MURDER TAKES TIME

Chapter 19

Thoughts of Death

Brooklyn—Current Day

Frankie pulled down the street to his apartment, finding a parking spot half a block down. He noticed Alex on the steps when he went by, so he stopped at the store and got him a Heath bar, Alex’s favorite. He was a great kid, with a personality that went into high gear the moment anyone talked to him. 

“Hey, Ace, how’s it going?” Frankie had given him the name from their time spent playing cards in Frankie’s apartment while his mother was “busy.” 

Alex raised a weak hand to wave. Frankie tossed him the candy from about ten feet away, like he always did. Alex missed it.

“Whoa, what the hell’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“All right, well, let me know if I can do anything.”

“Yeah.”

Frankie started up the steps then stopped. He knew exactly what was wrong. Alex’s mother was all but a whore and she chased that poor boy outside every time a new boyfriend came by. He pictured Alex’s face, his runny nose, and realized his own life was not that goddamn important. He went back outside, sat next to Alex and watched the cars go by. 

After about a minute, Alex looked at him for the third time. “What’s up, FD? Why you sittin’ here?”

“I felt like shit too. Thought I’d join you.”

Alex shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“Cold?” 

He shrugged again.

Frankie took off his coat and wrapped it around Alex, then lit a smoke. 

“You got one of them smokes for me?”

Frankie almost snapped at him, but caught himself. Alex didn’t need to hear more shit today. Frankie handed him a smoke and offered him a light from his own cigarette. 

“Thanks, FD.” 

They sat in silence while they smoked, then Frankie started talking, almost to himself. “I knew a guy growing up who had a mom like yours. When he was little he thought she was the best damn person in the world...” The silence lingered as he stared across the street at nothing. 

Alex looked at him. “Then what?”

“Then he found out she had a lot of boyfriends.”

“Like my mom?” 

“Yeah, I guess sort of like that, except his mom was married.”

Alex straightened up, pulled the coat tighter around him. “Did the dad know?”

A gust of winter air rushed down the street; Frankie shivered. He put his arm around Alex. “Yeah, he knew.”

“That’s shit,” Alex said. “What’d he do to her?”

Frankie crushed out his smoke, didn’t answer. After a few seconds, Alex asked again. “Hey, FD, what’d he do?”

“He took it out on us,” Frankie said.

Alex handed him the last of his cigarette, almost to the filter now. Frankie took a long drag then handed it back. “How about I cook dinner for us?” 

Alex took off the coat and handed it to Frankie. “You got a deal. I’m hungry.”

Frankie cooked dinner then they watched an old movie. Alex had gotten to like the old black-and-whites from watching so many with Frankie. When he laughed it reminded Frankie of the old days, when he and Nicky and Tony used to laugh so much. 

After a while, Alex’s mother came looking for him. She always knew where to find him if he wasn’t on the stoop. She was polite, and she showed the proper amount of concern. And she was embarrassed, unable to meet Frankie’s glare, but Frankie knew she would do the same thing next week and the week after that. He almost said something to her; instead, he said good night to Alex and said he’d see him tomorrow. 

It was too late to work, so Frankie listened to music then went to bed, hoping to get a good night’s rest.

Nino Tortella’s mutilated face kept popping into Frankie’s head, waking him from what could have been a good sleep. He sat up, drank water from a bottle he kept on the nightstand, actually a folding table he got at the garage sale along with the Bogart picture, then turned the lights on. There was no reason to turn the lights on other than to try to wash the image of Nino from his mind. This can’t be Nicky. He wouldn’t do that to someone.

He told himself that but he didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to face the tough decisions that would follow if it was true. After all, Nicky had saved his ass a lot of times—saved his life at Woodside. As Frankie thought about it, he remembered how scared he was that night. It was never easy going to a gang fight. As kids they pumped themselves up as they walked toward the scene, but that was all for show, to keep each other from turning and running. Once you were there, pride kept you, but the fear only got worse. 

Frankie remembered his stomach roiling, the sick feeling he got like he would throw up, and how, in the end, he was able to channel it all into hatred for the Woodside guys. All of that fear focused inside a raging youth wielding a chain and a club. 

He took another sip from the bottle, wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked at the clock. It was almost five. Not a good time to be trying to go back to sleep, but sure as shit not a good time to get up, either. He thought about death a lot since Woodside. After that he no longer wanted his father to die. Not even his mother. When Frankie faced death that first time it changed his perspective on things. A lot. 

Frankie leaned back, sucked hard on a smoke. He could still hear that gunshot as if he were right there. He remembered turning, seeing somebody go down, then seeing the guy turn the gun toward him, all in slow motion. He thought he was going to die that night, and he didn’t like it one bit. I would have died if not for Nicky.