The Deuce

by F. P. Lione

  “I like your church,” I told her as we put plastic tablecloths over the tables.

  “Pastor John is great. The children’s church is great too, but Steven’s been giving me a hard time about going. I think he’s going through a little separation anxiety.”

  I nodded, having no idea what she meant.

  “Do you work over the summer?” I asked.

  “I’m working the Vacation Bible School at the church for the next two weeks, then I’m off until the third week of August.” I had a week off in August.

  Fiore had about fifty people there that day. I met his parents, Lou and Connie. They were both friendly, outgoing people like Fiore. His father was a big man with a potbelly and dark eyes and looked to be in his sixties. His mother was short and round, with pretty green eyes and red hair and looked much younger than her husband.

  At one point I stepped into the middle of an argument between Fiore’s dad and his Uncle Frank about the 1955 World Series between the Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers.

  “Tony, tell my brother where game seven of the series was played,” Fiore’s dad implored.

  I smiled. “My guess would be either Yankee Stadium or Ebbets Field.”

  “They won the last game at Yankee Stadium,” Fiore’s dad said emphatically. “It went nine innings, and the score was two nothing for the bums.”

  “What was the starting lineup for the Dodgers?” I asked, baiting him.

  “Don’t get him started,” Fiore’s mother mumbled.

  “Never mind, Connie. Come here and sit down, Tony, let me tell you. Johnny Padres was pitching—”

  “Are you sure it was Johnny Padres?” Uncle Frank asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “It was Johnny Padres,” Lou said emphatically. “Pee Wee Reese was on short, Gil Hodges was on first, Junior Gilliam on second, and Jackie Robinson was on third. Roy Campanella was catching, and Carl Furillo was in right field. Duke Snyder played center field, and Sandy Amoros played left field.”

  “Pretty good.” I applauded. “When did they move to Los Angeles?”

  “Broke my heart, dem bums. The last time they played in Brooklyn was in 1958.”

  “How many World Series did they win?” I asked, knowing the answer.

  “Only one, but there has never been a team like them, before or after,” he said sadly.

  I wasn’t gonna argue.

  Fiore’s brother and sister were there too, their kids playing with Fiore’s. They all lived close by and went to House on the Rock. They were humble people, not ashamed about praying openly and giving thanks for the food and their family. I felt a little jealous. Well, not jealous exactly, just a yearning for a family like that.

  Donna’s mother and sister were there, looking kind of uncomfortable but still nice. They weren’t saved, Donna told me later, and she and Joe continued to pray for them.

  Joe finally caught me alone by the downstairs bathroom.

  “So what did you think of the church?” he asked.

  “It’s different than anything I’ve ever seen,” I said honestly. “But I liked it.”

  “That’s great.” He nodded but didn’t say anything more.

  Fiore was busy with his family, so I spent most of the day with Michele and Stevie. Michele called him Steven, but by the end of the day he asked her to call him Stevie like I did.

  I played with Stevie and talked to Michele. I threw Stevie around the pool. Once I tossed him so high I scared myself.

  “Hey, buddy, you were flying!” I said, my heart pounding as I picked him up out of the water.

  Michele’s face was frozen in horror.

  “Wasn’t that fun?” I asked him excitedly. “Sorry!” I called to her.

  Stevie nodded nervously. “Yeah, but don’t throw me that high anymore.”

  “Okay,” I laughed.

  Next we played volleyball with Fiore and the other kids at the party, then I watched as they tossed water balloons and drew on the sidewalk with chalk.

  I found out by the end of the day that Michele was a very honest and up-front person. Since I’m a cop, people lie to me all the time. For no reason, they just lie. I probably shouldn’t have asked her about Stevie’s father, but we’d been talking for three hours and I wanted to know.

  “I wasn’t saved when I got pregnant.” She looked at me to see my reaction. I nodded for her to continue. With my track record, I wasn’t saying a word.

  “He was a lawyer,” she continued.

  “That should’ve been your first clue,” I threw in.

  She laughed. “Anyway, we’d been dating, and I didn’t know he was seeing someone else. When I told him I was pregnant, he said he wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t hear from him again until after Steven was born. He signed something terminating any rights to Steven and was married not long after that.”

  “Sounds like a great guy,” I said dryly. “So how do you know Donna?” I asked, changing the subject. We had filled our plates with food again and had gone back to sit at a table. That was another thing I liked about her—she wasn’t afraid to eat in front of me. I always hate taking someone out to dinner so they could pick on a salad. But Michele ate like an ironworker. She matched me burger for burger (two), bypassed the hot dogs, and went straight to the sausage and peppers. In between, she had macaroni and potato salad, and I’d bet money she was having cake.

  “Good appetite,” I commented.

  She turned, chewing and swallowing like a lady, and said, “I hadn’t eaten yet today.”

  “You probably won’t have to eat tomorrow.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What were you saying?”

  I smiled. “Where’d you meet Donna?”

  “I met her at church. Josh and Steven are in children’s church together. How long have you known Joe?” she asked.

  “He’s been at the precinct a while, but we just started working together about a month ago.” Was that all it was?

  “He’s great. So is Donna.”

  I agreed.

  “So what about you? I know this was your first time at our church, but is there a place you go to in Staten Island?”

  “I haven’t been to church since I was twelve.”

  “What kept you away all this time?” she asked softly.

  I told her a lot of it, probably because she was being so straightforward with me. She didn’t even blink when I told her about the drinking. We talked a little about the job and some of the problems that go with it.

  “Are you having a difficult time with the drinking?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No, it’s funny—it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”

  She nodded. “Have you ever been married?”

  “No.”

  Stevie ran over to me then and jumped up into my arms. I let out a growl and tickled him as he laughed hysterically. She got a funny look on her face watching us and then looked away when she realized I was staring at her.

  “I’d like to take you out to dinner,” I said as Stevie ran off.

  Her face was serious as she said, “I’d like that.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “That way you won’t have time to change your mind.”

  “Don’t you work at night?” She looked nervous.

  “Not tomorrow night.”

  She thought a minute then said, “Okay, tomorrow.”

  “Think of a place to go, and tell me how to get to your house. Maybe you should give me your number too, in case I get lost on the Long Island Expressway.”

  I got home by 10:30 that night, having smoked four cigarettes on the ride home to make up for what I’d missed all day. Denise was sitting on the couch in her pajamas, watching TV, when I came in. She smiled at me. Either she was up to something or our fight was over.

  “Hey,” I said as I hung my suit in the front closet. “No turtle races tonight?”

  “No, I want to get to work on time tomorrow. Where have you been?” She ya
wned and stretched.

  “Long Island. Fiore’s baby was…” I couldn’t think of the word.

  “Baptized?”

  “Yeah, something like that. I went to the church and the party afterward.”

  She nodded.

  “I met someone today,” I said.

  She sat up. “A woman?”

  “Yeah, a nice woman. Different than what you’re used to seeing me with.”

  “How so?”

  “Real nails, not anorexic. She has a little boy, Stevie.”

  “How old is he?” Denise loved kids.

  “Four, and he’s really cute. He sat on my lap at church. I’m going out with his mom tomorrow.”

  “Still not drinking?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “No more for me. I’m going to start going to church too, out by Fiore.” I looked at her to see her reaction.

  She looked sad. “Just don’t change so much that you don’t like me anymore.”

  “Denise, I could never not like you. I love you, you’re my sister. You know, drinking and hating Marie aren’t the only things we have in common, although I’m gonna have to stop hating Marie.”

  “Why?” She looked appalled.

  “Because I’m sure it’s in the rule book somewhere.” I sighed, not looking forward to that one. “Don’t worry about that now. But you and me, we’ll always be close.”

  “I love you too,” she said, crossing the room to hug me. “But I’m scared. Everything is changing.”

  13

  I drove back out to Long Island the following night. Michele lived farther out than Fiore in a small, older ranch, white with blue trim. It had a tiny porch with white lattice on the bottom around the front. Flowers lined a front walkway, and a vine with purple flowers climbed the lattice up to the front porch.

  Stevie answered my knock and told me his mom would be right there. I was dressed casually, beige Dockers, black silk T-shirt, and black shoes. Michele came in wearing a sleeveless black cotton dress and black heeled sandals. Her hair was down around her shoulders. She looked beautiful.

  We dropped Stevie off at a friend’s house and headed to a restaurant called the Happy Crab. We were able to sit outside and eat next to the water. From where we sat I could see Fire Island in the distance. I had the lobster special, which was spelled labster on the menu. Michele got the seafood fradiavlo. I was a little clumsy breaking open one of the lobster claws and shot it across the table onto the floor. If Michele hadn’t been there I would have wiped it off and ate it. Instead I picked it up and put it on the table next to my plate.

  We were both a little nervous at first, and the conversation would slow until we started talking about God. I told Michele about what Fiore was showing me in the Bible, and she told me about a book she was reading about walking in love.

  “It’s such a challenge for me,” she said. “It has to be worse for you and Joe with what you do every day.”

  “For the most part, Joe does it,” I said. I told her about the only time I saw him lose his temper, when I dragged the skell out of traffic. “He was mad that the guy got scraped up,” I explained.

  “It must be devastating to be homeless,” she said with feeling.

  “Yeah, but a lot of them bring it on themselves,” I said.

  “I guess you can’t feel sorry for everyone you come across.”

  “Nope,” I said. “Some people you can’t help but feel sorry for. Fiore amazes me the way he prays for everyone. I’ve started to do that recently, but I’m not as humble as Joe. I still have a temper that I’m trying to keep under control.”

  “How do you handle being a cop?” She searched my eyes. “Is that what you always wanted to be?”

  I shrugged. “My father was a cop,” I said, as if that explained it. “It runs in families sometimes. I started off thinking the job was one way, you know, us against the bad guys and we’re cleaning up the streets. Then once you’re there a while you realize it’s like shoveling sh—uh, crap against the tide with a pitchfork.”

  She smiled.

  “Then when you get used to the idea about the pitchfork and the tide, you learn that your enemies aren’t always the bad guys on the street. They’re the press and the higher-ups, race bailers and the politicians. Sometimes they can do a lot more than the bad guys can.”

  “And now?” she asked.

  “Now I don’t know how I feel about the job,” I said honestly.

  We went to other topics from there: her job, sushi (she liked it), baseball (she was a Mets fan), and the upcoming presidential election. She was a good conversationalist; she traveled a lot before she had Stevie, and she told me about a trip she took to Europe the year she graduated from college. She said that Italy was her favorite place and that the art in Florence was the most beautiful in the world.

  We finished our dinner and drove west on Montauk Highway to get ice cream. We found an old-fashioned ice cream parlor and walked around, eating our cones and holding hands. It wasn’t like any other date I’ve ever been on, no game-playing or attitude, just a good time.

  Things got a little sticky when I was driving her home.

  “Tony, I just want to let you know ahead of time—I mean, I don’t know what you’re expecting—” She stopped and put her hair behind her ears, which I realized was a nervous gesture of hers.

  “Say what’s on your mind,” I said.

  “It’s just that I have a commitment to God that I’m going to honor—” She broke off again.

  “Are we talking about sex here?” I was confused.

  She shrugged and nodded.

  “Listen, I haven’t had this good of a time with a woman since…I don’t know, probably never.” I meant it.

  She looked doubtful.

  “Anyway, you’re the one who brought it up. You must have sex on your mind.”

  She actually blushed. “I did not bring up sex.”

  “Well, for my part, I figured this would be one of those holding-hands-only dates. Getting lucky with you is probably a kiss on your front porch.”

  “I don’t believe in luck,” she said haughtily.

  She did kiss me good night on her porch—not one of those groping, rubbing, hair-pulling kisses that leave you gasping for air. It was a sweet kiss, full of promise and expectation. I tasted it all the way home.

  For our first night back, a police corruption scandal hit the papers. Apparently, four Queens cops on the four-to-twelve were getting free meals from a restaurant on Queens Boulevard and ran a plate for the owner. I’m not saying that what they did was right, but it didn’t have to hit the front page. The scandal in itself wasn’t so bad, but it came at a bad time. The NYPD had been so publicized for scandals in recent years that it still hadn’t recovered. The boss was concerned both for morale and public reaction as he sent us out that night.

  “Make sure you do everything by the book,” he said. “I’m concerned about public backlash, and I don’t want anyone getting hurt out there. Try to be patient. I know you’re not doing anything wrong. I want you to be safe and be able to sign out in the morning. Don’t get sucked into anything.”

  There was none of the usual joking in the muster room, and morale was low as the platoon filed out. A cloud seemed to settle on the already hot and humid night. It’s amazing how the press can crucify us. I’d like to see any other administration have as little corruption as we do. The numbers speak for themselves. We have a department of over thirty thousand officers. If one percent of the cops were guilty of corruption, it would be over three hundred officers. If the department gets thirty cops on real corruption a year, it’s been a bad year. I know some of the scandals have been horrendous, but most of them are not. The press targets the department and exploits the news out of there because the city loves to read about us.

  This was weighing on my mind as I walked over to Vince Puletti to sign out my radio.

  “I hear you’re on the wagon,” he said as he belched.

  “Nice,” I remarked a
t the burp, ignoring the question.

  “I’m taking Pepcid. Stomach’s been bothering me.” He looked a little chalky as I signed for my radio.

  “Maybe you should see a doctor,” I said.

  He waved me away. “Ah, what do they know, anyway?”

  Fiore was smiling when we got in the car.

  “So?” he beamed.

  I played dumb. “So what?”

  “How’d it go with Michele?”

  “It was nice.”

  “Nice? That’s it?” He looked disappointed.

  “It was a great time,” I said honestly.

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “Not like that—it was just good, clean fun like all us boy scouts have.”

  He was squinting at me to see if I meant it. “So? Are you going to see her again?”

  “You bet.”

  “Good for you, Tony. God has good taste in women, huh?”

  “So far,” I agreed.

  “But she’s not blonde, five foot four, and…what else did you want?” He counted each attribute on his fingers.

  “You’re a meatball,” I said.

  He was still staring at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you about church, that’s all,” he said.

  “If I tell you I said the prayer of salvation, I don’t want you hugging me,” I said. If any of the guys saw me and Fiore hugging in the RMP, our careers would be over.

  “Did you say it?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Praise God,” was all he said.

  We had no air-conditioning in the car, and it was eighty degrees and muggy with no breeze. We started off the night with four alarms to answer. We had a 30 (robbery in progress) with negative results on canvass. At 2:00 we were heading toward the Sunrise Deli and got a call for another robbery in progress with multiple alarms.

  When we hear multiple alarms, that tells us it is legit. Multiple alarms mean someone is running through the premises, setting off the alarms. The building was right on the corner of 37th and 6th—Steinway Jewelers. It had a glass front with metal grating that allowed a passerby to see into the display window. We pulled up in front. There was a metal door on the right that looked to be an entrance to a side stairwell. Next to the metal door was a glass door, leading to an alcove with an elevator. Looking through the window we could see the display cases broken and a pair of legs disappearing through a hole in the wall. The hole was about two feet wide, four to five feet off the floor. We couldn’t get in without breaking the glass, and then we’d have the metal grate to get through.