Through the thickets of gray matted hair on his chest, I could see at least three bullet scars, not counting the nick onhis shoulder from Larry, and countless stab wounds. I looked up at the knobs and ridges on his face.
“Does this mean nothing?!” he demanded. “Is this for the history books? I took ten bullets and lived. I been stabbed by more cocksuckers than you ever shook hands with. I did five years in Graterford. And you’re trying to tell me it don’t mean anything?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I’ve lived and I’ll die to keep this way of life.”
He stood back from me and banged his hands together, grabbing air and expelling it hard like an old steam engine.
“I never asked much from you,” he said. “I never expected your love. And if you don’t wanna follow my footsteps in the
A man among men. He might as well have struck a gong between my ears. Yes, that was what I wanted. To be a man among men. My father was like an old ape beating his chest and bellowing at the sky. He had this brutal churning force going inside of him and he was trying to pass it on to me. And the truth was that deep down I wanted it too.
The lady of the house was still gaping at us from the screen door. My father’s shirt was open and my jeans were falling down. We straightened out quickly and both started laughing like it was some big joke. She must’ve thought we were both crazy.
My father buttoned his shirt and got a long brown Ace comb out of the back pocket of his chinos. “Now Nicky has gone around making threats against the family,” he said quietly, trying again to tame his hair. “Your family. As a man, you know what you have to do.”
“And what happens if I say no?”
“I dunno.” He gave up and put the comb away. “A guy loses his nerve, anything could happen.”
“It’s not right,” I said halfheartedly.
But it was a foregone conclusion. Something had to be done about Nicky. We couldn’t go to the police and ask for protection. Because then we’d have to talk about what happened to Nicky’s father.
I picked up one side of the wheelbarrow and looked at it. The mixture was beginning to harden and if I didn’t pour the rest of it quickly, the whole load wouldn’t be of any use.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you, do some work,” my father said, looking at the unfinished steps. “You could get outa doing this awhile.”
“I told you, I like doing this.” I started picking pieces of dried concrete off my arms and shoulders.
“Well, you ain’t any good at it.” My father stepped on one of the forms I was using for the steps. “It’s all uneven here. Besides, you gotta reinforce it. We’re on an island here. Otherwise, a year from now, this will all be cracking and they’ll have to rip it out. You should’ve asked somebody what you were doing first.”
I put down the paper bag and picked up the trowel. We both stopped talking and just stared at the steps awhile.
I wondered if it was too late for me to get into demolition work.
20
TEDDY AND RICHIE AMATO were sitting in a car parked outside a discount department store on Atlantic Avenue. A homeless man with long nappy hair and no shirt lingered on a fire hydrant nearby.
“All right,” said Teddy. “You got everything?”
“I got everything.” Richie looked at himself in the rear-view mirror, admiring the way the Anadrol and horse steroids pumped up his shoulders and made his neck swell like a tree trunk.
“Well, if you don’t, speak now. You don’t get any points for not asking.”
“I got everything. I told you.”
Teddy struggled out of his seat belt and took a pack of Camels from his coat pocket. “Remember. Bang, bang. Get in, get out. You see Larry’s kid Nicky, you fuckin’ shoot him. No hanging around looking at the scenery.”
Richie frowned and his brow looked like a girder coming down on his eyes. “What do you think? I never done this before?”
“If you’d ever done it before, you wouldn’t still be trying to make your bones.”
Teddy stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He looked like an enormous time bomb waiting to go off. The homeless man got up off the fire hydrant and went into the department store.
“You know, it may take a couple of weeks for me and Anthony to track him down,” Richie warned him. “I know Nicky’s been running around a lot.”
“Just don’t draw it out longer than you have to. Remember how long it took with them horses. What’re you using anyway?”
“I got a .45,” said Richie. “Anthony’s gonna have the .25 his father gave him.”
Teddy blew out enough smoke to fill the car.
Richie put his thumb and forefinger up to his nose and caught a drop of blood coming off the tip. It was all these steroids he’d been taking. They’d given him a body he’d only dreamed about as a boy. A fifty-three-inch chest, nineteen-inch arms. But when he saw the side of his neck in the rearview mirror, it was a boiling stew of veins and sinews. Maybe he ought to try tapering off on the ’roids. That story on TV the other day said they could shrink your balls to the size of peanuts. He hoped it wasn’t too late.
“Don’t be an asshole and leave them guns lying around afterwards.” Teddy coughed twice into his fist.
“I know.”
“And listen,” said Teddy. “If this other kid gives you a hard time, don’t be afraid to whack him too.”
“What?” Richie looked stunned. He fingered his wide, heavy jaw as if he’d just been slugged. “We’re talking about Anthony. You’re kidding, right?”
Teddy looked at him a long time. The homeless man came out of the department store, holding a Barbie doll and kissing it.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m kidding.”
“What were you saying? You wanted me to whack Anthony, instead of Nicky.”
“It was a joke, you moron.”
“Don’t call me a moron.” Richie turned his neck like he had a kink in it.
“Well, don’t act like one.”
21
ON JULY 4TH, Richie Amato and I were sitting in a borrowed car on a side street near the Inlet. I think it was a red 1991 Reliant. Richie was in the driver’s seat running his mouth.
“Let me tell you something. I got a lot of respect for Joey Snails but he’s a no-good motherfucker.”
“Why’s that?” I looked over the dashboard at the street in front of us.
At any moment Nick DiGregorio’s car would come rolling along, and then one of us would have to get out and shoot him. And with the way my stomach was turning itself inside out, I hoped it wouldn’t be me.
“I’ll tell you what Joey’s problem is,” Richie said, shifting in his seat and jangling the chains on his runway- sized chest. “He’s a dumb shit, that’s what he is. The other night we’re supposed to do a job, right? So what does he do? He shows up shit-faced and instead of bringing a gun like he’s supposed to, he’s got a crowbar, a radio, and a coat hanger ...”
“A coat hanger?” I had trouble focusing. My mind was on what we were about to do.
