Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn Page 7

  “He sho did,” said Beulah. “He went and had a little talk with that assembly man fella, that’s what he did, dintcha, Mr. Jackson?”

  “Wale, I…, it wern’t nothin’. Mr. Richards did it all. Spoke to his good friend Herzog at the Deli. He be the one that put all o’ this here together. Spoke to the De-vinas, too…and the po-leece. I’ll tell you, that Mista Richards feller sho knows ever’body.”

  Walking toward them was Louie, his wife Yolanda and their two teenage girls, Lucy and Rosalinda. Fat Tony was around somewhere, busy at the moment hunting down his kids.

  “Hey, yo, what’re you doing way over there? Where’s your mother, Diego?”

  Diego answered from the other end of the table. “Hi Louie, home…her hip…you know.”

  “Nah! that ain’t no good. She ought a be out here with you. Let’s go get her. You and me, whaddya say? She shouldn’t be alone in the house like that.”

  Ana, sitting in a chair next to the window, looked up when Louie entered with Diego. “Louie, come in, sientate.”

  “Whaddya sittin’ by the window for, Ana? Come down with us,” said Louie. “We’re here to bring you to da party.”

  “Oh, no, please! I’m no look so good.”

  “Your fine like that. Nice dress by the way.”

  Ana self conscientiously closed the collar. “My house dress? No…thees is a rag.”

  “Nonsense, Ana. You look great.”

  “Mom, stop fighting, please. Do it for me?”

  “Caramba! Okay, fine! Are ju going to help me down dee steps? I cannot walk by myself. Not today.”

  “Of course,” said Louie.

  “I’ll get your coat,” said Diego.

  The last few bars of Elvis Presley’s, Hard Headed Woman, was almost over. Hector had another old 45, I Wonder Why, by the Belmonts, ready to put on the record player. In queue is, To Know Him, is to Love Him, by the Teddy Bears. Underneath that lay, Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, by Brenda Lee.

  A few of the new ‘61 hits were there as well, like, Stand by me, by Ben E. King and, Hello Mary Lou, Goodbye Heart, by teenage heart-throb, Ricky Nelson. The Shirelles’, Mama Said, and Neil Sedaka’s, Calendar Girl, were also lying nearby. Next to those and all by itself, unopened in its paper jacket, was the number one hit on the pop charts, I Fall to Pieces, by Patsy Cline.

  Someone tapped Hector on the shoulder. He turned to see who it was. “Oh, hi, Mrs. D.”

  “Whena you gona put on Deano Marteen? I’m a wait for a longa time already.”

  Hector read the label out loud. “Return to me?”

  “Yes, that’s a the good side.”

  “But that’s boring!”

  “Hey, what do you mean itsa boring? Put it on, or you not gonna get any of my lasagna.”

  “I had some already, it was good,” Hector said, with a laugh.

  “Then I’m a gonna give a you a puncha inna the nose. Howza you lika a them apples, huh?”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll put it on next. Just don’t beat me up.”

  Mrs. D’avino turned to go back to the store for more meatballs, giving Hector a pat on the butt as she left.

  “Hey, you eeza lucky thisa time.”

  Mr. Richards arrived late, around 5:30. Mrs. D’avino caught up to him at the tables. “I save you a plate of a the meata balls and soma lasagna.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  “I go warm it up for you. I coma right back.”

  He congratulated Diego.

  “Mr. Richards! Gee, thanks, its been swell!”

  “Don’t mention it. This was fun for all of us. I need to speak to your mother.”

  “Sure!”

  “Mrs. Rivera?”

  “Hello, Meester Reechards!”

  I’m taking a couple of the kids from the Colony House to the Museum of Natural History in the city tomorrow. If Diego wants to go, he’s more than welcomed.”

  “Gee, Mom…can I go?”

  “That’s okay. Maybe I con make some sanweesh for heem?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m treating them all to pizza afterwards.”

  “Can Hector go, Mr. Richards?” Diego asked.

  “Absolutely! One more won’t make a difference. Go ahead and ask him. Either way, meet me at the Colony House before twelve tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Ees that enough time, Meester Reechards? Why so late?”

  “Well, you know how kids are, they get bored fairly quickly. Most of them only want to see dinosaurs. After that they get a little rambunctious.”

  “What time are ju coming back?”

  “Around six or seven. I’ll make sure it’s not later than that.”

  Chapter Five

  Hell’s Kitchen

  Barnes returned tired from work—too many kids in the theatre today—up and down, up and down. It seemed all he did the entire shift was do nothing but go up and down the aisles chasing the misbehaved kids that were throwing popcorn, peeing from their seats, or groping one another in the back row. He must have tossed out at least a half a dozen of them.

  He relaxed on the front stoop sipping a beer. Although late, he couldn’t sleep—perhaps in an hour or so. He needed to unwind a bit first.

  From where he sat he could see into Ana’s window, the red floral, plastic curtain spread wide and revealing. Now and then he caught a full view of her limping around in her panties and bra.

  Nice legs! Not bad for a crippled broad. I wouldn’t mind doin’ her. Hell, I might just knock on her door in the morning. Crap! Tomorrow’s Saturday—the kids home. Shit!

  Hey, wait a minute…they’re off until after New Year’s. It’s the holidays—damn! Well, that sucks!

  Joe continued to stare through the window.

  Someday I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna do that bitch…I really am.

  He stood straight and gulped down what was left inside the bottle. After double checking that no one would see him, he edged closer to the window.

  Look at that! Twelve thirty at night and that stupid kid’s watchin’ Flash Gordon. When the hell does he go to bed?

  Ana limped to the sink.

  Nice…and not a bad ass, either.

  Saturday Afternoon 1:40 P.M.

  Back on the stoop from Herzog’s, Joe finished an egg on a roll and sipped black coffee from a paper cup. He said nothing to Karen’s little girls, all bundled up as they ran by and clambered down the front steps and then skipped to the other side of the street. There, they met another girl where they started to play hop scotch on the sidewalk.

  The outside door creaked open. Barnes faced it and was pleasantly surprised.

  “What brings you out on a chilly day like this?”

  “I’m try to catch dee girls to go to dee store for me. Done ju go to work today, Joe?”

  “Yeah, two o’clock. Where’s your son?”

  “He went to the museum wees some people from dee colony house. They juss leave.”

  “Oh! Won’t be back for a while, huh?”

  “No,…tonigh’, seex or seven, sometheeng like tha’.”

  “Tonight, huh?” Barnes focused on her perfectly round ass as she reentered the building.

  Crap! And I gotta go to work in 35 minutes. Saturdays suck. Same old crap, damn unruly fuckin’ kids.

  Hey…wait a sec. Yeah…that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go in to work and wait for the feature film to start. I’ll show myself in the aisles and shine my flash light in a few faces. Yeah…that’s it, let ‘em know I’m there. After that, I’ll pass by the ticket booth, give the old hag a wave and check the bathroom real quick. That way, it’ll look like I’m doing my job. I can slip out the back stock room unnoticed and catch the bus. I’ll probably get back here by three thirty, give or take, do what I gotta do with her, then finish her off so she can’t rat me out. I should be back at work before the second feature starts. Ha! I’ll have a good alibi. Nobody will even know I was gone. Too bad I gotta bump the bitch off. She would’ve been good for another toss. />
  Humph! Hey…nobody ever said there were any guarantees in life.

  2:27 P.M. The Brooklyn Fox Theatre

  Barnes made a final pass up the aisles. By the time the coming attractions finish in a few more minutes he would have a head start on the first movie. He checked that Edith, the old spinster behind the ticket window, saw him walk by, nodded and headed for the concession stand. There, he dilly dallied around a bit before moving on to the men’s room.

  It was empty when he went in. Normally, he would have checked the booths, pulling each of the doors wide open as he went by. It was something he always did out of habit. Not that he cared if anyone was actually taking a dump, but to see if maybe a couple of guys were in there doing something they shouldn’t be doing. That’s when he’d nail them. Extortion was profitable. Catching lovers in the act put money in his pockets. Either that or he’d threaten to turn them into the cops—or at the least, harass the shit out of them. But not now! There was no time for that. He was impatient to get back to Dean Street.

  The bathroom door opened, followed by a familiar, ‘though unwelcomed voice.

  “Well looky, looky over heah who we all found in da baretroom. Guess whoid’s, Tommy? Dear old Mista Joe, da wiggly woim, Barnes.”

  Shit! …“Er…uh…hi Fast Eddie. So how’s things going?”

  Fast Eddie was the type of guy that did everything slow. He even talked slow, hence the spoof on the name play. Burdened with a speech impediment from a deformed palate, he grew up with a defense-like attitude. Frail in stature, it only added to his insecurities, which he made up for with his tough guy persona. Along with a strong, West Side accent, he at times was hard to understand, even by acquaintances from his own neighborhood.

  Under his open coat he wears a size 38, white dress shirt pressed to a T with the collar up in back. Three top buttons are left open to show off the thick, curly hairs of his bony chest. Black, greasy hair, loaded down with copious amounts Brill Cream, lay flat and slicked down at the sides. Above his forehead, a skillfully sculptured pompadour curls like a high wave approaching a sandy beach.

  With a matter of fact tone in his voice, and chewing a fat wad of gum that he liked to snap as he spoke, he said, “Things ain’t so good Barnes.” Snap! “At least not for you, dat is.” Pop! “There’s a little matta of some money you owes somebody, rememba? Or dids ya forget? Now I knows it’s been awhile, so let me refresh your memory. Does ten thousan’ clams soun’ familia?”

  “I ain’t got it, Eddie. I really don’t. And how the hell did you find me, anyway?”

  “Da want ads, ya meat head.” Snap! “Howdya tink we found ya?” Snap! Pop! “We had our boys all over the city lookin’ for ya, dat’s how.” Pop!

  “I’m really broke, Eddie. I don’t have it! Honest! Look at my face, would I lie to you? Why, I’m so honest, I wouldn’t even keep a wallet if I found one in the street…you know?

  “And you know what else? I don’t even have a gun anymore, you know? Somebody robbed my room and took it, I tell you. They even took my week’s pay laying on the nightstand. And a while back, some bum hit me in the back of the head on the way home. I had amnesia for months, you know? I’d pay you if I had the money, honest I woul….”

  Half interested, Fast Eddie finished blowing a large pink bubble while listening to Joe’s b, s. Sucking it back in, he said, “Aw…alladat’s too bad, Barnes. Hey Tommy!” Snap! “Look at da cry baby. He ain’t got it, he says.”

  Tommy looked over at Barnes from watching the door with a half smoked Pall Malls between his lips. Hanging off the end were ashes as long as the cigarette. “Agh…fuck it Eddie, do’m and let’s get da fuck outta here. I wanna get a coupla hot dawgs. I’m starvin‘.”

  “Come on, man. You don’t have to do this. Give me a little time.”

  “A little time, da Barnes says. What! Are you outta your chimney, Santy Claus?” Snap! “Hey, Tommy! Stay by dat daw and make sure nobody comes in.”

  Tommy stared back with raised brows as though his head emptied of all brain matter. “What if somebody knocks, whaddo I do, Eddie?”

  “Sings happy boitday to ‘em. Whaddya askin’ me fa, ya peanut bwittle bwain? Can’t ya tink fa yaself? Just tell ‘em we’re moppin’ da floor, dimwit.” He spit the gum out. “Now get over dere, Barnes, you’re really pissin’ me off and dat ain’t no good, see? Ova dere in da corna…nice ‘n’ slow.”

  “What are you gonna do, Eddie?”

  “You’ll see. Just get over dere and shet yer mout‘.”

  “Don’t shoot, Eddie. I’ll do anything.”

  “Listen to da creep. Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Ya shoulda taudadat befaw?”

  “Waste’m Eddie. Before somebody comes,” said Tommy. “Give’m both barrels.”

  “Boat Barrels? Dis is a 45, woach bwain, Tommy. It ain’t got but one barrel. You been watchin’ too many of doze cops and robba shows what’s in da movies. Now watch da daw like I tol’ ya.” He turned to face Joe. “Look Barnes…ya needs to listen up, meathead.”

  “Hey, come on, Eddie, I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Agh…shaddap ya scwew ball. Shoulda toudadat when ya had da chance. Now bend over and smile for da cam’ra.”

  “Please, I’ll do anything.”

  “Anyting he says. He‘ll do anyting, Tommy. I dunno, should we listen to him?”

  “Help me, Tommy! Tell him not to shoot! Tell him, Tommy! You and me…we go way back. We were partners, remember? Tell him!”

  Tommy wedged his foot against the bottom of the door and returned a look of distain, “Shoot da leach suckin’ piece o’ shit, Eddie. Whaddya waitin’ for?”

  “Shut up, Tommy. You ain’t da boss. Ay, Barnes! Hurry up and bend over and touch yer toes so we can get da hell outa heah, huh? Hey, look, I’ll be real quick like. Ya won’t even feels a ting. I promise.”

  “I said I’ll do anything and I meant it? Just ask me, Eddie? Anything!”

  “Whad a freakin’ dick head. You’re a friggin’ sap, Barnes, ya know dat? So you’ll do anyting, huh? Okay… okay, look…don’t shit yer diapers ya little cry baby. So ya wants a break den, duz ya?”

  “Just this one time, Eddie. I’ll…I’ll rob a store or something…or a bank. Whatever you ask.”

  “Stop your squawkin,’ ya two timin’ looza. And don’t tell me howda run my damn business. I’ll tell you! You don’t tell me!”

  Knock! Knock!

  “See who it is, pencil head!”

  Tommy cracked the door and took a peek. “It’s only a coupla kids.”

  “Tell em to go pee in dere pants somewheah else. Nah! Neva mind! Jess’ tell ’em real sweet like to come back in ten minutes…or sump’m like dat.”

  Tommy opened the door and gave the boys a pleasant smile. “Hi kids…go away or I’m gonna knock dem fuckin’ buck teet outa your mouts!” He slammed the door. “They said okay, Eddie!”

  “Fine! So dis is what youz’s gonna do for us, ya big palooka. You’re gonna bumps off Sally Boy whats hangs out on Mulberry, down in little Italy for us…ya gots dat?”

  “Sally Boy! Yeah Eddie, I got it. I’ll bump him off for you.”

  “You bet your friggin’ bottom dolla ya will, ya big piece a woach manewa.”

  “Tommy…take out dat red, fancy switchblade whats ya bought at da dime store. Da one from forty second stweet.”

  “I thought we had a deal, Eddie?”

  “We does, Mista looza, Barnes, da idiot wid potato fa bwains, only we gotta sign some legal papers foist. Cut’m Tommy!”

  “Ow! …What the hell…damn! I said I’d do it, didn’t I?”

  Tommy pulled the knife out of the back of Joe’s leg, making him fall to one knee.

  “Damn, that hurt!”

  “Well, give the scolla a friggin’ diploma. No Kiddin’ it hoit, Dick Tracy. Its supposta, ya big shit! Hey! Talking ‘bout shit, did you jest crap your pants?”

  “I…I think I did,” Joe shrieked, looking down and feeling his backside.


  Eddie frowned with disgust. “Holy Toledo! You smell like a friggin’ slime bag! Why you’re nuttin’ but a low lyin‘, bottom o’ da sewa, shit suckin’ slug. An’ a slug wit’ no balls, no less. “Give’m anudda paper ta sign soze we can catch’m if he tries to run away.”

  “Ow!”

  Wiping the blade off on Joe’s pants, Tommy folded it up and put it back in his pocket.

  “Where’s da back daw to dis place?” Fast Eddie asked.

  “It’s out here to the left. Just don’t stab me no more.”

  Eddie stepped away from him. Clean dat shit up and wrap da wound wit turly paper. You’re comin’ wid us.”

  5:30 P.M. 514 West 48th Street Manhattan

  Mickey Spillane’s apartment—a real dive of a hellhole in a dump of a neighborhood. It wasn’t always this way, though. Back during the day of the Dutch, the Great Kills, a confluence of three streams, joined close to here near what is now 10th Avenue and 40th Street. A small hamlet developed where carriages were built adjacent to the farm of Andreas Hopper. His land stretched from 6th avenue to the East river and from 48th to 59th.

  Beginning in 1849, the New York to Poughkeepsie Steam Railroad transformed the area into tanneries and warehouses. Then came the potato famine and the subsequent waves of Irish immigrants. Their families sprawled themselves all along the Hudson River in shanty towns. Gangs took over and prospered and with the ensuing congestion, tenements rose up in Hell’s Kitchen. During the prohibition that followed, the gangs readily fattened their wallets.

  Owney Madden and his Gopher Gang took over after the prohibition, relying instead, on gambling, loan sharking, union shake-downs, prostitution and other lucrative ventures. But he was gone from the Kitchen now, and Mickey Spillane owns all of it, despite the mafia’s control of the rest of the city. This is Spillane’s exclusive stronghold and he aggressively protects it. Even the best of the mafia’s henchmen know to keep their distance.

  “Go on upsteahs, Barnes.”

  Barnes took a deep breath, but his heart was racing like a taxi late for an arriving VIP flight at Idlewild. He felt so lousy he wanted to puke.

  He entered the apartment and meekly waved. “Hi boss. You know what, I’m really sorry about the loan. It’s all a misunderstanding, you know? You see…I was only in Brooklyn to, eh…well, you know, I had to go to a funeral, and then I was offered a job, and then one thing lead to another, my mother got sick, and then, you know, I got mugged in the subway and got my ass kicked in pretty bad, had a few teeth knocked out and after that I got hit by a bus and had to walk with crutches and…”