I didn’t have a whole lot of clothes so wore a white T... whitish, and black 501s, a pair of knock-off Nikes and me one sports jacket.
Whatever else it said, it sure as shite said, he’s not on the take.
A line that would come back to haunt me.
In my mind, I saw the green rosary... gleaming.
Kebar was in the locker room, feeling pleased the kid had agreed to have a brew.
He asked himself why it was so important.
He’d never wanted buddy stuff before.
But then, nobody had ever saved his life either.
If the kid hadn’t stepped up to the plate, Kebar would be pushing up dirt, and he shuddered:
What would Lucia do if he was gone?
Back to the state garbage bins.
Yeah, he owed and not just for himself, Lucia too, so the least he could do was buy the kid some cold ones, maybe let him in on stuff that would take years to learn.
Clean the slate.
He’d never owed before and it was confusing him.
Plus, fuckit, he liked the kid, who’d have ever seen that coming?
Kebar hadn’t liked anyone in... jeez... when... ever?
The other cops, they gave Kebar a wide berth, you bid him the time of day, he growled right back at you.
But the older guys, they didn’t much like him, what was there to like, he was a surly mean bastard, but they sure as shit respected him, he was your real beat cop, a stand-up guy, and he believed in the old ways.
A sergeant, a Polack named Swierzcynski, approached Kebar, asked,
“Got a moment, K?”
Kebar, who should have been a sergeant long ago ’cept for his attitude, snapped,
“Make it quick.”
The sergeant sighed, hard to help this schmuck but he tried, said,
“You need to watch your back.”
Kebar stopped, turned, asked,
“What’s that mean?”
The sergeant checked they couldn’t be heard, said,
“IA is sniffing around you.”
Kebar shrugged it off, said,
“Fuck ’em, they got nothing on me.”
The sergeant, knowing he was going way out there, said,
“You got a sister?”
Kebar was stunned, he’d kept her real hidden, asked,
“How do you know?”
The sergeant gave a rueful smile, said,
“I hear stuff and the word is, she’s in a real fancy home...”
Pause.
“A very expensive one.”
Kebar was thinking,
“Fuck fuck fuck.”
But he said nothing and the sergeant added,
“Word is they’re using the kid to bring you down.”
Kebar couldn’t help it, splurted,
“That kid saved my ass.”
The sergeant shook his head, said,
“That’s why he’s perfect to take you down, you trust him.”
Kebar gave a grudging thanks and the sergeant said,
“Not too many good ones left.”
Kebar got out of there quick, thinking,
“Damn kid, he wouldn’t turn, would he?”
He had to hustle to get to see Lucia before he met with the kid. The drive out to Long Island was the usual fucking nightmare, and he got there running way late so he’d have to cut his time with his sister short.
Thus preoccupied, he never clocked the tail on his ass.
And if he had, he’d have been sure it was Internal Affairs.
He’d have been wrong.
As he went in, the Chevy pulled in a few spaces behind his car. The driver sighed,
“How long will the prick be, liked, visiting?”
Morronni, on his cell phone in the backseat, said,
“I’m told he’s meeting the Irish guy...”
He checked his gold Rolex, he knew the time to the second but he liked to flash the bling, said,
“At eight, so he’s gonna have to cut the time with the spastic short.”
The driver, not really giving a fuck, asked,
“That what she is, huh?”
Morronni said,
“The fuck do I know, some kind of retard is all, what’s it matter?”
It didn’t.
Kebar hated to cut her time, but maybe she wouldn’t notice, he’d brought her Hershey’s Kisses.
Her ritual was always the same, she’d count them out.
“One for Daddy, one for Mamma, one for Konny,” her childhood name for him, “and one for little old me.”
Fuck, to see your beautiful thirty-five-year-old sister do that, when she should be married with two kids and a halfway decent husband, it shriveled his heart.
She had her own room, the room of a five-year-old girl, childish pictures on the wall, a comforter on the bed with the Care Bears, and a galaxy of dolls on the shelf with nursery rhyme books alongside.
Her hair was in ringlets, her huge brown eyes, not a trace of guile in them, and the button nose. Barney was on the TV... and she was singing along to the theme song.
Kebar hated that fucking purple dinosaur with all his soul.
He said,
“How yah doing, hon?”
She jumped up, threw herself into his arms, showering his face with kisses, he wanted to shoot some fucker, now.
He gave her the bag of goodies and she shrieked in delight, sat on the bed and said,
“Come sit beside me, Konny, we’ll count out the Kisses.”
Every time, it wounded him anew.
She asked,
“How is Daddy?’
The piece of no-good trash who’d beaten her senseless so many times, he wanted to go,
“Dead, thank fuck.”
Said,
“He’s working real hard, gonna get you that playhouse soon.”
The fuck worked like one week his whole whining life.
“And Mammy?”
Tell the truth?
“Loaded before noon, progressed to margaritas now and which with any luck will kill the bitch soon.”
Sure, tell that.
He said,
“She’s knitting you a scarf for when the winter comes and you can come home.”
Same goddamn lie he’d been telling for years.
Lucia asked, a slight frown between her innocent eyes,
“They sure love us, don’t they, Konny?”
“You betcha.”
And here came the same question, every visit, every time,
“Tell me how much?”
This might be always the hardest lie of all, he stretched his arms as wide as he could, said,
“To the moon and all the way back again.”
The words nigh choking him.
It did the trick though. She gave that radiant smile that age would not wither, nor time erase.
She sang along with the end credits of Barney and then yawned, said,
“It’s time for my nap, will you tuck me in?”
He did and kissed her gently on the forehead.
She was asleep before he reached the door.
He didn’t look back, that one step he could never take, seeing her sleeping, her face like every wonderful thing that never happened.
In the corridor, a nurse asked,
“Leaving so soon?”
He was going to go,
“The fuck does that mean?”
But said,
“She’s sleeping.”
And got the hell out of there, checked his watch, he might just make the appointed time.
We’re exactly like you cops. You have a profession — we have a profession. Only difference is, you’re on the right side of the law, we’re on the wrong.
Seven
Traffic was light, and he yet again failed to see the Chevy behind. He was pulling into a space near the bar as he saw the kid saunter along.
Watched him for a moment, then opened his glove compartment, took out his Glock, put it in the waistband of his pants, closed his eyes for a moment, then got out, shouted,