MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 18-A Gathering of Friends

A Gathering of Friends

Wilmington—15 Years Ago

I stayed at Rosa’s house the first night, not wanting to be by myself. The next day, though, I went home. The furniture was still there, nothing had moved, but the house felt…empty. I shivered as I walked across the living room. 

This was more than empty. Or maybe it was less than empty. It was lonely. 

I noticed new things for the first time: the echoes of my shoes on the hardwood floor, how dark the rooms were when the lights went out, how deathly silent it was with the television off. I wondered what Pops must have felt like all those nights I spent at Tony’s. Pops here by himself, without mom. Loneliness must be the worst thing there was.

By two in the morning I still wasn’t sleeping, so I got dressed and went out. As I walked the hill a window opened in Bugs’ house. “Yo. Nicky. Hang on.”

A few minutes later, Bugs crept out the front door, lighting a smoke by the time he hit the street. He dragged hard on it, like he always did, then handed me one. “Sorry about your Pops, Nicky. Shit, that’s bad.”

Bugs wasn’t the best at offering condolences, but I knew he meant it, and he was a good friend. “Feel like walking?” I asked.

“I don’t care. I hate that house.”

We walked for a half a block in silence, then Bugs said, “Let’s see if Mick’s up.”

“You interested in Mick, or Patti?”

Bugs hit me. “Maybe the three of us could do something. You know, take your mind off things.”

“It’s two in the morning.” It was so ridiculous I almost laughed. Regardless, we went to Mick’s, tossed a few rocks at his window and eventually got him out.

The three of us roamed the streets for hours. Didn’t do shit. Just talked. Reminisced. Smoked. When we saw the Connor brothers delivering the morning papers, we knew it was time to go home. Damn near daylight anyway. As I walked in the house I realized that this was what having friends was about. 

Friendship and honor, I thought. Just like Tony says.

#

I got up at eight. Showered and dressed, then went to Tony’s house. Arrangements had to be made for Pops. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I knew I’d have help. The smell of Rosa’s meatballs hit me as I climbed the steps to her house. I hated to think of something nice on a day like this, but Rosa’s spaghetti and meatballs seemed to help any situation. As I opened the screen door, I thought about Mamma Rosa. She had simple solutions for everything, and most of them had a root in food. 

Rosa blamed air conditioners for half of the woes of the world. Said they kept people inside, made them stop socializing. “Once you stop talking with your neighbors you find things wrong with them,” she said. “And if you keep the windows closed at night, people holler more at each other, or worse—at their kids. If half the neighborhood is listening, people will be more careful with their words.” 

Worst of all though, she blamed those vile air conditioners for blocking the sweet smell of food being prepared. There was something magical about the smell of sauce and garlic from a whole neighborhood, Rosa always said. Tony and I used to laugh about it all the time, but Mick disagreed. “That’s okay for you dagos; tomato sauce smells good. But over by my house all that’s getting cooked is potatoes. And let me tell you, potatoes smell like shit when they’re cooking.” We used to laugh our asses off about that.

I stopped, took a final whiff of the sweet-smelling sauce, then walked in. “Morning, Mamma Rosa. Sure smells good in here.” Angie stood behind her, white-and-green apron covered in sauce. I didn’t think she would have been here this early.