Pete Hamill - North River

Delaney and the boy heated up the minestrone that Rose had left in the refrigerator for their lunch, and ate it with bread and a saucer of olive oil. The boy squinted at Delaney.

“Gran’pa? Why you have white hair?”

“Well, it’s not completely white, is it?” Delaney said, brushing a hand through his hair. “I mean, there’s brown hair there too.”

“Yes, but Rosa has no white hair.”

“She’s young, big fella. I’m old.”

He gazed at Delaney. “What is old?”

“It’s when…” He hesitated. What the hell was it? “It’s when you have a lot of birthdays and you live a long time.”

The boy tried to understand but gave it up and turned his attention to the stuffed bear. Delaney thought: You’ll know soon enough.

Later they went upstairs and stretched out on the boy’s bed, and Delaney read to him the beginning of the tale of Dorothy and her magic slippers, and after a while both were asleep.

In the evening, when the rain had eased, they went to Angela’s. Rose was not home yet, and Delaney wished that she was with them. Angela gave them a table for two along the wall. One large table was presided over by Harry Flanagan, the Tammany guy. He waved hello and Delaney waved back. The others at the table turned their heads and nodded too.

They were almost finished with dinner when Billy McNiff stepped in the door. He went directly to Delaney.

“Hey, Doc? I just passed your house. There’s two cop cars there, and an ambulance just pulled up.”

Delaney stood up and waved at Angela, who sensed an emergency and told him: “Go, go.”

He lifted the boy and hurried out, and as he turned into Horatio Street he saw the two squad cars with red dome lights turning. An ambulance was backed up to the curb, its back doors open. Don’t let it be Rose. A small crowd was forming, with excited kids running around, and women with folded arms, and many men. When he reached the house, Danny Shapiro was outside, his badge pinned to his zipper jacket, smoking a cigarette and talking to a uniformed cop. He stepped on the butt when he saw Delaney.

“What’s up?” Delaney said.

“Come on in,” Shapiro said. “See for y’self.”

Delaney put Carlito down and said: “Wait here, Carlito.”

“I want Rosa,” the boy said. He looked about to break into tears.

The uniformed cop said: “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry, Doc.”

The cop lifted the boy and started talking to him in a low voice, but the boy’s anxiety did not go away. Delaney stepped into the vestibule. A man was stretched out on the floor of the waiting area, while two ambulance medics worked on him, wiping blood off his face. One medic was thin, the other beefy. Both said hello to Delaney. He recognized them from St. Vincent’s.

“You know this guy?” Shapiro said.

“Yeah,” Delaney said. “His name is Callahan. He’s an FBI man.”

“Jesus Christ,” Shapiro said. “Then the ID is real. I figured he’s some gonif with a phony ID.”

“Where’s Rose?”

“In your office,” Shapiro said. “She says she heard a noise and tiptoed down the stairs and sees this guy picking the lock on your office.”

“And then?”

“She hits him with a fuckin’ baseball bat.”

Delaney’s eyes widened. “Is he alive?”

“Barely.” He looked down at the stricken man. “Take a look, Doctor.”

Delaney squatted beside the medics, found a pulse, then pictured Rose with her Louisville Slugger parked each night beside her bed. The man’s eyes were still closed.

“There’s a seven-inch gash in his head, which is why there’s so much blood,” the thin medic said. “It looks to be just a scalp wound, but inside, who knows?”

“An inch lower, she hits the temple? He’s a corpse,” the beefy medic said.

“You need to get him X-rayed,” Delaney said. “See if his skull is broken.”

“Yeah,” the thin medic said. “There’s a concussion for sure.”

“What are you waiting for? Shouldn’t he be —”

“His boss is on the way, from the FBI. We were told, do nothing.”

Delaney stood up and said to Shapiro, “Where’s the weapon?”

“Over there,” Shapiro said.

The bat was leaning in a corner against the wall.

“When you searched this guy,” Delaney said, “was he carrying a search warrant?”

“Not unless it’s in his shoe,” Shapiro said. “He was packing a thirty-eight.”

Delaney pushed into his office, without touching the door handle. Rose was in his chair, her elbows on his desk, her hands cradling her head. Her face was flushed, her eyes glittery.

“I’m sorry to cause all this trouble,” she said softly.

“You didn’t cause it. The guy on the floor out there — he caused it. He broke into our house. You defended yourself and the house.”

“Who is he?”

“His name’s Callahan. He’s an FBI man, trying to track down my daughter, Grace.”

Rose groaned. “Ah, hell. I’m doomed. I gotta get out of here. If I killed a G-man, then —”

“Calm down. He’s alive. And he might be in more trouble than you. It looks like he has no warrant. That’s a piece of paper from a judge allowing him to go into someone’s house.”

“But I broke his head. Just like my goddam husband.”

She stood up, anxiously balling and relaxing her fingers, her words speeding now. “No matter what. They’re sure to investigate me. And I’m a — I don’t have papers. ” She inhaled deeply, then exhaled almost desperately. “They could throw me outta the country! Away from Carlito! Away from you. ”

Rose turned her back to him and choked off a sob. Delaney went to her and hugged her.

“Never,” he said. “Never.”

When Delaney stepped back into the waiting area, Callahan was sitting up, with his back to the wall. His eyes were open, but he was still somewhere else, like a fighter who’d been knocked out. A rough bandage was wrapped around his head to stop the bleeding from the scalp. Another casualty. And he suspected that Callahan’s pain was compounded by humiliation. The man did not look at him. Delaney could not repress a sense of pity.

“Where’d the medics go?” Delaney said.

“They got another run,” Shapiro said. “The Feds are coming themselves to pick this guy up.”

“What? This dope has to go to a hospital now! ”

“Yeah, but the G-men say they’ll handle it.”

“Fuck the G-men.” He went back into his office and picked up the telephone. Shapiro grabbed his wrist.

“Leave it alone, Jim.”

Delaney sighed and placed the receiver back on the hook. In a corner, Rose was staring at him. He went to her and squeezed her hand in a gentle way. Then he went back to the hall, Shapiro behind him.

“Will they charge Rose with anything?” Delaney said.

“They might, but I doubt it, if they don’t have a warrant. I mean, the newspapers would kill them. No warrant and it’s breakin’ and entering.” He sighed. “But who knows, with these fucking amateurs. Some people actually think those G-men movies are true. Cops and newspapermen know they are bullshit. So do ninety-two percent of the people who lived through Prohibition.”

Delaney said: “I’ll be right back.”

He stepped outside, and Carlito was sobbing in the arms of the big cop and reaching with his left hand for Delaney. The crowd was larger in the street.

“I’ll take him off your hands, officer. ”

“Sure thing,” the cop said, passing the boy to Delaney. Carlito kept whispering granpagranpagranpa and holding him with both hands around the neck. Delaney carried him back inside, talking quietly to the boy. He eased past Shapiro and another cop and the stricken Callahan into his office. Rose came to them with tears in her eyes. The boy spoke her name and reached for her, and she took him in her arms and murmured softly in English and Sicilian, making a sound that was more music than language. Then Delaney heard the gate open and slam, followed by the slamming of the vestibule door.