Чарли Стелла - Johnny Porno

“He mention Boog Powell?” John asked his mother.

“Probably. Who’s he?”

“First base,” Nathan said.

“He got three hits but the Yankees still won,” John said. “Robinson didn’t play. I don’t know why.”

“He was so happy,” Marie said. “Thank God they won.”

“You hear anything from Nancy?” John asked Nathan.

“Me? Not a word.”

“Unbelievable, that woman,” Marie said. “Good riddance.”

Elias stood up, took Marie’s right hand and helped her up. “Come,” he said. “We prepare coffee I brought. I show you.” He stopped and turned to Nathan. “Greek coffee. The best.”

“I know it’s very strong,” Nathan said.

“Puts hairs on your chest.”

“Just what I need,” Marie said.

“On you they look beautiful, I’m sure.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” John said. “Watch yourself, old man.”

Elias waved him off as he followed Marie up the back steps to the kitchen.

Nathan used the opportunity to talk privately with John.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asked.

“Not too bad,” John said. “I’m almost used to the sling. Should be fine in a few weeks.”

“Good, because I have a job offer.”

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Not cleaning your yard, I hope. I’m already driving for a car service here in Queens. I have to take the sling off, but at least it’s something. You’re a great guy, Nathan, but I’m not looking for charity.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Nathan said. “This is real. The Metropolitan Opera has a carpentry staff. Men who build the sets they use for the operas.”

“Really?”

“A dear friend from the old days has some clout there. He can put you on.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. The pay is union scale, whatever that is.”

“I don’t have a union card anymore, Nathan. I lost it.”

“He’ll get it back.”

“How?”

“These are very influential people, John. They do whatever they want, trust me.”

“I’m talking about a delegate got me tossed,” John said. “I had a fight with his brother was a foreman on the job I was working and they had me out like that.” He snapped his fingers for effect. “The guy killed a stray dog for the fun of it and I hit him.”

“My God, that’s terrible,” Nathan said. “Good for you, you hit him.”

“Except it cost me my union card.”

“The people behind the Met are old money. They have lots of clout.”

“That’d be great. Is it steady?”

“You’d be on staff. Unless the Metropolitan Opera goes out of business, you’ll have a job.”

“Won’t they want me to apprentice or something? I’d be coming in cold.”

“You were a union carpenter how many years?”

“Ten.”

“I told them eight, what Nancy told me once. You’ll be fine.”

“Jesus, Nathan, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll take it?”

“Of course I’ll take it. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You just did.”

John grabbed Nathan’s right hand and shook it. “Nancy really blew it with you,” he said.

“And you,” Nathan said.

One of the boys in the driveway yelled out the Yankee game was starting. Little Jack ran into the yard to ask his father if they could watch it inside in the living room.

“Ask Grandma,” John told him.

The boy ran up the back stairs and inside the house. He was back a few seconds later calling to his friends. Two boys entered the yard, said hello to John and Nathan and headed up the stairs and followed Jack inside.

“He look happy or what?” John said. “Which reminds me. Thanks for those tickets.”

“No problem,” Nathan said. “Now can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything,” John said.

“Can I teach him to play an instrument?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Sure, why not. Is he interested? He never mentioned anything to me.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I thought I’d give it a try.”

“This about visiting him? Because you can always do that, Nathan. Forever as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank you, John. I appreciate that. May I teach him?”

“Only if I can pay.”

“If you insist.”

“Can I afford it?”

“We’ll work something out.”

John took Nathan’s hand, shook it again, then leaned over and half-hugged the musician. “Thank you,” he said, “for everything.”

Detective Sean Kelly woke from the sting of cold water against his face. He coughed a few times before sitting up and acknowledging the short wiry man with cold blue eyes standing at the foot of his bed, a Colt Python .357 Magnum in his right hand. Kelly immediately recognized the gun. It was his.

“Name’s Tommy,” the man said. “Tommy Burns.”

“Am I supposed to know you?” Kelly said.

“I highly doubt it,” Burns said.

It was early in the morning. Kelly had been alone in the house since his wife and three daughters left to visit family on Long Island the day before. He tried bluffing the short man with a warning about waking his daughters.

“Not home,” Burns said. “Labor Day weekend and all.”

“You’re sure of that, are you?” Kelly said.

Burns flung the basin he’d used for the water against an armoire to the left of the bed. Kelly jumped from the crash.

“Nervous?” Burns said.

“The fuck you want?” Kelly said.

“It’s not what I want. I don’t know you from Adam.”

“Who sent you? Can’t be Vento, he’s dead.”

“You’re warm.”

“Who?”

“What’s the difference?”

“You’re gonna shoot a cop in his bed in his house? A detective with rank?”

“A disgraced detective.”

“Except I’m not dealing with the feds yet, am I? Or what am I doing in my bed? I’d be guarded at some military fort the middle of the fuckin’ country I cut a deal. Whoever sent you take the time to think about that?”

Burns was smiling.

“Fuck you and your mother,” Kelly said.

“You ever see Kiss of Death?” Burns said. “Guy’s my fucking hero, Tommy Udo.”

“You wanna tie me up first, put me in a wheelchair?”

Burns smiled again.

“You’re a sick one alright, but you’re no guinea,” Kelly said. “You’re a mick same as me. How’s that make you feel?”

Burns stopped to light a Camel filterless cigarette. “My old man said I had two choices this life. Work the docks, be another donkey, or I could be a cop. I chose the streets. You’re working a hook the docks, there’s too many people you gotta answer to. Way too many of ’em Italian.”

“Except you’re working for one now, right? Unless you’re with those crazy bastards on the West Side.”

“I’m no Westie, pal.”

“Then who? You’re here to whack me, at least gimme that.”

Burns grabbed the single chair in the room from in front of the secretary. He moved it to the side of the bed and sat.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Kelly said.

Burns said, “Except for the uniform and chain of command, fuckers like you are just as dirty as me. Dirty as a nigger’s outhouse, my old man used to say about cops on the take.”

“He was a philosopher was he, your old man?”

“Was a drunken longshoreman with a spiteful mean streak used to beat my mother the same night he’d fuck her sister lived with us. That’s what he was, my old man.”

“Your hero, no doubt.”

“You’re looking to push my buttons, but it won’t work. I’ll kill you when I’m ready.”

Kelly tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

“Not being a dago myself,” Burns continued, “one of their rank and file, I don’t have a chain of command. There’s people I answer to, yeah, but only after I’m retained, money up front. I work for the dagos this way, Eddie Vento included when he was still around, but it’s for proper wages. Those I set up front.”