Johnny Porno

by Charlie Stella

  Stebenow had managed to avoid Detective Levin and Special Agent in Charge Flynn as they argued in the lobby by conversing with a defense attorney on his way to visit a client. After flashing his credentials to access the subbasement, Stebenow went to a tiny kitchen area where he poured himself a cup of coffee. He stirred in some sugar while he observed Kelly and his attorney.

  The attorney stepped out of the small room to use the bathroom around the hallway corner. Stebenow waited a few seconds, then crossed the short hallway and approached the corrections officer.

  “Some guy just went down in the men’s room,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” the corrections officer said.

  “Some guy in a suit. Might be a heart attack.”

  The officer took a quick look into the conference room and saw Kelly had put his legs up on the corner of the table.

  Stebenow flashed phony identification. “I got this,” he said. “Go ’head.”

  The corrections officer nodded before heading for the bathroom. Stebenow counted three full beats before he stepped inside the conference room.

  Epilogue

  “I think I miss your ponytail,” Nancy said. “I’m not used to your hair short like this.”

  Louis was watching the engine temperature gauge to the left of the odometer on the dashboard and getting nervous about the needle edging back toward hot. The Cadillac had already overheated once since they’d left New York.

  “Then again, now it’ll match your balls,” Nancy said. “And I do like that look.”

  They were heading south on the New Jersey turnpike and were less than thirty miles from Delaware. Half an hour after Jimmy’s Deep Throat enthusiast had turned down buying the Fleetwood Eldorado, Louis had stopped for a crew cut at a barbershop on Queens Boulevard and in walked Nancy. She’d followed him, she told him, from when he dropped off little Miss Ohio.

  “Oklahoma,” Louis had told her. “And she was a runner up.”

  Nancy didn’t have much money with her, but Louis knew she had some stashed in a bank she could get to in the morning. The problem was he couldn’t wait overnight, not with Jimmy and two bookies knowing he was flush with newfound money. Sooner or later word would get back to Eddie Vento’s crew.

  Nancy said she could always sneak back to New York and withdraw the money another time, maybe when she visited her son. Louis wasn’t about to argue with her. All he wanted now was to get far enough away from New York so he could sell the bootlegged films he still had.

  It was after one in the morning and they had been on the road since after sunset, stopping three times in total; once for dinner, once to fill the Cadillac’s huge gas tank and once to let the radiator cool down after it overheated outside Trenton.

  “I’m excited about this,” Nancy said. “A new start and all. It’ll be good for us.”

  Louis turned the radio on to drown out her overenthusiastic conversation. He wasn’t about to tell her about the money they didn’t have.

  “And here’s a song that debuted back in June of this year,” the announcer said. “‘Manu Dibango, Soul Makossa’.”

  “What the hell is that?” Nancy asked.

  Louis listened to the repetitive lyrics and felt himself starting to relax.

  “Mama what?” Nancy said. “What’s he saying?”

  “I don’t know, but I like it,” Louis said.

  “Sounds like jungle music.”

  “It is. Guy’s from Africa somewhere.”

  “You know this song?”

  “I’ve heard it before. I like it.”

  “Sounds like nonsense to me. I don’t get it.”

  “I can’t hear it, you keep yapping.”

  “Excuse me.”

  She hadn’t shut up since they left the gas station in Brooklyn. Louis had just over a few grand in cash, what was left after he’d been scammed into paying off his gambling debts and buying a car he didn’t need. Nancy was potentially worth a lot more, but he wasn’t sure he could put up with her perky spirit another thousand miles, what was left before they reached Florida.

  “I’ll bet this song is big in Bed-Stuy,” Nancy said.

  Louis tried to ignore her commentary. He was thinking about the films he could sell once he was comfortable with the distance they’d traveled from New York. That would take at least another few hundred miles, but would mean some extra cash.

  “Can I at least change stations when this shit is over?” Nancy said.

  “Yeah, fine,” Louis said.

  “Honestly, I don’t know how you stand it.”

  “I can’t hear it.”

  “What’s to hear. Mumbo jumbo. Mama bama Aunt Jemima.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Jungle music is all it is. What, are you into black now?”

  “Go ’head, change it, you want.”

  He had to keep her happy or she’d make it impossible for him to finish the trip with her. He’d already thought about leaving her when they made the last stop. He would’ve if he still had half the money he’d had before he tried to buy and sell the car. He didn’t, though. Not anymore.

  Louis hadn’t doubted she’d leave the kid behind and was surprised about the note she’d left John.

  “I wrote I’d come up to see Little Jack at least once a year and that he could always come and stay with us for the summer once school was out,” Nancy had said.

  “The summer, huh?” Louis said.

  “He is my son.”

  She hadn’t even mentioned the note until they were through the Holland tunnel. He wondered if she’d even felt guilty about the kid.

  Now she changed stations while he thought about it again, leaving her someplace.

  “Yeah!” Nancy said when she found a song she liked.

  She sang along to Three Dog Night’s “Shambala.”

  Louis said, “You wanna explain the difference between this shit and what I was listening to?”

  “I like this,” she said. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “The fuck does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. Shine the light, I think.”

  “Shine the light, what?”

  “I don’t know, Louis. What’s the difference, I like it.”

  Louis rubbed his face with his free hand.

  “At least it’s white music,” Nancy said. Then she was dancing in her seat, waving her arms, snapping her fingers and singing the next verse.

  Louis saw the temperature gauge had touched the red spot. Then there was steam coming from under the long hood. He let off the gas pedal and coasted the Cadillac off the road.

  “What’s the matter?” Nancy asked.

  Louis pointed to the steam.

  “Oh,” she said. “That again. Where’d you get this piece of shit anyway?”

  Louis turned the engine off and rubbed his face again, this time using both hands.

  “Whadda we do?” Nancy said.

  “Wait.”

  “For what?”

  “Until it cools again, same as we did last time.”

  “Then what? Won’t it heat up again?”

  Louis felt his teeth clench.

  Nancy said, “Now what are you mad for?”

  “Nothing,” Louis said. “Just leave it alone.”

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Nancy said. She rubbed his right leg with her left hand. “Want a blow job until the engine cools?”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “What? You don’t want a blow job?”

  “That mouth,” Louis said. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Since when?”

  Louis glared at his ex-wife.

  Nancy drew her hand back. “Excuse me,” she said. “Let’s just sit here and do nothing. That’ll be fun.”

  * * * *

  Eddie Vento was buried at the Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn on Friday, August 31. Angela had gone to the two-day wake but had skipped the burial. Nick had used the opportunity to skip bo
th the wake and the funeral as a sign he was retired from the life.

  The afternoon of the burial the Santorras took a ten-thousand-dollar home equity loan. One thousand would cover the legal fees for an illegal gun possession charge, but leaving the life would also mean losing his no-show union truck driving job.

  For the first time in five years Nick was forced to consider his employment options. Walking home from the bank, his heavily bandaged face a road map of bruises, Nick argued against working for his brother-in-law in the used car business.

  “The fuck do I know about cars?” he said. “I can drive one, that’s it.”

  “Neither did Larry know anything,” Angela said. “He was a shoe salesman, for God’s sake. He learned on the job. That’s what you’d do.”

  “I’m not standing around a used car lot like some jerkoff needs to sell somebody a lemon, okay? Forgetaboutit.”

  Angela knew better than to get into it with him now. It was his pride getting in the way. It had been hard for him to accept losing his dream of being a gangster, but after Eddie Vento was killed, Nick had said his chances had been flushed down the toilet along with all the other bullshit he’d been taking the last few years, that it was a blessing in disguise. Angela agreed.

  She was grateful he was finished with that life and anxious for him to find work doing something more normal. She had never really bought into it anyway, the Mafia. All those wiseguys and goodfellas or whatever it was they called themselves. All she knew was her husband had been abused and for not much more money than he might make selling used cars and probably with a lot less aggravation, not to mention the risk.

  “There’s plenty things I can do besides that,” Nick said after a while.

  “Such as?”

  “Business. I can go into my own, for one thing. Not work for somebody like some schmuck.”

  “What kind of business?”

  “I don’t know... something. Maybe we’ll open a store or something. A bagel joint or a pizza parlor. Something the kids can get into, they can help out they get older. We can leave them a store they can leave to their kids.”

  Angela knew Nick was trying to be optimistic. It was one of the good things about him and she loved him for it now more than ever.

  * * * *

  Melinda had learned about her best friend’s murder at the hospital where John had been taken after the shootout in Eddie Vento’s bar. Grief-stricken and overwhelmed with guilt, she spent the night at the local police precinct, where she stayed until Jill’s body was removed. The next day Melinda listed her house for sale with a local realtor.

  John had tried to contact her after he was released from the hospital, but the police relayed her message that she needed time. When he finally tracked her down at a motel five days later, he was told she had just checked out and hadn’t left a forwarding phone number.

  It was the Labor Day weekend and John’s mother had planned a Saturday barbecue. Last night he had taken his son to the Yankees game against the Orioles. Although the boy was still questioning where his mother had gone, he’d enjoyed himself at the game, especially after securing a few autographs on a baseball one of the players had tossed into the stands. The fact the Yankees had won was an added bonus. Today Little Jack was still excited as he played running bases in the driveway with a couple of other boys that lived on the same block as his grandmother.

  Old man Elias, Nathan, John and his mother sat on beach chairs spread around Marie Albano’s yard. A cooler half filled with beer and soda was set against the house in the shade. A large serving tray with sandwiches, potato salad and coleslaw was centered on a portable folding table. Plastic Tupperware bowls filled with potato chips, pretzels and popcorn were spread across a small wooden picnic table.

  The grown-ups could hear the boys laughing in the driveway. It was close to game time for the Yankees, but Little Jack was having too much fun to remind him.

  “I never seen him so happy,” Marie said. “He’s got Jim Palmer and Brooks Robinson’s autographs, whoever they are. He must’ve told me two dozen times.”

  “Who they are?” Elias asked. His mouth was still sore from the stitches along his gums and a slight fracture of the jawbone. Although he could speak, it was painful to do so.

  “Orioles,” John said.

  “It’s baseball, Mr. Elias,” Nathan Ackerman said. “They’re baseball players.”

  He had returned to orchestral practice with the Philharmonic upon their return from Boston. He had come to visit Little Jack, but was waiting for a private moment to speak with John.

  “He mention Boog Powell?” John asked his mother.

  “Probably. Who’s he?”

  “First base,” Nathan said.

  “He got three hits but the Yankees still won,” John said. “Robinson didn’t play. I don’t know why.”

  “He was so happy,” Marie said. “Thank God they won.”

  “You hear anything from Nancy?” John asked Nathan.

  “Me? Not a word.”

  “Unbelievable, that woman,” Marie said. “Good riddance.”

  Elias stood up, took Marie’s right hand and helped her up. “Come,” he said. “We prepare coffee I brought. I show you.” He stopped and turned to Nathan. “Greek coffee. The best.”

  “I know it’s very strong,” Nathan said.

  “Puts hairs on your chest.”

  “Just what I need,” Marie said.

  “On you they look beautiful, I’m sure.”

  “Hey, hey, hey,” John said. “Watch yourself, old man.”

  Elias waved him off as he followed Marie up the back steps to the kitchen.

  Nathan used the opportunity to talk privately with John.

  “How’s the shoulder?” he asked.

  “Not too bad,” John said. “I’m almost used to the sling. Should be fine in a few weeks.”

  “Good, because I have a job offer.”

  John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Not cleaning your yard, I hope. I’m already driving for a car service here in Queens. I have to take the sling off, but at least it’s something. You’re a great guy, Nathan, but I’m not looking for charity.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Nathan said. “This is real. The Metropolitan Opera has a carpentry staff. Men who build the sets they use for the operas.”

  “Really?”

  “A dear friend from the old days has some clout there. He can put you on.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. The pay is union scale, whatever that is.”

  “I don’t have a union card anymore, Nathan. I lost it.”

  “He’ll get it back.”

  “How?”

  “These are very influential people, John. They do whatever they want, trust me.”

  “I’m talking about a delegate got me tossed,” John said. “I had a fight with his brother was a foreman on the job I was working and they had me out like that.” He snapped his fingers for effect. “The guy killed a stray dog for the fun of it and I hit him.”

  “My God, that’s terrible,” Nathan said. “Good for you, you hit him.”

  “Except it cost me my union card.”

  “The people behind the Met are old money. They have lots of clout.”

  “That’d be great. Is it steady?”

  “You’d be on staff. Unless the Metropolitan Opera goes out of business, you’ll have a job.”

  “Won’t they want me to apprentice or something? I’d be coming in cold.”

  “You were a union carpenter how many years?”

  “Ten.”

  “I told them eight, what Nancy told me once. You’ll be fine.”

  “Jesus, Nathan, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll take it?”

  “Of course I’ll take it. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You just did.”

  John grabbed Nathan’s right hand and shook it. “Nancy really blew it with you,” he said.

  “And you,” Nathan said.
>
  One of the boys in the driveway yelled out the Yankee game was starting. Little Jack ran into the yard to ask his father if they could watch it inside in the living room.

  “Ask Grandma,” John told him.

  The boy ran up the back stairs and inside the house. He was back a few seconds later calling to his friends. Two boys entered the yard, said hello to John and Nathan and headed up the stairs and followed Jack inside.

  “He look happy or what?” John said. “Which reminds me. Thanks for those tickets.”

  “No problem,” Nathan said. “Now can I ask you a favor?”

  “Anything,” John said.

  “Can I teach him to play an instrument?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “Sure, why not. Is he interested? He never mentioned anything to me.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I thought I’d give it a try.”

  “This about visiting him? Because you can always do that, Nathan. Forever as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Thank you, John. I appreciate that. May I teach him?”

  “Only if I can pay.”

  “If you insist.”

  “Can I afford it?”

  “We’ll work something out.”

  John took Nathan’s hand, shook it again, then leaned over and half-hugged the musician. “Thank you,” he said, “for everything.”

  * * * *

  Detective Sean Kelly woke from the sting of cold water against his face. He coughed a few times before sitting up and acknowledging the short wiry man with cold blue eyes standing at the foot of his bed, a Colt Python .357 Magnum in his right hand. Kelly immediately recognized the gun. It was his.

  “Name’s Tommy,” the man said. “Tommy Burns.”

  “Am I supposed to know you?” Kelly said.

  “I highly doubt it,” Burns said.

  It was early in the morning. Kelly had been alone in the house since his wife and three daughters left to visit family on Long Island the day before. He tried bluffing the short man with a warning about waking his daughters.

  “Not home,” Burns said. “Labor Day weekend and all.”