by Thomas Pluck
Tony stared down an empty road that wasn’t there. “Lost one of my boys, too. Asked the nurse if they could give me an electrical testicle. She smiled.” He hunched in a silent laugh and grimaced in pain.
“That’s why God gave you two,” Jay said. “Remember that? Lee Marvin, The Big Red One?”
“So this is what heroes feel like. Nurse said I got tons of flowers,” he said. “Can’t keep them in here. Ma gave them to the seniors’ home. You know, the one by the school that smells like feet.” He fell back, eyes half-lidded. “Who’s watching the shop?”
“The cops are going over everything. I’m staying at your place.” Jay leaned in close. “I found what you were working on. Took care of it, in case the police come by.”
Tony fluttered his eyelids. “I’m sorry, pallie. I just…no matter what I do, I know what they all think of me. I’m the fat fuck Joey Bello pissed on.” He covered his face with one big hand. “I wanted them to know how much it hurts.”
Jay looked away as Tony wiped his eyes.
“You still going to the reunion?”
“Gonna raise some hell.”
“You show ’em,” Tony said. “Fuckin’ show ’em what a piece of shit Joey was. They have to know.”
“I swear,” Jay said, and squeezed Tony’s hand.
He stayed until Tony faded into sleep. When the nurse asked him who he was, he said he was his brother.
Jay made a final tour through town on the night of the reunion. Passed the dump where they first met Joey Bello, the font of Tony’s baptism. Church Hill, the scene of Matt’s dogshit blessing. The chestnut grove of Brendan’s brutal rape. Last, the park where they had left Joey Bello floating downstream, his empty sockets bared to the cloudless summer sky.
If Joey’s crimes had been beyond redemption, Jay’s own hands were forever stained with a collage of blood. He sat in Tony’s truck and studied them a good long time. The bones thickened from pounding the bodies of other men, the lace of scars draped over skin.
Okie would’ve said to forget the Catholic shit. There’s no penance, kid. You learn better for next time. Mama Angeline smiled beneath big sunglasses, twirling her Colt. You gonna let Mr. Bello walk the Earth after what he done?
Jay decided he would not.
The idea of going to the reunion stag put a pang in his chest. He called Raina, and asked her to join him. “What you going there for? Come to the club, mi gatito needs you,” she said. “We’re short a man, but he won’t ask. Don’t want Dante to think he can’t handle it.”
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” Jay said. “There’s something I gotta do.”
“That big-tit bitch never gonna leave her mansion, papi. Money loves money. Forget her, my girlfriend’s coming tonight. She got an ass that’ll make you forget everything.”
“That’s real tempting,” Jay said. “See you tomorrow, li’l sis.”
The banner outside the Umbria Americana Pavilion read Welcome Class of ’89: We Didn’t Start the Fire! The catering hall had been built around the old Avionics pool to resemble the house of a Roman patrician, columns leading to a terra cotta roof, the grounds shrouded by dimly lit gardens. Eighties synth thumped out the stucco walls. Two police stood by the front doors.
Jay walked around back where smokers had spilled into the garden. Three women chatted by a blue-lit stone fountain. He didn’t recognize them, but they knew him. They turned to stare, one by one.
“Evening, ladies.” Jay smiled. He flipped a quarter into the fountain before heading through the door.
The cocktail lounge was decorated in neon blues and pinks. The band at the far end played “Your Love” by The Outfield, a lonesome wail for a night of infidelity. The roof was open above the pool. The diving boards had been scrapped, the tiles replaced with marble like a Roman bath. Plastic water lilies topped with electric candles floated across the waves.
Jay ordered two whiskey on the rocks. He downed one quick and nursed the second. Old cliques huddled at tables, couples wandered the pool’s edge, and singles danced by the band. His schoolmates had fleshed out into caricatures of their younger selves. Promise chipped from their faces, the youth scoured away.
Glances lingered into stares as people recognized him. He’d aged harder than they had. Pale and grinning, a gargoyle leering from the parapet of a cathedral. Jay flipped the phone in his pocket, thumbed the redial button. Mack’s stubby, expert fingers had wired a burner phone to the six pipes tamped full of Tony’s homemade TNT. Jay taped the explosives beneath Randal’s Escalade and filled the tank.
Jay smiled at the crowd’s sneers and sipped his drink. Tonight they’d get a taste of the fear his friends had lived with every day of their lives.
Two athletic men in summer suits slipped through the crowd, trading quips and sly grins.
“Jay,” Brendan called. “This is my partner, Kevin.”
Kevin had broad shoulders and an outdoor tan. Sandy hair and a dimpled chin. He studied Jay with a look of reluctant resignation.
“Good to meet you,” Jay said, and held out his hand.
“Wish I could say the same,” Kevin said. He turned to Brendan. “I’m here because it’s what you want. I’ll get you a beer.” He brushed past Jay toward the bar.
Jay sipped his drink. He soaked the liquor up like a cactus, welcoming its tingle. Tapped his foot to “Our Lips Are Sealed.”
“They say it gets better,” Brendan said, eyeing the room. “That’s a load of shit. It gets bitter, if anything. You get used to it. Most people turn into bigger versions of the little assholes they were in school.”
“That why you work with kids who don’t really get any older?”
“Maybe,” Brendan said. “They’re not all angels, you know. They’re still people.”
Kevin returned with two bottles of Heineken. He handed one to Brendan, and held his own with frat-boy ease.
“Whoa,” Brendan said.
Ramona walked alone, wearing a short dress of crushed sapphire with a black bow tied to the side. Her hair twirled to her shoulders, cobalt eyes cutting through the crowd.
“Excuse me fellas,” Jay said. He left his drink on a table.
“Hey,” Ramona said, wrapping her arms around him. Her lips cold and ether-slicked with vodka.
“You all right, Blackbird?”
“Just lovely,” Ramona said, and took a long drink from a pint glass. She leaned against him, arm around his waist. “Relishing the opportunity to relive my misspent youth. I can’t believe what they did to the pool, it looks like Caligula puked all over it.”
Brendan and Kevin joined them. “Ramona, you look great.”
Ramona gestured at the crowd with a sweep of her glass. “I hated these people for years. But they’re just pathetic.”
The partners exchanged glances. “How’s Tony doing? Crazy, what happened.”
“Healing,” Jay said. “He got real lucky, your brother showing up like that.”
As the song faded, eyes and fingers pointed from the crowd. The husky-voiced female guitarist cut from The Go-Gos to The Cure. Ramona downed her drink and tugged Jay by the wrist. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”
They joined the dancers in front of the band. Jay twirled her and brought her close. The couple closest to them flinched with recognition.
“Fuck off,” Ramona said, and they spun away with sneers.
Her eyes sparkled beneath the strobes. The band cut into a medley, and Brendan and Kevin joined them. Then another couple, and another, until the floor was a crush of bodies. The medley ended with Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” and the crowd pumped their fists to the chorus, jumping like the denizens of a snow globe, until Jay could almost forget why he was there with a detonator in his pocket.
When the band wound it down, Ramona led Jay off the floor and fanned herself.
“How much you tip the band to play that, peckerwood?” Billy said, and pulled Jay aside. He wore a drab cop suit. “I don’t know what you’ve got on my father,
but this ends tonight. I spent all day reciting your bullshit story.”
“You should be used to lying,” Jay said, and twisted his arm away.
A tall redheaded woman in a green dress stalked to Billy’s side, her chin the beak of a predator bird.
“Kathleen,” Ramona said, and leaned in for a hug. “How are the kids?”
“They’re fine,” Kathleen said, and sidestepped her. “How’s your husband?”
“Honey,” Billy said.
Ramona gave a toothy smile. “He’s minding his own business. You should try it.”
“Don’t throw it in everyone’s face and look for privacy,” Kathleen said. “You have a child at home and you’re out playing prom queen. I’m only here because my husband decided to bodyguard the town pariah.”
Jay said, “I prefer ‘outcast,’ if it’s all the same to you.”
“Kath, you said you wanted to come,” Billy said. “So be happy, already.”
Kathleen looked out over the crowd. “I see some friends from the track team. That’s where I’ll be. Maybe I’ll even be happy.”
“Kath,” Billy sighed. He turned back to Jay. “I should let you get killed,” he said, before heading after his wife.
Kevin nudged Brendan’s elbow. “I’m glad your brains aren’t identical.”
“Be nice,” Brendan said. His eyes shot toward the door. “Oh, great.”
At the entrance, Leo glared at Bobby Algieri, both in civilian dress. He pushed Bobby toward the back door with jabs of his finger, and marched their way.
“Relax,” Brendan told Kevin. “I’m okay.”
Leo’s jacket hung loose on his shoulders, his eyes bloodshot. A transparent bandage across his nose. Kevin intercepted him.
Leo raised his hands in truce. “I want to talk to my son for a minute.”
“We’re done listening to you,” Kevin said. “We’re both tired of it.”
“Brendan, please go home.” Leo talked around Kevin. “That’s all I ask. I promise I won’t ever contact you again.”
“Why would I do anything for you, after all you never did for me?”
“We can talk about that later, if you want to,” Leo said. “But please. Go.”
“Are we embarrassing you, Chief?” Kevin said. “We do our best to avoid you. That’s not enough?”
“That’s not it at all,” Leo said. He shot Jay a glare of contempt. “What do you have planned, Desmarteaux? Tell them.”
Jay sipped his bourbon. “Just having a good time.”
Leo curled his lip. “You want to get killed, do it away from my sons.”
Bobby Algieri shouldered through the crowd. Flushed with booze, with an empty drink in his hand. “Look everybody,” he hollered. “It’s the scumbag who killed my friend.” He tossed his glass into the pool and swung at Jay.
Jay caught the haymaker on his shoulder.
“Shut up, Bobby,” Leo said. He twisted Algieri’s wrist into an armlock. “I’ll have you on graveyard shift for the rest of your career, if you don’t leave right now.”
“I don’t give a fuck anymore.”
Leo pinched down the compliance hold.
“Ow, dammit. You’re supposed to arrest scum like him, not let them shit all over your town.”
A few in the crowd applauded and raised their drinks.
Billy shouldered through. “Need a hand, Dad?”
“Get this fool to the parking lot,” Leo said. He turned to Kevin and Brendan. “Please go home. This will only get worse.”
Billy and Leo guided Bobby Algieri out by his elbows. “Hey, that was exciting,” the vocalist chirped. “The party’s not over, people.” The guitarist riffed into Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me with Your Best Shot.”
“I think we could both use another beer,” Kevin said, and tugged Brendan toward the bar.
Ramona ballooned her cheeks with an exhale. “Wow. Do we have to stay here until Mr. Bello shows up?”
“They need to know,” Jay said.
“Some of them do already,” Ramona said. “It was an open secret. You won’t change any minds. If they don’t hate him already, nothing you can do will make them.”
“You the only one who gets closure?”
“Don’t be an ass,” she said. “Ooh, I see Mrs. Molinari! Get me a fresh drink.”
Jay found a short line. A spectacled man whispered behind him. “He deserved what he got.” He patted Jay on the arm and walked away.
Jay thumbed the phone. Maybe Ramona was right. Nothing would change minds that were made up already. No matter how hard Tony’s surprise shook them.
A familiar voice whispered in his ear. “The Stricks would like a moment alone. Will there be trouble?”
Brush Cut stood behind him.
“Don’t start none, won’t be none,” Jay said, and scanned the room.
Matt held his chest out, but his hollow eyes told the story. He spoke and Ramona looked away, bit her lip. She voiced anger, and stared him down. Matt fell to one knee, to the pealing tones of “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” He held out his hand. Ramona’s face broke into an embarrassed smile.
Jay had only heard the song in prison, on cheap tinny radios. When it played on some con’s boombox, he would close his eyes and remember the day he and Ramona met. How his knees wobbled climbing the twenty-foot dive. The sting of the water on his skin. Ramona’s eyes bright and wide as she swam for him. Her smile as the lifeguard dragged him away.
He wondered if he could have ever made her smile like that if they’d had a life together, instead of secret nights of pretending. He thought real hard, but it wouldn’t take.
The dream was a lie.
Something to get him through prison. Like the Witch dreams had gotten him through the hell of knowing that his own mother had traded him for her demon needs.
Jay clenched the phone in his pocket as Ramona took Matt’s hand and they skipped onto the dance floor. The hate that had kept him alive for twenty-five years gnawed at his belly, as Matt and Ramona twirled like children. His heart pounded like a fist, and his head swam with hot blood. Kevin and Brendan pushed Billy and Kathleen ahead of them into the dancing crowd.
Jay slumped alone into an empty chair. He flipped open the phone, flipped it closed.
Brush Cut said, “Don’t feel bad. They’re both fucking nuts.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Jay pocketed his phone and raised his glass. The band gave it all for the song’s finale, then announced a short break. Women fanned themselves and headed back to their tables. Mayor Bello walked red-faced into the room, flanked by Bobby Algieri and another officer. Leo argued with the mayor, who ignored him.
Jay took a step and Brush Cut squeezed his bad shoulder.
“It’ll be better if you left with me.”
The mayor jabbed a finger, and the officers marched on Jay. The crowd formed a distant circle around them. Nicky Paladino grinned from the back.
“Looks like I’m about to be escorted out.” He stood and met Bello’s wet shaky eyes.
“The news calls you a hero, but you can’t wash your hands of my Joey’s blood!”
“What about your hands, Mister Bello?” Jay slipped his hand into his pocket, flipped open the phone. “If anyone killed your boy, it was you. Joey was a no-good rapist sumbitch, and he needed killing!”
Leo raised his voice. “Get him out of here, now.”
A murmur rumbled through the crowd. The officers gripped Jay by the arms and shoved him toward the door. He thumbed the send button, and shouted over the crowd.
“I got a message for all of you! You watched it happen every day. And deep down, you liked it. It was the natural order, wasn’t it? The strong prey on the weak. As long as it wasn’t you.” Some sneered, others nodded. Some looked away.
“You let evil walk free because you felt safe, like your shit didn’t stink, like you were better than everybody else. You thought once you got rid of me, it was all over. But evil never dies. It’s right here. How you think Joey learned to
be that way?”
“I’ll kill you!” Bello struggled out of Leo’s grasp.
The building shook with distant thunder. People stumbled and wine glasses crashed to the floor. A symphony of car alarms tweeted far away.
Leo grabbed Jay by the shirt. “What have you done?”
The town emergency siren wailed four bursts, alerting the fire department.
“Nothing you didn’t start,” Jay said. He had parked Randal’s Escalade beside Joey’s memorial. The pipe bombs tore it apart and left the stone a blackened faceless marker, knocked out windows in the police station and the empty high school. The fire swirled into the night sky and played off the windows.
“Now you’re all in hell with me,” Jay said. “Where Joey is. Where he belongs.”
The crowd jammed at the doors. A woman sobbed.
Leo grabbed an officer’s radio and pointed him at the door for crowd control. “Keep people inside. We don’t know what’s out there.”
Bello lunged for Jay’s throat with a roar. Leo gripped the mayor’s index finger and twisted, sending him to his knees. “Officer Algieri, escort the mayor to his vehicle, he needs to call a crisis management meeting with the town council.”
Bello struggled with the officer, swearing and spitting.
“Want to know who killed Joey?” Jay shouted. “You did. You made him what he was.”
A gunshot boomed and the crowd rushed the doors. Billy rushed for the shooter, and Kathleen grabbed his arm. They both fell and knocked a chair into the pool.
Bobby Algieri cupped two hands full of blood to his belly. He collapsed onto his back with confusion and tears in his eyes.
“Joseph!” Leo knelt and put pressure to his officer’s wound.
“Don’t move,” Bello shouted. He leveled Algieri’s service pistol at Jay. His pocked jowls trembled, shining with sweat. “Fucking murderers. All of you. You were all in on it, you think I’m stupid? That I didn’t know?”
Billy sat on his ass, struggling with his ankle holster. Brush Cut shielded Matthew, hand lingering over his wallet pocket.
“Everybody listen,” Bello hollered. “We’re having a new trial. You’re gonna tell everybody what really happened.”
