing but a bad memory. No one wants you here. Not even your friends. They want me to kick your dupa out of town, so don’t be a complete asshole about this. This was negotiated.”
He slapped Jay in the chest with a fat envelope, and let it drop into his lap.
Jay frowned at the blank manila paper.
“Open it.”
“What’s that?”
“That there is your walking papers,” Billy said. “A ticket to New Orleans and twenty-five grand. Enough to start over.”
Jay held the envelope out. “That’s mighty white of you, but unlike your shitbird old man, I’m not for sale.”
Billy flared his nostrils. He took a slow breath. “You’re already bought, asshole. You think your early release was mercy from the state?”
So that’s where the two months came from.
“Matty and my father, playing games. They didn’t want Bello to have to deal with you. But they’re fuckin’ stupid. Bought you a plane ticket, first. And I told ’em, you been a jailbird since you were fifteen. You don’t got a driver’s license, no picture ID. How you gonna get on a plane? So it’s the grey dog, but it beats walking.”
“Well fuck y’all very much.” Jay flipped the envelope into Billy’s lap. “I made more working in the damn wood shop.” He’d spent most of it in the commissary, but that was true.
“Don’t think you got privileges because we pissed in the same pool. I’m using the velvet glove right now,” Billy said, and raised an uncallused hand. “You want the fist, you’ll get the fist. Think anyone cares what happens to a shittums like you?”
Jay stared down the hood.
“So open your ears. Take the money,” Billy said, jabbing Jay’s stomach with the envelope. “Hop the next bus to N’awlins. Last time we checked, your folks were in some shit-swamp called Hopedale. Go have a teary-eyed reunion and disappear, for the good of everybody.”
Jay took a deep breath and tugged the envelope from Billy’s hands. He stared at it a long time. Squeezed the cash like fruit for ripeness. Felt its weight. The promise of seeing his folks swelled in his chest. He killed the feeling before it reached his face.
“Listen, bro,” Billy said. “It might not look like it, but I think what happened was pretty fucked up. But what you gonna do? It’s the way of the goddamned world.”
“That why you’re a cop?” Jay said, tapping his knee with the envelope. “To make sure it stays that way?”
Billy raised a palm and put on his television face. “I assure you, without me involved, this transaction would be a lot less diplomatic. Matty’s got his own security, real operators. I believe you met? They wanted to black bag you and throw you in a private jet.”
So the prison chauffeurs were from Matty. “Let ’em try.”
“I told them I’d take care of it,” Billy said, eyes drifting toward Jay’s old street. “Because you stood up for Brendan.”
“How is he?”
“Good,” Billy said. “Real good.” A tic played at the corner of his mouth. He gave the steering wheel a quick kneading.
Neither Brendan nor Billy had testified at his trial, but Jay hadn’t expected their father to permit it. His temples burned as he saw little Matthew Strick in the witness chair, lying through perfect teeth. The feeling in his belly turned sour.
“If you’re Matty’s messenger boy,” Jay said. “Pass this on to the little shit.” He dropped the envelope on the floorboard. Jay unzipped his jeans and reached into his boxers.
“The fuck are you doing?”
“Y’all gonna piss on me,” Jay said, “Then I piss on you.”
The hot splatter hit the envelope like a wet raspberry.
Billy reached cross-draw for his sidearm and Jay pounced. He shoved Billy’s elbow and pinned him to the door, then gripped his wrist and pulled Billy’s arm around his own neck. One of his cellmates had fought MMA. They’d traded some moves.
Billy swore while Jay snaked his other arm against Billy’s throat and eased into a blood choke. Jay pressed in, nose to nose. Smelled the stale cigarettes and old coffee on Billy’s breath as he struggled in vain.
His eyes rolled back, and he sagged against Jay’s side.
Jay wriggled his arm free and extracted an ugly Glock from Billy’s shoulder holster. Held it in his lap while he shook off his pecker and tucked it away. He fumbled with the pistol until he popped the magazine, racked the slide and ejected the round from the chamber. Cars weren’t the only mechanics he’d learned, and Okie had been a strayed Marine who learned to kill in Korea.
Jay squeezed the Glock’s barrel inside Billy’s belt until the muzzle hit crotch, then slapped him hard across the face.
Billy mumbled and fluttered his eyes open.
Jay jabbed his groin with the Glock. “If I remember correctly, you got a pretty small pecker. But I doubt I’ll miss at this range.”
“Easy,” Billy said. He wrinkled his nose. “Aw, you pissed all over.”
“Now you listen, my so-called friend. You tell Matty that money ain’t gonna fix this. I paid twenty-five years in blood for what your fathers did to me.”
Billy sneered. “You think I’m gonna let you go after my father? He’s an asshole, but he’s my asshole.”
“Well, your asshole’s gonna get a big surprise.”
Billy gritted his teeth.
Jay smiled. “I scare them, don’t I? Good. Let them be scared for a change. Fear’s good for you. It shows you who you are. Some of us could never protect our brothers, so we gotta play hero, try to make it up to ourselves. Isn’t that right, Billy boy? You wanna play hero today?”
Billy narrowed his eyes. “Don’t burn your bridges.”
“Hell, I’ll burn ’em at both ends. I know how to swim.”
“You killed him, Jay. Not us. And we paid for it, too.”
“Not hardly enough,” Jay said. “You think I was playing with my pecker while I did my time? I learned some law. About a little thing called conspiracy to obstruct justice. Not to mention conspiracy to commit murder. There’s no statute of limitation on either of those, and y’all are in up to your necks.”
“No one’ll believe you,” Billy said. “You know what you’re up against?”
Jay ground the gun into Billy’s crotch until he winced. “All that means is you got plenty to lose. And I got nothing. You took it all.”
“We didn’t—”
“My family!” Jay said. “Ramona, too. I did what none of you had the heart to do. Your fathers let that sumbitch beat and rape and torture you every day! He got what was coming, but instead of the truth, your old man chose his job. Strick and his father chose money. No way he’d get all those houses built without Bello greasing the wheels. And seeing me reminds y’all of what they done. Well take a good look.”
Billy gritted his teeth and said nothing.
“Now I’m gonna walk away and you’re gonna turn tail. And if you or anybody else pushes me around they’re gonna get pushed back so hard their head’s gonna pop out their ass.” Jay reached back and pulled door handle. He stepped out and left the Glock in Billy’s pants.
Billy drew the pistol and sighted on Jay’s chest. He tilted the weapon and saw the empty magazine well. Checked the chamber and sneered.
Jay grinned. “Next time you come for me, you better bring more gun.”
Billy drew a spare mag from his right armpit, slapped it home and racked the slide. He sighted on Jay’s face. “You come after my family, you’re gone.”
Jay breathed slow, stared through Billy’s angry rictus. “I died ten thousand times in there. Your old man’s gonna get what’s coming to him. Matty’s is too.” He tossed the other magazine onto the seat, kicked the door shut and headed for the street.
Billy lowered the pistol and holstered it. “Stay away from my brother, stay out of Nutley, and stay out of my fucking face!” He gunned
the pedal and peppered Jay with gravel as his cruiser roared away.
Jay pointed his boots back toward the repair shop.
He had never known trouble until he met Tony, Matthew, and the twins. No bully came for him more than once. Mama Angeline taught him to throw hard and early, and Papa Andre taught him to stand up for those who couldn’t.
Principles that built not only strong bonds of friendship, but also of enmity.
Chapter 6
Even at a dead stop the Hammerhead felt like freedom. More so than his first day walking. Tony had painted over the shark’s cracked purple and rusted chrome with black so flat it absorbed light. It slipped through traffic like a revenant shadow, its driver a ghost from the past pale as a fish’s belly from his years inside.
Driving felt like navigating the prison yard. Pedestrians dared you to hit them, crossing slow. Fancy sedans cut you off like it was their birthright, trucks bullied around the weak, and everyone avoided the banged-up beaters whose drivers were far beyond caring. Commuters fought over the tiniest patch of space and risked collision to deny anyone else a chance to get ahead.
Welcome to Nutley, the green sign said. But not to him.
The Hammerhead’s big block champed at the bit. Jay goosed the pedal, all his teenage prison dreams alive. The beast spoke to him, humming through his fingers on the steering wheel.
You and me, we’re gonna start some shit.
The streets were torn up with construction. Andre used to joke that New Jersey only had two seasons: winter and road work. Nutley’s main drag was sliced stem to stern in the heart of town as utility trucks performed surgery on the main intersection.
Memories teased the back of Jay’s mind as he cruised through town. The street where Matt got his dreaded nickname. The junk lot where Joey Bello’s picador games of torment began. The park where it had all ended in blood.
