Sons of the City

by Scott Flander

  Then Nick came on again.

  “Pop, I’m sorry.”

  A Radio Room supervisor got on the air.

  “Anyone using Police Radio in an unauthorized manner is in violation of section five-point-eight of the Police Duty Manual …”

  “Steve, I’m sorry.”

  “… and is subject to immediate dismissal.”

  I had a foreboding, a strange sense that something else was going on here. I couldn’t get a hold on it, though, it was like trying to remember a fading dream that just slips through your mind like sand.

  I pulled up in front of the house, there was Nick’s Camaro. I grabbed my long metal flashlight, and got out and walked toward the house. The front windows were still covered with plywood, though they were now spray-painted with graffiti gibberish. When I got to the porch, I could see that the door was slightly ajar.

  “Nick,” I called. “Nick, you in there?”

  I flicked on the flashlight and used it to push the door open a few inches. I couldn’t see much, so I pushed the door harder, and as it swung open, Nick was there, pointing his gun at my head.

  “Stay away from me, Eddie,” he said, his arm shaking. He looked like he was about to cry. There was something very weird about this.

  “Let’s go, Nick,” I said.

  “No, Eddie. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “You gonna shoot me, Nick?”

  He glanced at the gun, but kept it pointed at me.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen the way it did, Eddie. I didn’t mean for anything to happen to Steve.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about, Nick?”

  “I had to do it, Eddie, I had to. Did Bravelli tell Michelle that, did he tell her that?”

  And then I knew: this is how Steve died. He opened the door and there was Nick. Just like this.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered.

  “I had to, Eddie, I told you. I’m sorry.” And he put the gun to the side of his head.

  “Nick …”

  He looked at me, but I don’t think he heard me, his eyes were locked onto mine but they were going dead. All I could think of was that he was my cousin, and I didn’t want him to die. Don’t do it, Nick, my eyes said to his eyes, don’t do it. In my mind we were on the porch of my parents’ house that Thanksgiving when I was the only person in the world that nine-year-old Nicky believed in. I could almost smell the turkey, about ready to be served, could almost hear the adults inside talking and laughing.

  Nick’s eyes were still on mine, and I could see something stir in that vast deadness. It’s me, Nicky, it’s me. Hey, after dinner I’ll show you my Playboys, you can brag about it to Chris and Matt. Remember that time you asked me why sex was such a big deal? You couldn’t ask your brothers—you certainly couldn’t ask your parents—so you came to me. Hey, Eddie, can I ask you something? Don’t tell no one I asked. When the man … puts his … you know, and the woman … well, you know, why do they like it so much?

  Do you remember what I told you? That one day you and a girl you liked at school would get together alone and you’d both take your clothes off and you’d get to find out, and it would be like opening the best Christmas present in the world.

  And I said to you, That Christmas present is out there, Nicky, just waiting.

  And you asked me if Santa was a girl, and we both laughed.

  Remember?

  “Eddie,” Nick said, but he kept the gun at his head. The floor under his feet creaked as he shifted his weight.

  Hey, Nick, remember about four years later, when you introduced me to this girl from your ninth-grade math class? You were buying her a water ice at Tina’s. She was really pretty, a sweet-looking girl, I remember she had long black hair and a white blouse and she wouldn’t let go of your arm. You said, Yo, Eddie, I want you to meet Santa.

  Suddenly the deadness disappeared from Nick’s eyes, and there were a million emotions and thoughts, his whole life, I could see it, I could see it coming out, tremendous pain, anguish, unbearable, as if he had watched from outer space as the world destroyed itself in a nuclear war, watched as every human life was extinguished.

  “Bye, Eddie.”

  “No, Nick …”

  I stepped through the doorway and swung my flashlight at his upraised arm, as hard as I could, hearing the metal crack against bone. Nick’s arm wrenched back, behind his head, but he still held on to the gun, and he tried again to put it to his head. I dropped the flashlight and grabbed his wrist with both hands, but he punched me in the jaw with his free hand, and I staggered back. I kept one hand on his wrist, and with the other punched him, and we both spun around and fell back onto the porch.

  As we fell, I tried to bang his gun arm down on the wooden floor, hoping the gun would kick out of his hand, but he still held on tight. And then he ripped his arm free and I caught a glimpse of the gun rushing toward the side of my head. There was no pain—just a flash of light, then darkness.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I awoke to Nick’s voice. He was telling a story of some sort. At first, I couldn’t get the train of what he was saying. Something about Chris and Matt and his father, something about working on a roof.

  I was sitting on the crackhouse porch, facing away from the street, my back propped up against the porch railing. Nick was sitting across from me, leaning against the front of the house, his legs drawn up. His arms were on his knees, and his hands were clasped together in front. On the floorboard next to him was his gun.

  I had a sense he had been talking for some time, that I had awakened earlier, had a conversation with him, and then had passed out again. I touched three fingers to my temple. It was wet, and there was a hell of a knot. I looked at my fingers—some blood, but not much. My head was pounding, but after a few seconds it eased up and settled into a dull headache.

  Nick was talking about the day his father died, but the story seemed different now. He and his father were on the roof. His father told him he was going into business with Bravelli, and they argued.

  “Nicky,” I said.

  He stopped, surprised at the interruption.

  “What about Steve?”

  He hesitated, and then continued his story like I had never even asked the question.

  “I’m trying to get off the roof,” he said. “I start to get on the ladder, and my father spins me around and grabs my shirt with both hands. I try pushing him away from me, but he holds on, yelling in my face. I don’t remember all that he said, but it was stuff like I was an ungrateful son of a bitch, stuff like that.”

  Nick paused. “Your dad ever call you ungrateful?”

  “Nick, what about Steve?”

  “It don’t feel too good, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Are you going to tell me what happened to Steve?”

  “I am tellin’ you.”

  “You’re talking about your father, the roof…”

  “Eddie, all I’m tellin’ you is to listen.”

  “Or what, you going to shoot yourself?”

  “I don’t know, Eddie. I thought I wanted to, but…”

  He looked at me. “I just want you to understand, Eddie. That’s why I’m tellin’ you this.”

  I didn’t say anything. He was back in his story, letting the images fill up his mind so that they had to come out. “My father is holding on to my shirt with both hands, yelling at me, and I grab his shoulders and jerk him away, make him break his grip. Then I yell back at him, ‘I don’t want to be a fuckin’ roofer. I don’t ever want to be a fuckin’ roofer!’ And then I push him away from me as hard as I can …”

  He stopped talking, I didn’t know why. How long had I been here? I glanced at my watch—almost noon. It had only been twenty minutes.

  “I shouldn’t have pushed him that hard, Eddie, I knew better. I thought he might catch himself but he falls over the edge, and I want to grab him back, I would have given anything to grab him back, but it’s too late, he’s too far away. Then I don’t see him no more. I look
over at Johnny and Ralph. They’re just staring at me.” He paused again.

  “I threw my father off the roof, Eddie. He didn’t trip, he got thrown off.”

  I just looked at Nick, I didn’t know what to say.

  He gave a little laugh. “That’s just the start of it. I come down the ladder and Bravelli bursts out the front door and says what the hell is going on. I don’t say nothing. Part of me is thinking, I just killed my father. But part of me is also thinking, I’m free. Free. Then my mind just sort of shut off.

  “I was sort of in a daze, I guess. Johnny and Ralph came down the ladder and told Bravelli I had thrown my father off the roof. Bravelli gets a funny look on his face and says he don’t want no murder investigation at his house, and for everybody to say it was an accident. He tells Johnny and Ralph it was an accident, right, Mr. Bari just fell, right, and they look at me and then back at Bravelli and then they just sort of nod.

  “I think Johnny says what about the neighbors who heard us arguing and Bravelli says he’ll take care of the neighbors. Then Bravelli looks at me and says What kind of crazy fucker are you anyway? I don’t say nothin.’ I guess I’m crying, thinkin’ of my father. Then Bravelli says, This was an accident, we’re gonna make this look like an accident. You understand? I still don’t say nothin', so now he yells it, “You understand?”

  “Someone calls Fire Rescue, and they take my father away. Kenny Northrup and Linda Ramsey from Two Squad show up to make the report, I tell them it was an accident. So that’s what they put down on the 48.

  “My mom didn’t say nothing, she just cried all the time. Chris and Matt wouldn’t leave me alone. They kept asking, What happened, how could it happen?”

  “Yeah, I remember that,” I said. The night Uncle Jimmy died, all the relatives gathered over at the Bari house. In the kitchen, Chris and Matt got in a big fight with Nick, they blamed him for letting it happen. I didn’t think it was fair, and I had stood up for Nick.

  “I wanted to tell them the truth,” Nick said, “but they would’ve never forgiven me, not in a million years. Mom probably would of died of a heart attack. Maybe I wouldn’t go to jail, maybe they would give me manslaughter and I would get probation. But my family would never speak to me again. You remember when I left the house to go for a walk?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You wouldn’t let me come with you.”

  “I walked and walked, just trying to think of what to do. I had to make a decision. I figured if everybody thought it was an accident, then I would be the only one who knew, and maybe I could lead a normal life, you know what I mean? I might feel bad about it for a long time, but at least I would still have a family.”

  Nick looked at me. “I did think about telling the truth,” he said. “That way I wouldn’t have to hold it in no more and sooner or later everything would be OK. But, you know, that was too big a chance to take. So I decided to never tell no one, and I came back home.”

  Nick was silent, and I thought his story was over. Somehow what happened with his father didn’t surprise me that much. Maybe I had suspected it all along, without really thinking about it.

  “Nick. What about Steve?”

  “I’m gettin’ to that.”

  About a week after his father died, a couple of roofers, men who had known his father for years, stopped over at the house to see how his mother was doing. On the way out, one of them asked to talk to Nick, and took him out on the porch. The man said Mickey Bravelli wanted to see Nick, and to stop by Sagiliano’s about nine.

  Nick said he didn’t like the idea of having to jump when an asshole like Bravelli said jump, but Bravelli knew the truth about his father, and Nick had to find out what he wanted.

  “When I walked into Sagiliano’s,” said Nick, “someone came up and said ‘This way,’ and I followed him into a side room. Right before we go in, he says, ‘You’re gonna have to let me hold your gun.’ I said fuck that, I ain’t givin’ up my gun. So he says, I can’t let you go in. So I say, Fuck it, and I fuckin’ leave, I just walked back outside. But I had to know what Bravelli wanted. So I went back in and gave this jerkoff my gun.

  “OK, so I went into the back room and there’s a few tables, but only one was being sat at, by Bravelli and Frankie Canaletto. Bravelli said to sit down and he asked me whether I wanted a beer. I said no, I don’t want no beer.

  “Bravelli told me he was sorry about my father and was I planning to take over the business. I said no, we were going to shut it down and sell the trucks and other equipment. Bravelli said that wouldn’t be possible. I asked him why not. He said my father and him were partners, and now that my father was dead, he was the sole owner of the business. I just looked at him and I was thinking, what a fuckin’ parasite.

  “I said, ‘You didn’t give him no money,’ And he says, ‘Not yet, but we had an agreement, and an agreement is an agreement.’ I said, ‘Bullshit, that won’t hold up in court.’

  “So he says, ‘This ain’t going to fuckin’ court. Nothing I ever do goes to court.’

  “I told him my mother needed the money, and he said he don’t fuckin’ care. So I said, ‘You motherfucker,’ and I stood up and threw a punch at him. Canaletto caught my arm and twisted it back and then he punched me in the stomach. I kept my balance and I was getting ready to charge both of them when three guys who had been at the bar piled into the room. I couldn’t fight all five.

  “Bravelli says ‘Sit down.’ He was fuckin’ ordering me. He says ‘There’s one more thing I want to tell you. About what happened to your father.’ I sat back down. The three guys went back to the bar. Then Bravelli says, ‘Just so you know, if you ever take a swing at me again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.’

  “So I said, ‘Bullshit, even you wouldn’t kill a cop.’ Bravelli laughs and turns to Canaletto and they both fuckin’ laugh. I couldn’t see what was so fuckin’ funny. Then the asshole says, ‘I’ve decided we’re going to have to tell the truth about your father.’ He said he talked to Johnny and Ralph and told them to go to the police to say that I had thrown my father off the roof.

  “I said, ‘I thought you didn’t want no investigation.’

  “So Bravelli says, ‘Somebody died at my mother’s house, the police might still think it’s me, maybe I had something to do with it. I figure, why should that be on me. You’re the one who killed him. It should be on you.’

  “I told him I wanted to keep that quiet, and he said, ‘Oh. I’m sure you do. But I don’t fuckin’ care.’ I hated to have to plead to this dirtbag, but I didn’t have no choice.

  “I told him that if this comes out, my family will never talk to me again, and I might as well just leave town and never come back. So he says ‘You’d do anything to keep it quiet, right?’

  “That’s when I knew he was fuckin’ setting me up, Eddie. The whole thing was a fuckin’ setup. I asked him what he wanted. He smiled, like, Now we can get down to business.

  “He asked me about Steve. Did I know Steve Ryder. I said yeah I know him, he’s my partner. Bravelli says, ‘We got a problem with this Steve Ryder. We want you to take care of him.’

  Nick’s story had finally led to Steve. And then I realized, this is all one story. It’s all connected.

  Nick said he asked Bravelli what kind of problem it was. Bravelli told him it wasn’t any of his business. “I said to Bravelli, ‘What do you mean, take care of him?’ He said, ‘You know,’ and he held his hand like it was a gun, and he pointed it at me, and he went ‘Pow.’ I told him he was fuckin’ crazy if he thought I was going to kill another cop. So Bravelli says ‘If you take care of this Ryder, I’ll do you a favor. I’ll personally guarantee no one will ever know that you were the one that fuckin’ killed your father. You won’t have to get run out of town, you can stay a cop, you can have a nice Christmas with your family.’

  “I hadn’t drunk no beer, but I felt like I had. Then Bravelli says he’ll do me another favor. He’ll give me my father’s business, free and clear. I said, ‘That ain’t your fu
ckin’ business to begin with,’ and he said, ‘We went through that already, Nick. What I want is mine. What I don’t want, isn’t mine. It’s as simple as that.’

  “That fuckin’ asshole, I looked at him, and he just looked back, like he already knew what I was going to do, and was just waiting, patient, for me to tell him. I looked over at Canaletto. He was drinking a beer, he was actin’ like he was bored. And then a sort of funny thing happened, it’s hard to explain it. I actually thought for a moment of what it would be like to kill Steve. And as soon as I thought it, I knew I could do it. You know what I mean?

  “In my mind I pictured driving with Steve to Dogshit Park or somewhere and then us getting out of a car and me just shooting him. But then what? How could I make it look like someone else did it?”

  Nick paused to see how I’d react. And I must have had a strange expression on my face, because he said, “Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin', too. Here I am not worried about killing Steve, I’m worried about gettin’ away with it. And Bravelli, he’s lookin’ at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinkin'. It was weird, Eddie. But then I caught myself. What the fuck am I thinkin'? I can’t kill Steve.

  “So I decide that maybe Bravelli’s bluffing about having everyone tell the truth about my father, you know, it’s all bullshit. At least I have to give it a shot. So I stand up and push my chair back and say I ain’t killing nobody. Do what you got to do.

  “So now Bravelli turns to Canaletto and says, ‘Yo, Frankie, go ahead and get ‘em now.’ I looked at Bravelli. What was he going to do, get someone to kill me right there? I thought, Fuck him. So Canaletto gets up and walks out of the room, and about a minute later he comes back with Johnny and Ralph. They both look pretty nervous. Bravelli says, ‘I just been telling Nick here what we’re all gonna have to do. I just want everybody to know, so there won’t be no hard feelings. You guys tell Nick what you’re going to do tomorrow morning. Go ahead.’

  “Johnny shrugs his shoulders and says, ‘Me and Ralph are going down to Police Headquarters and telling them what happened. Sorry, Nick.’ He didn’t want to look me in the eye.