by Garry Ryan
Scout lifted her left paw.
Ernie reached down and took it in his hand. The calloused pads felt sandpaper cool against his palm. “She’s always complaining about her asthma and emphysema, then she smokes.”
Scout barked once.
“And she’s always bad mouthing Nonno.”
The dog leaned into the leash.
Ernie dropped to one knee, stuffed a thumb into the back of one running shoe and pulled it over his heel. Switching feet, he repeated the procedure.
Scout pressed her nose against his.
Ernie stood and wiped the back of his hand across his face. The sun dragged its fingernails along his neck.
Walking side by side, they passed hedges, dodged sprinklers and savoured the shade under trees.
Ernie glanced up the lawn to the brown screen door of a cream coloured bungalow. It was a glance as practiced and automatic as putting one foot ahead of the other. He saw the picture window, then his eyes moved on to the two smaller bedroom windows. He tried to guess which one was Lesley’s and hoped for a glimpse of her red hair. Lesley had grown up in that house. She had sat with Ernie in his grandfather’s living room and watched television for two glorious hours.
Another flashback felt like a blow to Ernie’s ribs. There was the knife blade at the bridge of his nose. Stainless steel was written on metal freshly licked by a whetstone. Uncle Bob Swatsky’s thick fingers probed him. Then Ernie heard, “I’ll cut your friggin’ nose off if you don’t’ . . . ” The whisper was as cold as the knife.
Is this what it’ll be like from now on? Flashbacks of Bob crowding in on me? Ernie thought. Scout pulled him forward.
Up ahead, he spotted the Italian flag on the bumper of his grandfather’s red Dodge van. Next to the flag was ‘I’, a heart and Italia. Inside the sidewalk, a two meter high hedge created a green wall around three sides of the front yard. Ernie followed Scout through a gap in the hedge. On the other side, two spruce trees stood 15 meters high. Their branches touched. Scout turned left. Ernie reached over the white fence and opened the latch. Stepping down four stairs, he released the leash and lifted the branch of a raspberry bush. Thumb sized berries hid there. Ernie closed his eyes and remembered the calluses of his father’s hand, then his own thumb and forefinger picking the berries offered during long ago summers.
Deeper in the yard, next to the fence, a Cinzanno umbrella dropped a circle of shade over a table and three chairs. In one chair, with her back to him, wearing a pizza pan sized white straw hat and nothing else, sat the love doll. Her flesh was a healthy pink, her hair platinum blond and all of her nails were painted red.
“Nonno?” Ernie said. He leaned forward, looked over the back step and around the corner of the house. His grandfather was on hands and knees, fingers guiding an orange marigold from its green plastic pot into a hollow dug in the loam at the edge of the garden. The back of Nonno’s red and green T-shirt didn’t quite meet up with his green cotton pants. A plumber’s crack ran at right angles to his belt. Scout, trailing the snake of her leash, pranced up behind.
Ernie raised his right hand to signal the dog to stop. She paid no attention. Her nose had caught the scent of salt and sweat. Scout’s tongue slipped out and traveled along the crack from belt buckle to shirt.
“Son a ma bitch!” Scout backed away with her tail tucked. The marigold was launched into the air. Nonno threw his arms out to catch it but it was too far away. He fell face first into nasturtiums, marigolds and freshly turned earth.
Ernie felt something shift inside of him. A release of the tightness around his heart. For an moment he felt free of dread.
Nonno backed out of the garden. Keys and coins sang in the old man’s pocket as he ran across the yard. “Ernie!”
The boy looked up to see his grandfather’s nose blocking the sun. The old man’s eyes were as brown as the soil on his hands.
“Ernie!” Nonno’s fingers gripped the boy’s shoulders.
Through the tears in Ernie’s eyes, Nonno swam and laughter erupted in painful sobs. Ernie pointed helplessly at Nonno, “You. . . . You.”
“Son a ma bitch.” The old man gripped the brim of his ball cap and slapped it against his thigh.
Ernie leaned back, laughing at the sky.
“You gotta watch that goddamn dog! Give me a friggin’ heart attack!” Nonno jammed fists onto hips and cocked his head so the boy saw a thicket of hair inside each of his grandfather’s nostrils.
Ernie wiped a sleeve across his eyes, “You looked so funny.” He laughed some more.
“Good to hear you laughing.”
The boy wiped a sleeve across his eyes.
“You want some wine?”
Ernie nodded.
Nonno turned.
A bee flew too close to Scout. She launched herself, hung in the air, curled back her lips and bit down on the bug. It spun to the ground. The dog pounced.
“How come she does that?” Nonno said as he opened the screen door, stamped the earth from his shoes and stepped out of them.
“Maybe cause she never gets stung,” Ernie said while pulling up a chair across from the doll. His eyes fell to the line of shadow running across the tops of her breasts where darker colours circled nipples. He crossed his legs, feeling the pressure of an erection.
“Say hello to your Nonna.” Nonno stepped out the back door with index finger and thumb stuck into two glasses. The other hand held a wine bottle.
Shame and a strange kind of revulsion hit Ernie low in the belly. He looked at the old man and tilted his head to the left.
“Go on.” Nonno set three glasses on the table. “Say hello to your Nonna, your grandmother.”
“Hello, Nonna.”
Nonno smiled and filled both glasses. Ernie caught the wine’s rich scent and remembered the weekend they’d spent carrying, sorting and pressing the grapes down in the basement where the air remained thick with fermentation. Grandfather held his glass up, allowing the sun to shine through the red. “Almost one year old.” Nonno took a sip and smiled.
Ernie drank, catching the faint promise of the future at the tip of the tongue and the back of the throat.
“Good for the heart.” The old man slapped a palm against his ribs then lifted his cap and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. “A hot one, today.”
“The police are at Nanny’s. What’s going on?”
Nonno’s eyes, deep set behind sagging skin, locked onto the boy. Then he looked at the doll. A breeze wiped blonde hair across her face. Her blue eyes appeared to be focused on Scout. The dog was on her back attempting to catch her tail. Nonna’s elbows rested on the arms of the chair, her hands open, thumbs angled away from fingers. “Your grandmother and I got it all figured out.”
Ernie sipped at his wine and tried to avoid looking at her perfect breasts.
“Nonna tells me, ‘The boy has his whole life ahead of him. Up to us to protect the boy.’ That’s what she says to me.”
“But . . . ” Ernie began.
The old man held up his hand to halt conversation. “Drink your wine.” He pointed at the doll before pointing at himself, “Let us take care of the rest.”
Ernie spotted the SWATSKY’S FORD logo. It was veiled by a layer of mustard coloured dust collected at the rear of the grey Taurus. On the bumper, a blue sticker warned, THIS VEHICLE INSURED BY SMITH AND WESSON.
Scout growled.
Ernie’s mouth turned dry. He studied the men inside. They sat in the front seats. Their shoulders came within a finger’s width of touching. The back of the driver’s head was like wet, black plastic. Heat rose off the roof and made the air waver.
A cigarette arced out the nearest window and landed near Scout’s nose. The butt rolled and caught in a crack in the cement.
The shock of Scout’s lunge almost turned Ernie’s elbow inside out. She hit the end of the leash. Bent at the waist, he stumbled behind her, struggling to rein her in. Scout rose up on her hind legs only centimeters from the open passenger window.
The tanned elbow of the man in the passenger’s seat disappeared inside of the car. “What the hell?”
Ernie leaned back, reeled in the dog, and ended up sitting on the grass looking through the window at the passenger and driver. He grabbed Scout’s collar with his right hand. The dog’s rage telegraphed its way to Ernie’s fingers. He stood up, then his mouth fell open when he saw the driver leaning forward. A gun flopped forward against the satin lining of his grey sports coat. “What’s your problem, kid?” His face was round as a pizza. Ernie counted four chins. The guy in the passenger seat was bald.
“Nothin’,” Ernie said. He pulled Scout away from the car. Sweat rolled down his ribs. He looked at the men through the windshield and studied the passenger whose eyebrows seemed to form one line.
“What you lookin’ at?” The man leaned his head out the passenger window. Scout snarled.
Ernie smelled a mixture of sweat and garlic seeping out from inside the car. “Come on.” He dragged Scout across the street. Her nails clawed the pavement as she fought to get at the two men. Ernie pulled her onto the driveway. At the gate, he released her collar and she ran, tail high, around to the back of the house. She pranced up the stairs and onto the deck. He followed along the side of the house, past the brick of the chimney and onto the deck.
Lane said, “So, I’ll probably be back in a day or two with more questions.”
“Not much I can do about that,” Nanny said.
“I think we made some progress today,” Lane said.
The screen door slid open and Lane looked at Ernie. “You okay, Ernie? You look a little pale.”
Ernie opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to ask about the men and the pistol. Then he recalled all of the questions in the hospital. Probing questions. “Where exactly did your Uncle put his hands? Was there penetration? Did he put his penis in your mouth?” Ernie closed his mouth.
“Bye.” Lane stepped past.
Ernie caught the scent of berries in the detective’s shampoo and soap.
“See ya girl.” The policeman leaned over and scratched Scout’s chin. She licked his hand in reply.
Ernie listened to the sound of Lane’s shoes as he walked along the side of the house and opened the gate.
“You comin’ in?” Nanny said.
“Yes, Nanny.” Ernie heard the sarcasm in his voice but it was too late to take it back.
“Don’t you be smart with me.”
He put his nose against the screen. “I . . . ”
Scout barked and ran to the side of the house.
“It’s the wop in you. I warned your mother about this.”
Ernie felt anger running in his belly.
“I told your mother it’d be like this if she ever had kids. Told her my brother was killed in Italy during the war. He used to write home about the people there. Said the women were whores and the men weren’t much better. It’s in the blood. Told Beth she’d have nothin’ but pain if she married the wop!”
Rage formed the words for Ernie. “If it wasn’t for you . . . ”
Scout barked again.
The door bell rang.
“Get the door,” Nanny said. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be in jail.”
“Better than living with you.” He opened the screen and stepped through. Scout followed.
“What’d you say?”
Ernie stepped past, feeling himself balanced on the edge of a precipice. On one side were all of the words he wanted to say. All of the words his grandmother would never forget. On the other side was surrender. The choice his mother had made.
“Goddamn Stampede around here,” Nanny said, following them to the front door.
Turning away from her, Ernie moved down the hallway. He grabbed the door knob. Scout was at the window, her nose nudging the curtains aside. Ernie opened the door.
Scout growled.
The two men, their shoulders close together, looked like the front line of a geriatric football team. A pair of bellies curved and fell out between suspenders. The bald one wore a blue golf shirt. Round Face still wore his grey jacket over a blue golf shirt.
“We’re here to ask some questions about Robert Swatsky,” Round Face said.
Ernie felt Scout’s nose push between his calves. She barked and squirmed outside. Her teeth were bared. There was a hollow thump as Round Face’s square toed boot met her ribs. She yelped once before collapsing at the boy’s feet. “You bastards!” Ernie said and crouched to put his hands on her side. He felt her ribs rise as she struggled to breathe. She whimpered when he found the place where she’d been kicked.
“What you two doing here?” Nanny said.
Ernie looked over his shoulder at her.
“Friggin’ dog came after us!” Round Face said.
Ernie began to straighten up. Fear was replaced by an anger so deep he almost remembered where he’d felt it once before. He crouched, left foot ahead of right, keeping his knees and elbows bent the way he’d been taught. His fists were clenched tight against his ribs.
“Ernie!” Nanny said. “No more of that goddamned karate!”
He took a step forward. The men looked at one another. Round Face moved his right hand inside his jacket.
“Ernie! For Christ’s sake, no!”
He took another step.
“Ernie!” Come here!” Nanny gripped the back of his shirt. Ernie turned to her.
“Stick with Granny, boy,” Round Face said.
Nanny reached out and grabbed the muscle running from Ernie’s neck to his shoulder. He leaned his head into the pain. She looked at the two men, “You’re Bob’s buddies.”
“We’re private investigators.” Round Face stuck his right thumb in behind a suspender.
“Bull shit! You’re Lester,” she said to Round Face then pointed at baldy, “You’re Marvin. I bet the two of you are lookin’ for Bob and his money. I remember you tried to put the scare into me when my Judy ran away.”
“You’re crazy,” Lester said before glancing at his brother.
Nanny stepped toward them. “Where’s my Judy?”
“How the hell would we know?”
“I swore after you two and Bob messed up my family, I’d never let anyone do that again.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“What can you do about it?” Lester’s smile revealed a gold crown.
“Ever seen what happens when fire and oxygen mix?” She moved a step closer to them.
They stepped back. “You always were a crazy bitch.” Lester put his hands out front to push her away.
“Still am.” She opened the cigarette package and lifted out a red lighter.
“We’re not afraid of you!” Lester said over his shoulder while backing away. “You and your wop grandson!”
“Come close to me or mine again and I’ll . . . ” she pulled the oxygen tubes over her head, dropped them to the ground, put a smoke between her lips and lit. “ . . . burn the pair of you.”
Ernie and Nanny watched as the brothers hurried across the street and opened the doors of the Ford.
“Took me a while to figure out that the reason those two are always trying to scare other people is ‘cause they’re chicken.” She pointed the cigarette at the retreating pair. “When somebody like that is always trying to scare you, it means there’s a good chance they’re afraid.”
“Just like Bob,” Ernie said.
“That’s right.” She put the cigarette to her lips. “I’m gonna make a fresh pot of coffee. Want a cup?”
CHAPTER THREE
“I just can’t cope with it!” Nanny’s voice spit words like a router spit wood.
Beth felt the slick white meat of potato in her palm as she peeled. She thought, Remember that time you almost cut your finger off? So much blood in the sink. Water turning from pink to red. The white skin of the potato painted by blood. What had Mom been saying? ‘If you run away like your sister, it’ll kill me.’ The doctor said the words
the day after Beth’s 13th birthday. Nanny never forgot them and reminded Beth whenever . . .
“Ernie, his pervert grandfather, the police and Bob’s tough friends. Any more of this’ll kill me! Are you listening to me?” Nanny said.
Beth sliced the potato in half, dropped the pair into the pot and watched them sink. “Yes.”
“What did I say then?”
“Ernie, his pervert grandfather, the police and Bob’s tough friends. Any more of this’ll kill me.” Beth wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead. Through her reflection in the window, she watched Ernie picking up Scout’s turds in the back yard.
She saw her reflection superimposed around the boy and said, “Middle-aged, recently divorced, living with Mom.”
“What’d you say?”
“Nothing.” She picked up another potato. The pot began to boil.
“Speak up! I’m deaf you know!” Nanny leaned to pick up her smokes.
Christ, she’s gonna blow us up, Beth thought. “It’s beautiful out. Why not go outside on the deck?”
“It’s my house and I’ll do what I damned well please!”
Scout’s nose peeked out from under the table. Beth said, “How are you doing, girl?” Scout’s nose lifted and she crawled forward.
“I told you, I can’t cope anymore!” Nanny said.
“Feeling more like yourself?” Beth said to Scout.
“No! Haven’t you been listening?” Nanny stabbed the air with an unlit cigarette.
“I think we should call the police.”
“Police couldn’t help when they took my Judy away.”
Nanny took a breath. “Police couldn’t help when they broke into the store.” Leona lifted a Kleenex out of the box.
“Police couldn’t help when they slashed my tires.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Police couldn’t stop the nasty phone calls.” Her right hand shook. She reached for the lighter. “Police couldn’t help when they turned my Judy against me.” The lighter flared.
Feet pounded the deck. “Hey!” Ernie said.
The tags around Scout’s neck clinked together. She whined to get outside.
“Do I have to do everything around here?” Nanny leaned and opened the sliding door.
