The Tank

Chapter 5

The ride back to Jersey was cramped and awkward. The men were slightly shifted in their seats, angled away from Robbie. Robbie just stared down at his blood covered hands. He could’ve easily killed Frankie if hadn’t gone for his hands, but Robbie never intended to kill him. All he wanted to do was protect Vinny, even if Robbie was the one taking all the hits. The truth is, Robbie never truly cared for what Vinny called the “hard life”. Robbie never liked hurting anyone, but he never had a choice. He hurt a lot of people, and a lot of them he hurt when he didn’t want to.

Robbie sat quietly, and he thought again of leaving the Mafia. He never wanted to join, but he really did have no choice given what he had before the “hard life”.

Robbie was a kid on the street with a dream. But, just like every kid with a dream in New York in the 30s, it just didn’t happen.

Robbie grew up poor and hungry, and resorted to stealing just to keep his family somewhat stable. Because of his condition, he stayed inside a lot, and got sick quite easily. Robbie found himself inside a lot later in his childhood, with his family disappearing around him.

His father no longer kept returning to the Hooverville slum, and as disease spread, his baby brother passed on from a deadly case of influenza in late December of 1936, as his immune system was too weak to fight it, and heating was a mere myth to Robbie's family, rendering the entire family vulnerable to the freezing winter.

His mother died later in 1937, at his side, telling him that he could prosper, and make something of himself, and that she would and always did have faith in Robbie. Even within her dying breaths, Robbie’s mother believed in him. Shortly after, she died a cold mess at Robbie's side, frostbite nipping at the tips of her fingers, hypothermia naturally whitening her face. Icy tears ran down Robbie's wide face, and he fell into a freezing limbo.

He lay there for hours, his mother still attatched at his side, hand around his arm. That area of his arm was actually quite warm as Robbie fell in and out of a freezing comatose state. Everything seemed hopeless, grim, fatal. Robbie nearly gave up, but then he met Vinny.

Robbie ended up befriending Vinny about 12 years ago in 1938 when a member from his old gang tried robbing the old Hooverville slum, and Robbie ended up breaking the man's arm in 3 different places.

When Vinny originally picked up Robbie, Vinny tried using him for his own gain, performing odd jobs at Robbie’s own expense and endangerment. He barely regarded Robbie as a bodyguard, let alone a human being. Vinny payed him barely anything for his awful tasks, but even to Robbie, 25 cents was a fortune.

Vinny knew something was wrong after the first year, however, because while most men would’ve left Vinny by now, Robbie stayed true to Vinny's side and remained loyal. It was only until Vinny truly realized the loyalty and faith Robbie had truly put into him, that he truly confided in him. In a lack of better words, Vinny saved Robbie’s life, and from that day forth, Vinny valued Robbie truly, almost like a son.

By year two, they were practically inseparable. They ran together, watched out for each other, and Robbie was always the mediator for Vinny. During that second year, Vinny tutored Robbie in the art of crime, and how, “It’ll pay if ya ain’t stupid or somethin’.” Robbie never really followed that type of life, trying to maintain his mothers dying wishes to stay kind, and to pay respect back to the people who tend to you in times of light and dark.

Robbie has been loyal ever since. Not just to his mother, but to God, Vinny and the entire Mafia. But now, however, Robbie wanted out. He felt like Vinny didn't value him, and he felt like Vinny was just using him as an outlet for hurt, and more odd jobs that he didn't want to do.

Robbie continued to sit, morosely staring at his now blood dried hands. Vinny reached from across the van and slapped Robbie, "What the hell were you thinkin'!" Vinny was yelling now, making the men flinch and crawl back further in their seats.

"Vinny, I-"

"No! No more of that shit! You knew exactly what not to do, and ya did it. What th' hell is your problem? Why'd you do it? You damn near killed the man..." Vinny paused. His brow raised, and he started again, "So that's it, huh? You wanted to kill him, is that it?"

Robbie paused. He stiffened up again, wide eyed, "What the fuck Vinny?" Robbie had a rising tone in his voice, and he leaned forward in Vinny's face, taking up his space, pushing him backwards.

"Tell me why I'd ever wanna hurt anyone. Tell me why I'd wanna kill him. All I wanted to do was help your sorry ass, but you can't ever be appreciatin' of nothin'."

Robbie spat out his words through gritted teeth, and he leaned backwards quickly, quietly, and angerly. Robbie leaned over and looked across the drivers seat, into the outside world.

The vans were over High Bridge once more, and Robbie desparingly absorbed the disgusting familiarity of the Bronx, and pulled away from the window, sitting in his seat dissatisfied, with an arched brow leaning against his eyes like dominos in motion.

His eyes darted, and when they met with Vinny's, he shot away quickly, and centered to a lonely, grime filled corner in the van. Vinny was feeling the crooked bridge of his crushed nose. He started again, "Y'know Rob, I really am grateful..."

The silence crept into the van once more, and it coated like a thick cream. Scar, almost blended into the crowd of men, spoke once again, creeping out of his unidentified shadow. "What's happenin' to us..." Scar was melancholic in his tone, and he stared downwards, projecting to his feet. "God damn... it's like we don't even know he we are or somethin'. I mean - c'mon Vin you gotta give Rob a break! Ya put the boy through th' ringer, he fires back in force, 'n then ya yell at him? C'mon Vin, ya pushin' 'im too much. Even a guy like Rob needs a break once in a while - and ya ain't doin' 'im any favors." Scar was arched, pointed, so tactically positioned in his seat he overpowered even Robbie.

"Jesus, God... next thing ya know, Vin, you'll have a problem on your hands, and Robbie won't be there no more. I mean fucks sake Vin' you known the guy for what? Twelve years or somethin'? And ya treat 'im like this?"

Scar paused, thinking his next words carefully. "He's all ya got Vin, and you know it damn well better than I do."

The men in the van were whispering to each other in agreement. Instead of getting mad, Vinny sat in contempt. He knew the point in arguing with the logically thinking man was unreasonable in it of itself, and he sat quietly, thinking. He knew Scar was correct.

Vinny looked up and studied the faces of the van. He studied Robbie, who was now sitting low, with his head in his knees. Vinny spoke again, this time to Scar, "You're right, Scar. I ain't been nice. But in my defense, we gotta hustle. New York may still be recoverin' but wit the Gambinos, an' th-"

"Jus' shut the fuck up Vinny." Scar was on edge of a furious ourburst, and he backtracked with his words, and spoke again, "It ain't about the money, Vinny. It ain't about the Gambinos, or New York, or the new decade. It's about us, Vinny, family. For Gods sake Vin, Robbie is practically your blood brother, and yet you do this. Ya treat 'im like shit, then blame it on the hustle. Jus' let it settle for once in ya head Vin, please."

Vinny laid back slowly now, and he looked back around the drivers seat, and he was again familiar with his location. "We're here," Vinny said in nearly a whisper. He brought his head down sadly and in his own shame.

The men filed out of the van quickly into the late Jersey afternoon, while Vinny and Robbie sat together quietly, the darkness filling and wrapping its shadowy arms around the men in a tight embrace.

Vinny sat, and Robbie sat. A moment passed. It's that type of moment where you can feel time pass. That type of moment where you feel yourself regressing, then regretting, then nothing. That moment when you look back on the world, then yourself, then your friend. That type of moment where you feel the friendliness of the darkness and the heat as it creeps up your neck, and massaging your mind. That type of moment where time allots for you, and only you.

The moment passed, and then another. And as the moments passed and the afternoon sun set, the men sat, while never speaking a word.