“But it’s your money. It was all you had, and that fucking Lonzo, he’s a crook. He had a fucking gun!”
Kenny covered his eyes with the bills and groaned. “Lonzo’s a trooper, Norm. He’s a fucking state trooper!”
The next morning the crew was in high spirits. Jarden Greene had come down to the truck barn with coffee and doughnuts for everyone. Norm was relieved when Kenny sat next to him on the bench. He’d been awake most of the night, replaying in agonizing detail every stupid move of his life—getting thrown off the baseball team, beating up Billy Hendricks, getting slobbering drunk with Janice Miller, and then last night. Jesus, it was like having this crazy jack-in-the-box tucked in his brain. And right when it seemed things couldn’t get any better, out he’d spring to screw everything all up.
“Here,” Kenny said, offering him another doughnut.
Norm thanked him. He ate it in miserable silence, awaiting his bitter pill. And as sure as he knew Kenny he knew it was coming: Kenny would insist that the money be returned to Lonzo, which he’d already made up his mind to do, with or without Kenny, but in his most optimistic scenario it was the two of them meeting Lonzo somewhere by the side of the road, sitting in the trooper’s cruiser, telling it straight, black and white, no excuses, just the facts, setting it right like a man. Jesus, it wasn’t easy, learning this all on his own, not from any father or uncle, but from so much constant watching and listening that sometimes he felt like a goddamn spy out here in the world, an actor in constant rehearsal for the big performance.
Kenny and Whitey Martin were laughing at Jarden Greene’s khaki shirt.
“How many fucking pockets he got in that shirt?” asked Martin under his breath.
“When’s the fucking safari starting, that’s what I want to know,” Ed Jessing said as Greene headed out to the trucks.
The men hurried to finish their coffee. Kenny stood up. “Butt?” He held out his pack. Norm took one and Kenny lit it for him. He took a deep drag. Now, he told himself. Have some balls. Say it now.
“Hey, Kenny,” he called, as Kenny started for the door. “You know last night, what I did with the money and everything, well, I want you to know—”
Kenny gripped his shoulder hard at Whitey Martin’s approach. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, but I—”
“Forgotten!”
“Yah, but—”
“Didn’t happen.” Kenny snapped his fingers. “A little amnesia goes a long way, kid.” He winked. “A long, safe way.”
They piled into two trucks, with Jarden Greene in the lead cab, his arm out the window, his smooth head gleaming through the dusty glass. The heat prickled Norm’s face and it felt good. The men squinted into the early-morning sun as the old trucks lumbered through town. Horns tooted here and there and people waved from the sidewalks. When a worker spotted a buddy, he called out his name, “Hey Bopper,” and everyone on the truck hollered the name after him. “Hey Bop…How’s it going, Bopper!” Norm smiled. These were good men, and Kenny was the best of the bunch.
In the distance a man turned the corner. He was slightly built, but the familiar hunch of his tense shoulders was like seeing a reflection. He wore coveralls and he carried a black lunchpail. Norm was relieved at the steady stride. The trucks came alongside, and none of the men called out, though many had known Sam Fermoyle all their lives.
“Didn’t you see him?” Kenny called over the creaking rumble.
“Huh?” Norm looked up, then back at Kenny.
“Your father. He was waving at you,” Kenny said.
“Where? Oh, I didn’t see him,” Norm said, craning his neck now, peering back into the distance.
“I figured you didn’t,” Kenny said, watching him.
As they came up the hill toward the park, Joey was outside his stand stacking soda cases. When he saw them, he hurried inside, fumbling to padlock the door behind him. The lead truck drove over the curb onto the sidewalk and parked in front of the stand. Jarden Greene jumped out and stood talking to Joey. Both men’s arms were folded, their expressions grim. In the trucks the crews leaned over the sides, watching.
“He’s not doing what I think he’s doing,” Whitey Martin said as Greene held out a typed form that Joey refused to take.
“Sure looks like it,” said Jessing.
Greene kept stabbing his finger at Joey’s face as he tried to make his point.
“Little asshole better watch out,” said Charlie Rideros. “Joey’s liable to plug him.”
“They already took his gun. Sonny’s got it,” said Whitey Martin. His nephew was Jimmy Heinze, the cop.
“That’s too bad,” said Jessing.
Joey’s voice rose angrily as he kept insisting his dealings were with the town and not with Greene, who had no jurisdiction here and no power over him.
“You’re in violation. You’ve been condemned!” Again Greene shook the paper. “And this permit allows me to raze this…this structure!” Greene cried, shaking a cornerpost so that the whole stand shook.
“Get the hell outta here, Greene, I’m warning you,” Joey said, raising his fist.
“Holy shit,” groaned Kenny as Greene reached up and pulled down the faded red-and-white sign with its popped kernels that the elements had muted to fluffy little clouds. The signboard swung on one nail, back and forth, as if timing the moment of shocked silence between the two men. Across the street the pharmacy door opened and Marco came onto the steps wiping his hands on a white towel.
Joey shouted that his lease wasn’t up until next spring.
“Lease! You broke the lease!” Greene hooted. “And so now there is no lease!”
Norm looked at Kenny, who was lighting a cigarette. “How’d he break the lease?”
“By letting the place get like that,” said Kenny with a nod.
“But that’s not fair. Greenie wouldn’t let us fix it!” Norm sputtered. “And Joey couldn’t. Jesus, he was blind!”
“And now he can see,” said Whitey with a shrug. “Amen.”
“Well, he’s still blind as far as I’m concerned,” said Leo softly.
“Yah!” said Norm. “That’s right!”
“I heard it ain’t that much sight he’s got back, anyway,” said Charlie Rideros.
“Yah,” said Norm. “That’s what I heard, too!” He hadn’t heard anything of the kind, but Joey needed all the help he could get.
“He’s nothing but an asshole,” Kenny said, turning his back on the argument below. Norm turned, too. Good. Let Greenie know how everyone felt.
“Uh-oh! Here we go!” warned Jessing.
Jarden Greene was ordering them down from the trucks.
“Where they going?” Norm asked Kenny as the men climbed out, one by one, slowly.
“C’mon!” Kenny snapped, then jumped onto the street.
The last man in the truck, Norm paused, then jumped out. “Hi, Joey,” he said when he was next to the stand, but Joey stared fiercely past him, his chin trembling as Greene ordered the entire stand dismantled. The men stood in a half circle, their eyes on the ground.
Greene clapped his hands. “There’s a job to be done, men, so let’s get to it!”
Not a man moved. Norm chewed his lip to hide his glee. Forget it, Greenie.
“What? Was there some kind of vote or something?” asked Charlie Rideros.
“The aldermen’s meeting last night. They want him out of here. That was the vote, so out he goes!” Greene swiped his hands together, as if wiping them of dust.
“But what’ll he do?” asked Kenny. “You’re asking us to tear down a man’s livelihood.”
“Yah!” said Jessing. “A man’s livelihood. Yah!”
“Livelihood! Let me tell you something.” Greene stepped closer. “That old buzzard has made more money off that stand than all of us put together. He’s loaded and don’t let anybody tell you different.”
“Jesus,” Kenny said, shaking his head. “I’ve known Joey all my life. We all have.”
Greene was growing impatient. They had no choice. They were town employees, and the town fathers wanted this eyesore removed. Besides, he confided, again stepping closer, they’d be doing Joey a favor. The old man was out of control, carrying a gun and shooting people. Robert Haddad was still in the hospital.
A bank robber, Norm expected someone to point out, but no one did. They sighed and fumbled in their pockets and scratched heads and, muttering, dug their boot toes into the ground. Norm clenched his teeth. Never had he felt prouder. This was guts and he was privileged to be part of it.
“What?” asked Greene, looking each man in the eye. “You think you’re going to tell me no, and then what? You’re just gonna pile back on the truck and that’s it? Uh-uh. You can tell me no, but then you’re done. As long as you understand that, then you can do whatever the hell you want.” He turned and rushed at the stand, yanking the stilled sign from its nail. He tossed it into the back of the truck, then raced back to face them. There was a crowbar in his hand. Again he ordered them to work, but no one moved. “It’s not worth it!” he warned, so angry he was panting. “Take my word for it!” He raced toward the stand, and it sickened Norm the way Joey flinched, shoulder and arm raised as if to ward off a blow.
Greene rammed the crowbar into the counter, then pried up a board with a squeal of wrenched nails. Joey reached for the board, but Greene threw it down. Now he banged on the cornerpost, trying to loosen the crosshatch of braced boards. One by one he tossed them to the ground, and then the roof began to sag.
Norm couldn’t believe they could just stand there watching this pathetic scene. “Somebody’s got to do something!” he said to Kenny, who sighed.
“Jesus Christ,” said Whitey Martin, stepping forward. “Come on, Joey. This has gone far enough now. Get the hell out of there now before you get hurt.” He was kicking the locked door.
“Bastards!” Joey sobbed, his shoulder against the quaking door. “You’re all no-good bastards!”
The sight of the old man, straining, pushing with all his might, was hideous. Greene was ripping out the rotted wood below the counter.
“Leave him alone!” Norm yelled, amazed to find himself trying to pull Whitey Martin away from the door, but the huge man just pushed him aside. “Don’t make it worse,” Whitey warned.
“He’s an old man! He’s not hurting anybody!” he was yelling when Greene grabbed his arm and spun him around.
“You’re fired! You hear me, Fermoyle? You’re done! Dead! Get outta here,” Greene said with a shove that sent him skidding.
“You son of a bitch,” he bellowed, with a lunge that knocked Greene to the ground. There were no blows thrown, just grunting and wrestling as Greene tried to free himself.
“Get off him, you stupid shit!” barked Kenny as he and Jessing yanked him to his feet.
“Call the police! Somebody call the police!” Greene screamed.
“What’re you, nuts?” Kenny said, pushing him back as he strained to get to Greene again.
“He can’t do that!” Norm panted.
“He’s the boss, and he can do whatever the hell he wants, kid.”
“He’s an asshole!” he called over Kenny’s shoulder. “A pompous little asshole!”
“Jesus Christ, you don’t get it, do you?” Kenny growled, grabbing his arm. “Just get the hell outta here!”
He couldn’t believe it. They were getting their tools out of the trucks. Whitey Martin had his arm on Greene’s shoulder, placating him in a low anxious voice. Greene gestured toward Norm. “Aw, he’s just a fuckup like his old man,” Martin said. Charlie Rideros had climbed over the counter and was trying to get Joey out of the stand. Kenny picked up Greene’s crowbar and began to tear the metal sheeting from the roof. None of the men would look at Norm. His eyes boiled with tears. As he hurried down the hill all he could hear was the wrenching of boards and the thud of impact as they were thrown faster and faster into the truck.
He kept kicking the same stone along the sidewalk. Just a fuckup like his old man, but at least he’d tried. He was sick of cowards, and looking the other way, and always turning the other fucking cheek. He ran, then kicked the stone so hard it flew from sight. He kept running. Everything had gotten so goddamn weird. He thought of his mother giggling at Duvall’s jokes, then sobbing in the bathroom when he didn’t come. Benjy and all his weird little secrets and Alice slipping from room to room, afraid to show her face. They were trapped and he would not be. He would not be trapped. Never again would he be called Sam Fermoyle’s fuckup son. He looked up, startled to see the mountains. The goddamn mountains, he thought, suddenly overwhelmed by this need to rid himself of her, of all of them, to be as sisterless, and brotherless, and motherless as he had been, for the last ten of his sixteen years, fatherless.
He darted out between two cars, and horns tooted as he ran across the street. He paused at the post office, then turned and ran down the alley behind the fruit store. There it was, Duvall’s Cadillac. He was up there again. Overhead the dismal curtained windows reflected the fire escape of the opposite asphalt-sided building. He kicked a large rock by the cellar door until it was dislodged. It was heavy, but as he reared back he was tall enough and strong enough to hurl it sailing, sailing right straight through the shattering glass of Bernadette’s window.
He left the alley at a deliberate pace. He would not run or hesitate. From now on, this was how it would be. As people approached he hailed those he recognized in a sure voice whether they acknowledged him or not, and to all the rest he called, “Hello! Hi there! How’re you doing! Beautiful day, isn’t it?” even though the sky had thickened to a mass of white clouds so dense there was no sun.
It was the day her mother had been waiting for, the day the soap was coming. Even though it was Saturday her mother was dressed in her office clothes, skirt and blouse, her dark hair waved back from her face. She wore bright red lipstick and she couldn’t stop smiling. Every time a car came up the street she ran to the window.
Alice had just set up the ironing board. This was her first night back at work. Her mother had talked Coughlin into taking her back. She told him Alice had been sick, “Which you have been,” she said when she hung up. “You’ve been sick and now you’re better.” Just like that. Smile and it goes away. Smile and no one knows. Alice wet her finger and touched the iron. She heard the hiss but felt nothing, which was the only way she could do it, pass in the glare of their headlights with them calling out to her, hiding their trays, yanking her apron strings, so many ugly things and people reaching out to drag their fingers through her insides, mingling their foulness with hers. She ran the iron lightly over the black nylon pants. The steam smelled of Joe. No, not him, not soap or school or anything; better grayness without love or pain or shame, with only this dull tightness at the back of her brain like an old impacted tooth.
“What time is it?” Norm hollered into the kitchen again. They were supposed to help unload the truck.
“Three,” Benjy told him. He went back into the living room.
“Three! When’s it coming?” Norm called. “I’ve been sitting here all day waiting.”
“You can keep on waiting,” her mother called. “Because you’re not going anywhere!”
He had been grounded ever since Jarden Greene’s call to say Norm had assaulted him.
“Hey, Mom, what do you think happened?” Norm said, coming into the kitchen. “You think maybe he got lost or something?” He didn’t even try to hide his pleasure.
“He’s just held up somewhere. Business is like that. There’s always a catch somewhere along the line.”
“What if he doesn’t come?” Norm asked.
“If he’s held up much longer, I’m sure he’ll call,” her mother said.
“No, I mean, what if he takes off? What if he doesn’t ever come?” He stared at her.
She tried to laugh. “Well, why would he do that? You know this isn’t just my big opportunity, Norm, it’s Omar’s, too. I mean, the man
has spent how many weeks, months now, on this, so he’s not about to just let the whole thing fall apart.”
“Why not? He’s got your money! What else does he need?”
She looked startled. “It’s not just the money, Norm.” She got up and went to the window again. “Omar and I…we’re…we’re thinking about getting married.”
“What?” Norm gasped.
“You heard me,” her mother said.
Alice was folding up the ironing board. She could feel her brother’s eyes on her, but he was there, and she was here. She could not be part of it. She unplugged the cord and bound it around the iron, tightly, every movement spare and controlled, breath, even thoughts, issuing in measured segments. Don’t yell, don’t fight, not now with the veil so thin.
There was rumbling out on the street. A large white panel truck was backing into the driveway.
“It’s here!” her mother called over the window-rattling roar. “It’s here!” Turning in a little circle, she ran her fingers through her hair, then daintily wiped the corners of her mouth. She tucked in her blouse, tugged her skirt straight.
“Yah, but they’re in Klubocks’ driveway,” Benjy called from the back hall door.
“Klubocks’ driveway?” her mother repeated, stupefied. She hurried to the window.
“Mr. Klubock’s opening his garage doors. There’s some guy with Omar.” Benjy leaned farther out. “It’s that hood Mooney.”
“What’s he doing?” her mother asked in a faint voice as she watched Omar and Mooney pass cartons down from the back of the truck to Harvey Klubock, who carried them into his garage. “He said he wouldn’t sell it to them. I can’t believe he’s doing this.”
Alice couldn’t believe it, either. Not him, not Mooney, not now, on top of everything else. It was almost funny, really. Her life was turning into a crazy newsreel with everyone moving too fast and speaking in high-pitched scratchy voices. How had Mooney ended up with Omar? Any minute now Joe would show up with Nora Hinds and the Monsignor. Her father would stagger down the street with his arm around Anthology Carper. Mr. Coughlin and Lester would pull in on Mooney’s motorcycle. Norm would be punching Harvey Klubock while Jessie screamed at Alice to do something, anything, but don’t just stand there.
Songs in Ordinary Time Page 71
