Gangster (30 page)

    He pushed the plate toward me and gave me a hard and angry look. Those hoods you waste your time with, he said, letting a stomach full of beer help fuel his desire to talk, you ask me, that bunch is just as bad as the niggers. He snapped the can opener down on a fresh Piels, a small white bubble of foam creasing over the top. They get to live the easy life by stepping on the backs of hard workers like me. What they want they just go out and take. That's the only way they know how to live. If you're not too careful, you're gonna turn into one of them before you know it. If you haven't done it already.

    Since when do you care how I turn out? I picked up his plate, walked it over to the sink.

    I never have. John Webster shrugged his shoulders and poured the beer into his empty mug. I never made it a secret that we took you as a foster because it was nice to have some extra money. Neither one of us wanted kids and we still don't.

    That's enough, John, Virginia said, speaking her first words of the night, her worn face flushed red. There's no

    need to be cruel. Maybe you should just finish your beer and watch the rest of the movie.

    John sat across the table and stared at his wife, drinking his beer, his temper doing a slow simmer. I was just trying to be honest with the boy. Just trying to give him some idea of where his real place in the world is. Out there and in here.

    From what I heard, you did that just fine. She slid a Marlboro out of its pack and put it up to her lips, then shifted sideways in her chair, leaned back and turned on one of the gas burners on the stove and lit her cigarette. But now it might be a good idea to let it all drop.

    Looks like you got the lady in your corner, John said to me with a nod toward his wife. Which doesn't surprise me too much, since it was her idea to take you in. That was back in the days when she wanted to see what it was like to be a mother. What she didn't count on was in hating it as much as she does. Am I talking the truth here or not?

    You're doing nothing but running your mouth, Virginia said, blowing a thin line of cigarette smoke across the table. And I'm asking you to please stop it. It's not something we should be talking about in front of the boy.

    I dried my hands on a dish towel and rested my back against the edge of the sink. I haven't heard anything I didn't already know, I told them, placing the towel on top of the stack of drying dishes. What I don't know is why you kept me here as long as you have.

    That's not a question for me to answer, John said, pushing back his chair and walking toward the bedroom in the rear of the apartment. That's something you need to ask your gangster friends about. Maybe they'll be up front and tell you the truth. But I wouldn't go and bet a paycheck on it.

    My emotions ran through a rinse cycle of anger, confusion and relief. I didn't know exactly what he was talking about, what Angelo and Pudge had to do with my staying with them, but I did know that I had long overstayed my lukewarm welcome. While we were both aware of our feelings for one another, it was still an awkward silence that fell upon us as we stood in the center room of the railroad apartment. I walked away from the sink and past the shadows of my foster parents, reached a hand up to the coat rack, pulled down my Yankees warm-up jacket and unlocked the cracked wood door. You can keep the clothes, I said as I opened the door and left.

    I walked slowly down the flight of tenement steps, turning my back on an old life and heading out to begin a new one.

     *     *     *

I HAD FINALLY found a home. It was a place where I belonged, where my actions would not be scrutinized or questioned daily, where I was never viewed as an outsider forced to exist under the care of a pretend parent. I had my own room, the freedom to come and go as I pleased and a clear understanding that I would be held responsible for my actions. I was a child living life in a land filled with adults and I eagerly embraced all the implications of such an adventure. I was also made privy to a slice of the world that few as young as me would ever be allowed to see, and its influence would forever skewer the way I viewed society and my place in it.

    That night, as I walked from the Websters' apartment building down to Angelo and Pudge's bar, I knew the current course my life was on was in desperate need of a change. I was also aware of my limited options. If the two of them had turned me away, I knew I would eventually be found by state authorities and placed in an upstate orphanage for the next seven years. Few, if any, come out of such places sound, and I knew I would not likely be one of them. I was not mentally equipped for a street existence, and the handful of kids I knew who had that life had either ended up hooked on drugs or were found dead in an alley. Knowing that, it was clear that my only hope rested on the whims of the two most dangerous gangsters in New York City.

    I spoke to both of them together and I spoke quickly. I'll do whatever you ask, I said, still wearing my windbreaker inside the air-cooled bar. Angelo and Pudge sat at a back table, their faces lit by candles and the glow from an overhead television, looking up at me, their hands folded in front of them. And I won't ever be a bother to you. I'm not even around for most of the time, anyway, and I can run errands to pay for the food you give me.

    Angelo lifted a glass of milk to his lips and took a slow sip. His olive-colored eyes glowed in the flame from the candle and his thin, unlined face betrayed no emotions. He placed the glass back down on its coaster and wiped his mouth with the edge of a folded napkin. I have a wife and two children, Angelo said, his voice as always low and rich. I only see them when I have to. Why do I need to see you every day?

    I didn't know you had a family. I tried to hide the surprise in my words. You never said anything about them before.

    You never said anything about living here before, Angelo said. At least not to me.

    You both have been real good to me, I told them. And I know I came in here asking a lot. So, if you say no, it won't change the way I feel about you and about this place.

    Where's no take you? Pudge asked. His voice was much softer than Angelo's, his body less rigid. Other than not here.

    On my own for as long as that lasts, I said with a shrug. Then probably up to a home.

    And does something like that scare you any, having to live in one of those places? Pudge asked, leaning closer in to the table.

    I try not to think about it too much, I admitted. But when I do, then it does.

    I hope you're not afraid of dogs, Angelo said, finishing his glass of milk and looking down at the white pit bull nuzzled against his leg. Because any spare room we might have, you have to share with Ida. And she likes to have people around her even less than I do.

    I looked down at the dog whose eyes were as dark and distant as her owner's and turned back to Angelo. Does she bite? I asked.

    She sees an opening, she takes it, Angelo said with a certain pride.

    She's also used to getting her own way, Pudge said. Wouldn't surprise me much to see her take the bed and leave you sleeping on the floor.

    Hands down, I'd take her floor over the bed I just left, I said.

    Angelo slid his chair back and stood, stepping over the dog and turning his back to me. You'll need to get a leash, he said looking at me over his shoulder. She walks with me without one, but I don't think she'll do the same for you. Which means she might get lost and if that happens then you'd need to do the same.

    Pudge watched Angelo open the back door and disappear into the darkness of his small office, then turned to me. You got any clothes with you or stuff you want to bring up to the room? he asked.

    Just what I'm wearing, I said, trying to contain the relief I felt at being accepted into their company.

    That should make your moving in a snap, then, Pudge said, pouring himself a fresh glass of grappa.

    The Websters are probably going to call social services in the morning, I told him.

    They're not going to call anybody. Pudge waved his hand dismissively. On paper and as far as anybody else is concerned, you're still staying with them. Me and Angelo stay invisible. All it means for you is that every once in a while you may have to scoot over there, whenever one of the social welfare people come bopping by. They'll keep your room the way it is, make it look like you still live there.

    Why would they do that? I asked. They couldn't wait to get rid of me.

    You they can live without, Pudge said. But money is something they need and if they want to keep it coming in, they'll play along with whatever we ask.

    John Webster said the only reason the two of them kept me long as they did was because of you two.

    Drunks never lie, Pudge said.

    When can I move in? I looked around the bar, fighting back the urge to both cry from happiness and smile out of relief that what I had wished seemed ready to come true.

    Pudge stood, walked over to me and put an arm around my shoulders. Soon as you go out and get her a leash, he said, pointing down to Angelo's sleeping white pit bull. The quicker you make Ida your friend, the better off you're gonna find yourself. Don't expect it to be easy. Who she doesn't know, she doesn't trust. Just like us.

     *     *     *

I NEVER DID figure out why he took me in the way he did, I said to Mary. She was standing in a corner of the room, staring down at the busy streets below, her arms folded around her chest.

    He probably looked at you the same way that Ida the Goose had looked at him, she said, her eyes not moving from the bump and shove of the teeming traffic. You needed someone to take care of you, just like he once did. I don't think it was any more complicated than that.

    I can figure why Ida did it, I said, walking over closer to Mary. She had no one else in her life. Angelo had a wife and two kids and, from the way he acted, he couldn't care one way or the other if he ever saw them.

    The family he had just wasn't the family he wanted. His wife lived in a big house on Long Island and the two children were sent to the best schools. They had plenty of friends and activities to occupy their time. And that's what made them happy. Angelo had Pudge, those horrible dogs he loved having around and, then, he added you. And that's what made him happy.

    He never talked about his wife, I said. I met her a few times before she died. She was nice enough and didn't seem upset that he wasn't around her much. They just didn't have anything going on between them. She might as well have been another customer in the bar.

    What they had was once called a marriage of convenience, Mary said, in an accepting tone of voice. A business deal of sorts. Her father was an Irish gang boss in Nassau County and Angelo and Pudge were looking to expand into his area.

    So they made a deal, that part's easy to understand, I said. What I don't get, if one of them needed to get married, then why not Pudge instead of Angelo?

    Mary placed a hand on my arm and smiled. Pudge would never agree to it, she said. He loved life too much to settle down on a business deal, regardless of the circumstances. Angelo saw it for what it was and that's the way he dealt with it.

    And the kids? Why bother having any?

    It was all part of the agreement, Mary said. If her father was going to hand over half his business to Angelo, he wanted more than a married daughter in return. He wanted grandchildren playing in his backyard.

    I don't even remember her name, I said. It's been so long since I even thought of her.

    Gail, Mary said. Gail Mallory and she was a good woman who deserved better than to have a father who bargained her off to a husband who didn't love her.

    After Isabella, it would have been difficult for Angelo to fall in love with any other woman, I said. It would have been too hard for him to accept.

    He came close one other time, Mary said, turning her back on me, content once again to search through the traffic passing by on the avenue beneath us. At least as close to love as Angelo would ever allow himself to get.

    Who was it? I asked, stepping closer to Mary, the morning sun warming both our faces.

    Me, Mary said, lowering her head, her delicate hands holding on to the edges of the radiator.

Winter, 1966

ANGELO WATCHED IDA walk along the side of the pier, stopping every few feet to stare out at the emptiness of the Hudson River. I was next to him, my hands shoved as deep into my wool jacket as they could go, the collar lifted to cover as much of my ears as possible. Angelo never seemed to notice weather, dressing the same regardless of the time of year. The pain from his lungs grew worse as he got older and no climate could help ease the torment each time he took a breath. His face had hardened with age, crease lines now wedged in along the eyes and lips, giving him a more lived-in look and adding to the threatening menace that could accompany an otherwise innocent glance. He was now in his third decade as a mob boss and, despite the millions he had accumulated, gave no indication of walking away from the life he had embraced.

    Being a mob boss, especially one as big as Angelo was, is the same as being the king of a small country, Pudge would tell me. He ranked right alongside Luciano, Giancana, Trafficante and Genovese in terms of underworld power. When you are that strong, you find yourself with people around you willing to give up their life in order to save yours. Then you got those who would flip you over and work to have you killed, so they could look good for the next king that comes along. You got all this money coming in but, at the same time, you got soldiers working the streets griping about how little they get to take out of the big pot. People fear you until you're dead and then they forget you as quick as yesterday's breakfast. But no king ever walks away from it. However they die, on the throne or in the street, they do it with that crown still sitting tight on their head.

    I stood next to Angelo as a large river rat floated past, both of us watching Ida bark down at the murky waters below. She was crouched on her rear legs, poised to make the leap and nab her prey.