Robert Randisi - You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

“I was surprised when you called, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “Ain’t nobody in your family got a car?”

“I don’t get along so well with my family, Jerry,” I said. “Haven’t for a very long time. That’s why I called you. I just … needed somebody I could count on. You’re the only person in New York who fit the bill.”

“Wow,” Jerry said. “That’s, like … okay, Mr. G. You know you can count on me. You want me to drive you to the funeral home?”

I took a second slice of pizza.

“That’s what I was thinkin’, Jerry, but now I’m not so sure I want to go. Not tonight.”

“Okay, so, tomorrow, then?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“I mean … you flew all the way here, and not to go?”

“I’ll go Thursday,” I said. “For the actual burial, but the wake-you know, that’s just a bunch of people who haven’t seen each other since the last funeral.”

“Ya know,” Jerry said, “sometimes I think those wakes-people use them as family reunions.”

“Exactly,” I said, “only it’s a bunch of people gathered together who don’t really want to see one another, other than at funerals.”

“I know what ya mean, Mr. G.,” Jerry said.

I grabbed a third piece while Jerry had a fourth, a second beer while he had a third.

“Jerry, we’ve never talked about your family,” I said.

“Ain’t got one, Mr. G. I spent time in foster homes, then boys’ homes, reform schools, then prison. But I been on my own now for twenty years.”

“You were never adopted?”

“I was too bad to be adopted,” Jerry said. “I knew that. I never took it personal when they sent me back to the home.”

“Maybe you were better off,” I said. “You didn’t have crazy parents playin’ with your head.”

“That’s what happened to you?”

“Me, my brother, my sister.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you had no brother an’ sister, Mr. G.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t make it out like I did,” I said. “They’re as crazy as the people who raised us.”

“Your father,” Jerry asked. “Is he still alive?”

“Oh, yeah …”

“So you’ll see him at the funeral.”

“Yes.”

I used a napkin to clean grease from my chin, then drank some beer. Pizza and beer, such simple pleasures, reminding me of the good parts of my youth in Brooklyn.

“I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”

“But you gotta do it, right?” Jerry asked. “Because she was your mother?”

“That’s the only reason I flew here,” I said. “Because I had to.”

That reminded me. I had to call the Sands, let them know how to get in touch with me.

“Can I use your phone to call Vegas?”

“Sure, Mr. G. It’s right there.”

Jack’s girl made me wait, but finally put me through to him.

“I’m at this number, Jack,” I said, reading the digits off the dial.

“What hotel is that?”

“I’m … stayin’ with a friend.”

“Not family?”

“Hell, no.”

“Okay, Eddie,” Entratter said. “I hope it’s not all too … bad for you.”

“Thanks, Jack. I’m sure I’ll be back by Friday.”

“Okay.”

Next I called Danny’s office, got Penny, his secretary.

“Eddie, where have you been?” she asked.

“Busy. Is he around?”

“No, he’s in L.A.”

“He is? Still?”

“Well, you gave him permission to tail Marilyn Monroe. I think he’s taking full advantage of it.”

“Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Okay, if he wants to talk to me he can get me here.” Once again, I read the number off the center of the dial.

“What hotel is that?”

“Why does everybody want me to spend money on a hotel?” I asked. “I’m stayin’ with a friend.”

“Not family?”

“Good-bye, Penny.”

I looked at Jerry, who had one slice of pizza left in his box. There were four still in mine. I went over and picked one up.

“Startin’ already, huh?” he asked.

“What?”

“All the questions.”

“Questions I don’t want to answer.”

“I know,” Jerry said. “People used ta ask me about my family all the time. They wuz always shocked to find out I didn’t have one. Guineas, they got so many family members, ya know? Oops, sorry, Mr. G.”

“That’s okay, Jerry,” I said. “I know Italian families are large.

Nothin’ I can do about that. All I can do is steer clear of the crazy.”

“So you moved to Vegas,” Jerry said. “No crazy there, right?”

I bit into my pizza. “At least I’m not related to it.”

I spent the first day of the wake in front of Jerry’s TV.

After we finished most of the pizza and all of the beer he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I didn’t want to hold him up, that if he had business he needed to take care of, go ahead.

“I got nothin’ doin’, Mr. G.,” he said. “I’m pretty much free and clear for a coupla days, at least.”

“Well, you don’t have to entertain me, Jerry.”

“You just lost yer mother, so I feel kinda, ya know, obligated ta at least sit with ya.”

“Well, that’s nice but-”

“I think I got a bottle of bourbon around here, someplace,” he said. “We could watch some TV.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I said. “Sort of our own private wake right here-at least, for a while.”

So we drank bourbon-Jack Daniel’s-and watched television. I was having a much better time than I would have had at the funeral parlor, trying to defend my life to my family.

Next thing I knew it was morning, and I was sprawled on the couch. There was a pillow under my head, and a blanket draped over me. I could smell coffee and bacon. I sat up, bumping into a coffee table that stood right in front of the sofa.

“You got time to jump inta the shower, Mr. G. I put fresh towels in there for ya. I’m makin’ omelets. Ya want toast with yours?”

God, he sounded perky-not a word I would have previously associated with Big Jerry. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was happy to have the company.

“Toast would be good,” I said. “I’ll be quick.”

I grabbed my toiletries from my bag and stumbled into the bathroom. It was small, stark, very white. It smelled as if it had recently been cleaned. In the shower I found a fresh bar of soap next to a bottle of shampoo. There was also a bottle of something that seemed to be for the treatment of thinning hair. Was Jerry concerned about a receding hairline?

Used the soap, my own shampoo, got dressed and shuffled to the kitchen with damp hair.

“Just in time,” Jerry said. He put a mug of coffee in front of me. No milk, no sugar, which meant he remembered how I took it. Food was always a main concern with Jerry, so he obviously had a good memory about it.

He put a plate on the table piled with a stack of white toast, and then set two plates of omelets down. I could see green peppers, onions and bacon in the eggs.

“You want hot sauce or somethin’?” he asked.

“No, this is great. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I don’t mind. I like cookin’. Ya probably wanna have a diner breakfast while you’re here, though, so we can do that tomorrow.”

As with the pizza I hadn’t been to a Brooklyn Greek diner in a long time. I hadn’t thought about it, but he was right. I would like a diner breakfast before I went back to Vegas. Who knew if I’d ever be back to Brooklyn after this? That depended on how I got along with my father, my brother and my sister. If things went as badly as I expected them to, I knew I’d never be back, no matter what.

I added salt and pepper to my omelet, which Jerry didn’t seem to mind. He did the same with his. I buttered some toast to go with it.