“Yeah…” Nick could barely speak, barely utter another word, but he tried, he tried hard. “Just one big hellhole…” he repeated softly.
“Sometimes I think about just walking the hell away, Vitale, I’m serious. They don’t pay enough for all the bullshit we go through. Brownsville is just one big ass square mile of Hell, overrun by rats! Just the other day a damn florist got robbed, man! A man delivering flowers! Now they need a police escort to drop off some fuckin’ tulips!” Tomas continued to rant, his back turned as he moved to and fro, frantically trying to clear the cubicle area.
“Yeah…tulips, like pushing up daisies.”
Suddenly Tomas slowed, looked over his shoulder.
“Hey, you alright, man? You look kinda pale, like you saw a ghost or something.” His lips kinked in a slight smile.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Nick rubbed his face. “Just a little tired is all. Uh, is there anything else I can help you with?” He pulled himself together, set the file down, and placed his hands on his hips. “I need to get back to work.”
“Thanks man, no… I’m good. You helped a lot. Hey, you wanna go to the gym this weekend? I’m tryna get back in shape!” The guy swung his fist about as if he were a prized boxer.
“Yeah, we can do that. Just call me.”
“Will do!”
He made his way back over to his cubicle, sat down in his chair, and pulled up several cases he was working on. He dove deep into them, refusing to move out of that seat until he’d made several phone calls and crossed off plenty more on his ‘To-Do’ list. One case was over ten years old and irked the hell out of him—seemed damn near impossible to solve. Regardless, he reviewed the evidence, making notes to call the victim’s daughter and touch base with her, announce that he was the new detective on the case and he would keep an eye out.
Minutes passed, then hours…
Tick… tock…
Franco Vitale…
…Three shots to the chest…
It’s in the numbers, Vitale…
Nicky… you’re a bad boy! Why can’t you be good, huh?!
’Cause I’m a monster, Ma…
Before he knew it, the sun had set, and left the place darker and busier than ever. Derelicts and criminals broke free in the nighttime, multiplying, inviting their friends out for a romp and a rousing round of pandemonium. This was the time when bullshit on top of bullshit popped off, and he’d receive those calls at two and three in the morning that pulled him out of bed, away from his fiancée…
Taryn… I don’t deserve Taryn… I don’t deserve anything!
He gritted his teeth and balled his fist up tight as sweat ran down the side of his face, while a bitter, disgusting flavor coated his tongue. Breakfast marched backwards from his gurgling gut and up his throat, leaving a burning swamp along his taste buds. He got up, grabbed his coat, and headed out of there without as much as a goodbye. As he drove home, he cursed; the road rage that overwhelmed him wouldn’t let loose. He ran to the mental zoo, went ape shit, screaming at people as they got in his way.
Barely getting a hold of himself, he slowed at a stop sign, taking note of the enchanting insignia of a business he used to happily frequent—the Vodou Bar on Halsey Street. Jerking the steering wheel into the far right lane, and causing another vehicle to honk at him, he crossed over and barreled down the way. He could see nothing but the place in his view; everything else seemed to evaporate into thin air, like cigarette smoke churning embers into bar rooftops, sourcing from an ashtray set next to an empty shot glass…
Yes… that’s what I need. That’s what will make it all better…
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Nick pulled up the place, maneuvered his car against the curb, and placed it in park. Barely getting the engine good and off, he slammed his door and marched inside the joint.
“Hey.” He shot a half-cocked grin at the bartender. “Let me get a square off of you.”
“Pretty-Boy Vitale!!!” the woman squealed as she grinned wide at him.
Did I fuck her back in the day? Probably…
He believed it highly probable, especially the way her eyes kept roving over him in a suggestive way. He simply couldn’t recall such a thing without a shadow of a doubt, but he had neither the time nor the desire to lament about the shit. Spotting an empty seat at the bar, he slid right onto the reddish brown stool. Familiarity grabbed him by the neck, gave him a hug and smoky kiss across the cheek.
“I haven’t seen you here in forever.” She winked at him and passed him a cigarette and a lighter. He quickly placed it in his mouth and lit that joker up like an arsonist. Tossing the lighter down on the counter, he blew out thick circles of smoke and leaned forward, loving the fuckery he was falling into. It was time to feed that goddamn monster; it was damn near starving, and he knew just what it craved.
“Where have you been?” she asked as she turned away and pulled out several empty beer mugs.
“Oh, you know, here and there.” He winked at her, talking that shit, loving the pulsating red lights and the way people talked amongst themselves, sharing secrets, telling lies, stealing kisses, and plotting fuck sessions.
“You want to see the dinner menu?” she offered.
“Nope, not even a little bit.” A curl of smoke escaped the side of his mouth.
“Okay, what can I get you?”
“A salty dog…”
“We’ve only got pink grapefruit juice. Is that fine?”
“Yeah… and bring me out a shot of patron, too.”
“You got it.”
She turned her back, leaving him there with the music, the smoke, the pussy swaying women, the heavily-made up whores all hot and bothered—not for stiff cock but to get paid. He took another puff of the cigarette and caught his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, the glass fractured, ugly, covered in golden veins. He bit into his lower lip, slightly piercing the flesh; pain emitted, but he paid it no mind. He casually turned away from himself, and looked around the place.
It seemed different from what he last remembered. In his foggy state, he recalled memories of hedonistic electricity and a slice of heaven dipped in rum and coke. Now, the place looked more polished, and the clientele, though definitely the partying kind, a bit classier. The men wore sporty glasses and the ladies held tablets and iPads, their smiles wide, the semblance of intelligence yet to be confirmed, yet still could not be denied. He grunted and turned back around, now facing two drinks set before him.
The grapefruit and vodka mixture called to him, an oh so familiar flavor that used to give him all sorts of happiness and life. The cocktail to the left, the patron tequila to the right. Back in his days of drinking motherfuckers under the goddamn table, he would’ve kicked both of these back, and proceeded to swallow three more rounds without getting the least bit tipsy.
The bartender returned and leaned forward, showing her ample cleavage, undoubtedly trying to tempt him as she swam in long-gone memories of him fucking her in the back of her car.
…Yeah, that’s where it happened…
Her tittie display meant nothing; he didn’t care. He looked back at the glasses, now viewing his weak reflection in the liquid…
“Why do you look so sad?” she asked with a slight grin, no doubt prepared for him to say something preposterous.
He looked her in the eye.
“…Found out my father died.” He circled the rim of the shot glass with his fingertip.
“Oh, Vitale.” She patted his shoulder. “I’m so sorry! What happened?!”
“Some guy robbed and killed him.”
She gasped, placed her hand over her mouth.
“No biggie.” He shrugged, took another drag of his cigarette. “People die everyday, right?”
“But… oh my God. You’re not alright .You couldn’t be. Look, those drinks are on the house!” She threw up her hands.
“Nah.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Ain’t nothing in this life fre
e.”
“Damn,” she murmured, shaking her head the way a sympathetic friend would. “So, where was it at?”
“Here, in Brooklyn.” He smiled nervously. “Over there at the Happy Go Lucky store…”
“HGL?” Her brows dipped in confusion. “You sure? That place has been closed forever.”
“Yeah… time is relative I suppose.” He sucked his teeth and gingerly placed the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “You know what?”
“What?” She crossed her arms and listened intently… making him feel important, like a big fucking man, when inside, he felt small and completely useless. Insignificant.
“When I was a little boy, I used to love playing hide-and-seek.”
She smiled at him. “Pleasant childhood memory with your dad?”
“Nah.” He shook his head, plucked the salty dog from the table and peered at it from various angles. “With my mom… but…” He shook his finger at her, “My Dad did play hide-and-seek, too!” He laughed mirthlessly. “He was a damn pro at it. You see, the object of the game is for someone to run off, go hide. Then, the other person goes out to find them. I would always volunteer to be the seeker.” He inhaled, back straight, then slumped back down in his seat on the exhale, melting like heated wax right there on the stool.
“I’d find every fuckin’ body!” He waved his hand around, causing the drink to slosh about. “I was so good at the shit, my friends didn’t want to play that shit with me anymore. I wasn’t much good at the hiding part though… you’d think I’d be, considering it’s in my blood. My dad hid… shit.” He laughed, resisting the urge to get up and throw something hard and fast at the goddamn mirror that continued to toss his image back at him.
“I didn’t look for him too hard, but he showed up at various times in his own little way, anyway. He hid from my mother, from his family, from his responsibility. What kinda son of a bitch makes two kids and just walks the fuck out, huh?!”
“I don’t know, Vitale, but not a very good person…”
“And now, here I sit, trying to find myself again.” He burst out laughing. “Hey, hand me a big empty glass, like a water glass, would you?”
“Yes, hold on just a second.” She turned around, grabbed a tumbler then set it down before him.
“Like, if I pour this salty dog in this glass, right… it doesn’t look like much. It looked much better in the smaller glass you had it in.” Confusion settled on her face. “Then, if I add in this patron,” he said, pouring the tequila inside of the glass too, “I just made a mess, you know? All that mixture; no one would order a drink with all of that shit in there.”
“What… what are you doing Vitale?”
“What am I doing?” He smiled. “Yes… what am I doing? Damn good question. What I’m doing, Gina, is making this drink, well, undrinkable. You see, I already found myself. I didn’t need anyone coming for me, hunting my ass down. I hate that. I’m the hunter, not the hunted. You asked me where I’ve been, I’ll tell you were I’ve been, Gina—in a goddamn, motherfucking drug rehab program.”
For a split second, she looked somewhat surprised, and then, she simply smiled at him and nodded.
“Yup… drug rehab for alcohol and cocaine. You want to hear something wild?” He pushed the drink away in disgust, almost making it tumble over.
She gently plucked it from the table, tossed the contents in a sink behind her, and turned back towards him, eager for what he had to say. “What?”
“I fell in love.”
“You… you fell in love?” Her brow arched, and knowing the ladies the way he did, he could tell the woman was intrigued, yet slightly jealous. He could dig it… respect that.
“Yeah, I fell in love with a beautiful lady. She’s a professional model.”
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “What happened? You two still together?”
“Yeah, we’re together… I just asked her to marry me a few weeks ago. She was crazy enough to say yes.” He chuckled. “Had it all planned out, you know? Proposed just right. Real romantic ’nd shit… did it the way you ladies like it done. I made it into a big ass production, totally not my style, but I wanted to do it. It was fun… and she deserved that.”
“Congratulations, Vitale. What a lucky girl…”
He rose from his seat. “I’m the lucky one. Anyway, I’m going home, Gina. I need…” He caught his reflection in the mirror once more. “I need to just… go home.”
“I understand. It was nice seeing you, Vitale, and I’m sorry about your father.”
“Nah, don’t be.”
She looked at him as if she wanted to say a bit more, to offer something to make him feel good, perhaps to stand taller, prouder. There was no need. He had it covered.
Almost fell there, boy…
He turned to walk away, dusted off his shoulder, and smirked.
Almost got lost, didn’t you? Almost got caught slippin’. Nah, baby… you’re stronger than that! Ma didn’t raise no punk. She raised an Outlaw, and now she’s smiling down on Brooklyn’s Finest.
“Nick, can I get you something? Maybe a water or Coca Cola, something for your ride home?” the lady called out over the roar of the music and babble.
“Gina, I’m fine.” He threw her a big smile over his shoulder. “We just poured a little liquor out for my father is all.”
Sorry sack of shit…
“He’s been dead my whole damn life, you know? We just had his funeral, right here, right now. That’s it.” He nodded, working through the process. “All is well, Gina,” he said with a wink in her direction. “Time is precious, baby! Never waste it on the shit in life that just doesn’t matter. What matters is waiting for me at home right now and I can’t wait to hold her in my arms. Yeah, I got everything I need, right at home…”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
…Seven months later
“Nah,” Nick shook his head as he looked over the lavish cream-colored yacht, beyond at the water that spun and shot away from the side of the thing as it moved along the breakers and whitecaps. “This was all Taryn’s idea,” he explained to Captain O’Sullivan who stood by his side, gripping the railing.
“Del Rio yachts…” The guy shook his head, then sighed as if he’d had an exhausting day. He looked to his left and then to his right, seemingly taken aback. “This must’ve cost a pretty damn penny! This is nice!” The man held his shot glass up in a silent toast, then placed it to his lips. “Well, you’re getting married… and she’s well out of your league,” he teased.
“She is!” Nick laughed. “Don’t tell her that though. Somehow I convinced her I was some sorta great catch.”
“She should throw you back in the river. I said it once and I’ll say it again—you’re a lucky son of a bitch! Nick ‘Pretty-Boy’ Vitale is getting married!” he cheered.
“It’s my wedding day, Captain! You can’t cut me a break with the whole ‘Pretty-Boy’, routine?! Over the years, you’ve had other people calling me that crap and it stuck! The whole damn city called me that, and it’s all your fault!” He threw up his hands, then thought better of it as the boat caught a sizeable wave and dipped to the left.
“I don’t give uh shit if it’s your bar mitzvah, christening, or alien abduction, you’ll always be ‘Pretty-Boy’ Vitale in my book!”
“Oh, really?” Nick winced and sucked his teeth in annoyance.
“Really.” The man laughed, then took another swallow of his drink.
“I paid for that there apple martini or whatever the hell it is. I oughtta slap it out your hand.” Nick joked—well, half joked as he eyed the thing.
He was met with soft laughter and a rolling of the eyes.
“I want that as my wedding gift, okay?”
“What?” The man lifted a brow to match his sardonic tone. “You want what as a wedding gift, an apple martini poured in a damn shot glass? Haven’t you learned your lesson?” The man chuckled loudly, really getting under his skin.
Nick twisted up his lips like a bow
tie. “No, I want you to stop all of that as my gift. Look, whatever you may have bought Taryn and me, set on the gift table at the hotel—take it back. I want you to stop callin’ me Pretty-Boy, alright? You’ve been doing it since I was in the academy!” He tried to sound angry, to show just how much he disapproved, but he was too damn happy to even let the veiled insult bring him down. “It’s like callin’ a guy that joined the army a maggot. I’ve earned my dues.”
“Oh look, Mr. Big Shot has a complaint, huh? You don’t get that as your wedding gift,” the captain said sternly. “If you look over to your left, you’ll see all the fucks I give!”
Nick abruptly turned away, hiding a grin.
“You don’t tell me what to get you. You’ll always be Pretty-Boy Vitale today, tomorrow, and the next damn day.” The big bastard stomped away, no doubt proud of himself.
Huffing, Nick checked the time on his wristwatch. He felt itchy in the black, fitted tuxedo, a custom design from that damn Jules fucker. He had to admit though that he looked nice; hell, expertly demonstrating clothing excellence, as his baby would say. Just then, Taryn’s mother approached him, her hair pulled back to show her natural born elegance. Wearing a sky blue gown that draped over her body just so, she touched his shoulder and looked into his eyes, a serious expression on her face.
“I’m so happy for you and my daughter. We love you, Nick.” And just like that, she kissed his cheek and walked away, swallowed by the lively crowd, before he could respond with something endearing and heartfelt, or even ask her to wait while he threw some crafty words together.
He looked out at the sea of people and noticed his brother-in-law who was chatting it up with a couple of ladies. To his right stood Mr. Jones with a big smile on his face, holding a glass of something that resembled champagne. As if feeling his eyes upon him, the older man slowly turned and looked his way, held his flute glass up high in the air, and gave an approving nod. Nick smiled back and waved, then continued to observe the scene.
There he was amongst fellow officers, his friends, all huddled close as the boat rocked from side to side. He was certain he was going to get seasick, lose his breakfast right there over the side of the damn thing, cause a disgusting display on the most important day of his life. He’d been on ferries all his damn life; he also used to love to swim in the summertime whenever he got the chance. But his gut did a number on him, screaming at him things were getting serious—he was settling down, and he should be alarmed at such a notion. He’d be a married man in less than thirty minutes, so no more horsing around and desire to play the field. And though the thought of it all attempted to overwhelm him, it did no such thing, despite how his prehistoric tuning tried to convince him otherwise. No, he stood content in the knowledge that this was it, and he embraced the feeling…
In the Nick of Time Page 67
