“All I’m sayin’, Teddy Boy knows what’s what. If your kid’s been in the bar, he’ll tell me. If she goes in, he’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Kimberly’s only sixteen,” I said. “You’re not going to find her in a bar.”
“Darnell’s Darnell,” Sal said.
“Meaning?”
“You been there?”
“No.”
“Nothing to do in Darnell but drink, drug and fuck.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, no offense,” Sal said.
I thought about what he’d said, and how parents never think their kids would take the wrong path.
“Maybe you better call Teddy Boy today,” I said.
“I’m on it,” he said. “Hey, you know those midgets?”
Sal could change subjects faster than a Congressman.
“Victor and Hugo?” I said.
“The same.”
“What about them?”
“They’re coming to my party.”
“I’d heard that,” I said.
“In the flesh.”
“I’ll try to shake off that image,” I said. “You better tell your boys not to make fun of them. They’re pretty formidable.”
“Hey, they been warned. Those midgets brought down Joe DeMeo.”
“They prefer the term little people,” I said.
“I prefer big envelopes.”
Sal was referring to the contribution envelopes his underbosses and special guests were expected to bring to his party.
“I been good for you,” he said. “And this here, with your daughter, that’s another example. Charity—whatcha call —begins at home.”
“In this case, your home.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’. So surprise me,” he said. “In a good way.”
Sal’s world is a rough one, where loyalty is measured in cash or body count. I make it a habit to kick back more than my share of both.
“Surprise you?” I said. “Sal, I’m going to
“All I’m askin’,” he said.
Chapter 7
The office of Ms. N. Crouch, MD, was located in Newark, New Jersey, corner of Summer and Seventh, off Interstate 280. Ms. Crouch shared an office condo with a pediatric psychologist named Agnes Battle. Agnes was working the reception desk when I walked in. She pointed me to Ms. Crouch’s office, and I went in.
