“And I appreciated it,” Hastings said. “Told you so then, don’t feel it’s necessary to repeat myself now.”
Kelly took a long drag on his cigarette. He turned and blew the smoke over his left shoulder toward the pier. “That’s it?” he said. “You appreciated it? We can all relax now or it’s none of our business what comes next in Billy world?”
Hastings grinned.
“I miss something?” Kelly said. “Because the guy some people were afraid you might be looking to take out now you’re not on the job anymore, the guy knocked you unconscious, fair and square the way it was told to us, that guy now works for Eddie Vento, is part of his crew, so to speak. Put it in popular street vernacular, the way the guineas say it, he’s with somebody. You take him out, they retaliate with a certain film of you in that bar that night, we’ve all gotta answer for it.”
Hastings rubbed his nose.
Kelly said, “You itchy, Billy? You do some coke, maybe?”
“Actually, I’m just wondering what’d happen I was to knee you in the balls for the way you slapped me,” Hastings said. “Like Pearl Harbor that was, that smack. Then with the threats and all, you’re gonna make me chum and so on. I’m thinking before any of that happens, I could knee you in the nuts, gut you like a fish with the knife in my back pocket, leave your intestines for the chum, they need bait, the fishing boats. I’m thinking your concerned friends should’ve sent somebody can do more than just talk. You wanna make threats it helps you send somebody with the stones to get it done.”
Kelly took a full step back. “Let’s not get carried away,” he said. “I play-slapped you, Billy. Gutting a man for something like that’d be a gross overreaction.”
“Don’t piss yourself,” Hastings said. “The wife wants to move.”
Kelly swallowed hard. “Excuse?”
“Kathleen. She wants to move.”
Kelly took a moment and felt somewhat relieved Hastings seemed calm again. “How is Kathy?” he asked.
“Kathleen. Her name’s Kathleen.”
“She’s a pretty girl.”
“She’s a prized piece of ass all of my concerned friends pro’bly jerked off to a half-dozen times each. She’s doing fine, though, my wife. Kathleen’s fine.”
Kelly put both arms out. “I meant no offense.”
“Except for that slap before.”
“Would it make you feel better, you slapped me back?” said Kelly through a nervous chuckle. “In the face, though. My nuts aren’t what they used to be.”
Hastings ignored the offer. “She wants to move away from New York. That’s why I collected a few throwaways. She wants to move and I’m thinking it’s better I bring something from here to there, rather than buy new from people I don’t know wherever the fuck she decides we’re gonna live. She wants us to start over someplace new.”
“I didn’t realize you two were having problems.”
“We’re not having problems. It’s the lost income is all.”
Kelly reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “That was the other reason I wanted to see you,” he said. “Some of your friends thought maybe this’d help. It isn’t much, but it’s the sentiment that counts.”
Hastings ignored the envelope. “Looking to buy me off, Sean?”
“You need to be more trusting of your own,” Kelly said. “Go on, take it.”
Hastings didn’t move.
“Or I can mail you a money order instead,” Kelly said.
Hastings mumbled something, turned around and walked away.
“What’s that?” Kelly said.
Hastings kept walking.
“Billy!” Kelly yelled. “Hey, come on, man! Billy!”
“Fidelis ad Mortem,” Hastings yelled.
“What?” Kelly said. “What was that, Billy? What you say?”
Hastings continued walking. Kelly watched until the ex-cop crossed Emmons Avenue and was heading up Twenty-ninth Street. Then Kelly put the envelope back inside his pants pocket, tossed his cigarette in the street and looked back at the restaurant.
“Fuckin’ nut,” he said.
Chapter 7
Nathan Ackerman was up early to take his stepson to summer camp. He prepared two bowls of Cheerios with skim milk before making a cup of Sanka and perusing the sports pages of the Daily News. He saw where the Yankees had lost their second straight game to Kansas City while the Mets had beaten the Dodgers at Shea. A few weeks ago Nathan had picked up a pair of box tickets for a Friday-night Yankees game against the Orioles. It would be Little Jack’s third Yankee game of the season, the first two having been a doubleheader back in May when the Bronx Bombers beat the Twins twice.
Yesterday, though, Nathan had learned the Philharmonic would be performing a three-day benefit Mahler program upstate the same weekend. Mahler was Nathan’s favorite composer. He hoped Jack’s father would take the boy in his place.
He checked the time and saw it was close to eight o’clock. He was about to go looking for his stepson when the boy entered the kitchen carrying his baseball glove.
“Morning,” Nathan said.
“Good morning,” Jack said.
The boy spotted his cereal, sat in his chair, grabbed his spoon and started to eat.
“Maestro,” Nathan said.
Jack looked up from his cereal. “Me?”
“I have a surprise for you. Two surprises, actually.”
“What?”
Nathan pulled the Yankees tickets from his pocket. “August thirty-first, Yanks-Orioles,” he said. “A back-to-school gift.”
The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Really?”
“Yes, sir,” Nathan said. “The only thing is I can’t make it so I want you to ask your dad if he can go.”
“Sure,” Jack said. “He can take me.”
“Good, then.”
“Can I see?”
Nathan handed over the tickets. “Third-base field boxes,” he said. “You can razz the Oriole players up close. Give a yell when Brooks Robinson gets a hot one and maybe it goes through his legs.”
“That guy never makes an error,” the boy said. He examined the tickets wide-eyed. “This is so neat. Thank you, Nathan.”
“It’s my pleasure, sir.”
“Why can’t you go?”
“Gustav Mahler. Any other composer and I’d cancel, but I love Mahler.”
“That the Titan guy?”
Nathan was a Mahler aficionado and had been schooling the boy on classical music between baseball discussions and episodes of the Partridge Family.
“Yes,” he said, “the Titan guy. We’re doing Mahler’s First the night of the game in fact.”
Jack was reading the small print on the back of the ticket. “This is great,” he said. “I can’t wait to tell my dad.”
“Which you should do as soon as possible so he can make plans,” Nathan said. Then he reached out and took the tickets back. “In the meantime, finish eating so I can take you to camp. I’ll put these on your dresser in your room, okay?”
The boy was still staring at the tickets.
Nathan pointed to Jack’s cereal.
“Oh, right,” the boy said, then dipped his spoon back into his cereal bowl.
Nathan enjoyed the boy’s enthusiasm and was happy the kid would leave the house feeling good about something. His mother wasn’t a morning person, as she described it, and was often nasty when she took her son to camp. It was the reason Nathan often volunteered to take him instead.
The drive to Long Island was quick. Nathan was back a little before ten. He found his wife in the kitchen having her first cup of coffee.
“He could’ve cleaned his cereal bowl,” said Nancy, rather than good morning.
“We were in a rush,” Nathan said.
“He make it to camp on time?”
“Barely, but yes.”