Priscilla saw the tense creases at his eye.
“And?” she asked again, swinging her eyes away from him. “How’d it go?”
He told her of his Stony Brook meeting with his daughter. When he had finished, Priscilla shook her head, her lips twisted.
“Jesus, Joe,” she said. “You couldn’t have fucked that up any more if you were tryin’.” She shook her head once more.
Rizzo glanced over from the Impala’s passenger seat, his jaw working a piece of Nicorette. “You sound like my goddamned wife. I can use a little support here, for Christ sake.”
“Yeah, well, what you call support, I call a hand job,” Priscilla replied. “I’m telling you, you gotta fix this. And fix it fast.”
Rizzo shook his head. “Bullshit,” he said.
Priscilla answered with a snort. “No, Joe,” she said. “No bullshit.”
“You know what she told me once?” Rizzo began. “One of her criminology professors-can you imagine what this asshole is like?-tells the class that all across America, at different times over the years, cities started to get tired of their own existence. The buildings got grimy, the trains and buses started wearin’ out, the roads and bridges got beat up and were falling apart. And, of course, the crime got worse and worse. He told them how it happened in New York years ago, Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, Philadelphia. And you know what he tells them saved those cities?”
“I got a feelin’ I can guess, Partner,” said Priscilla. “But go ahead, knock yourself out, tell me.”
“Cops,” Rizzo said, turning to face her. “Friggin’ cops turned it around. And you know how?”
Priscilla shook her head. “No. But let me ask you something. What’s the name of the course this guy teaches?”
Despite his lingering anger, Rizzo smiled. “Community Policing,” he said.
“Well, then,” Priscilla said, “I’m gonna guess the cops saved the world, one city at a time, by community policing.”
Now, despite himself, Rizzo laughed. “Bingo,” he said. “He used the old, ‘Stop the small stuff-the graffiti, the noise, the litter, the friggin’ jaywalkin’, and before you know it, all the major shit’s gone.’ ”
“Did the guy happen to mention the influx of mocha-sucking yuppies movin’ in that actually saved those cities?” she asked.
“No, I think he left that part out.”
“Figures,” Priscilla said.
“That’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about, what I’m tryin’ to make Carol understand.” Rizzo went on, frustration building in his tone. “All this make-believe bullshit that surrounds the job, the half-assed ideas everybody gets from television, movies, all that shit.”
“Take a breath, Joe,” Priscilla said calmly. “Step back from it a little bit, okay? It ain’t the end of the world if Carol comes on the job. Look, it’s been good for you, good for me, it can work out for her, too. And if it doesn’t, she quits. But you gotta let her find out for herself if-”
Rizzo shook his head angrily.
“No way,” he said. “No friggin’ way my daughter becomes a cop.”
Now anger stirred in Priscilla, her tone growing sharp. “For Christ sake, listen to yourself. You see me sittin’ right here next to you, and you’re ranting about your daughter comin’ on the job like she’s catchin’ the fuckin’ clap. What are you sayin’, Partner? Bein’ a cop is good enough for somebody like me, but not good enough for your freakin’ little princess?”
Rizzo glanced briefly at her, saw the hurt and anger in her eyes. He turned his gaze back to the street, shaking his head slowly, his voice softening.
“No, Cil, relax, please,” he said. “That’s not what I’m sayin’. Just with you and me, it was different. I grew up in a tough neighborhood in Bensonhurst, hanging out on street corners, getting into all sorts of shit. Hell, half my friends got themselves arrested, two of ’em shot to death. One guy I went to high school with is doin’ double life sentences in Attica. And you, you grew up in the South Bronx, no father, a fucked-up mother. By the time you were twelve, you knew the score better than Carol does now, and she’s almost twenty. It’s different with you, Cil. You’re street smart, tough. You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve, you don’t have unrealistic expectations about the average guy on the street. Carol’s just too soft, too trusting. And it’s probably my fault, me and Jen’s, maybe we pampered the girls too much, sheltered them. If she becomes a cop, she’ll pay the price for that, pay the price for my mistakes.” He sighed. “Come on,” he said gently. “You know the deal, you’ve seen it. These kids comin’ on the job from Long Island, upstate New York, wherever. They ain’t got a clue. The streets eat ’em alive. All that Sesame Street bullshit they grew up with, ‘Teach the World to Sing’ crap, they actually believed all that. They come on the job and that’s when they see the real deal, what human nature’s really like. Hell, you knock out the electricity, cut the food supply for one friggin’ day, all of a sudden it’s the third century. The fuckin’ Huns versus the Vikings, and everybody loses.”
Priscilla remained silent. Rizzo turned to face her. “Civilization is just a facade. You know it. I know it. Every cop knows it. But Carol, she don’t know it. She was never on the streets. She may as well have grown up in fuckin’ Mayberry with Aunt Bea bakin’ her pies.”
“Okay, Joe,” she conceded, “I see where you’re coming from. But consider this: you only know Carol as her father, and see her only from that limited viewpoint. She may be tougher and a little more realistic than you figure. If this is something she really wants to do, you got to figure she’s thought it through. Carol’s lookin’ for your support. She needs your support. But, believe me, if she don’t get it, she’ll adjust. She wants to be a cop, she’ll be one.” Priscilla sighed. “I know what it’s like not having a parent’s support.” She paused before continuing. “And I’ve seen the other side, too. With Karen. Her parents were always there for her. No matter what. With the gay thing, with the ‘I wanna be a lawyer’ thing.” She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Hell, even with the big thing-the black cop girlfriend thing.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to like it, Joe. You don’t have to encourage it or pretend to be happy about it. And you can still make your case against it, clear and calm, without beatin’ on what’s probably your big old hairy Italian chest. You can discuss it with her. You know, like two adults. Then you gotta let her decide. And when she does, you smile at her, you wish her luck, and you back her up the whole way.” Priscilla’s expression turned sad, and the twinkle drained from her eyes.
“That’s what a father does, Joe,” she said. “From what I’ve been told.”
Rizzo looked at her with a sad smile.
“Yeah, that’s what I hear, too.”
They sat in silence. After a few moments, Rizzo spoke again.
“I was just gonna tell her what it’s like. Tell her about the dead kid on the highway, about the I.A.D. jam-up I got myself into, about the shit me and Mike got tangled up with, about the political flunky bosses.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eye twitching nervously.
“I was gonna tell her all about it,” he repeated. “Instead, I completely lost it. Went right into a tirade, just like my grandfather used to do when he came home from the job too full of bourbon.” Rizzo shook his head. “If I know Carol, even if she changes her mind and decides she’d rather become a friggin’ nun, she’ll still go on the cops. Just to show me I can’t push her around.”
Priscilla hesitated a moment, then laughed, slapping backhandedly at Rizzo’s left arm.
“There you go, Partner,” she said. “You’re startin’ to look on the bright side of this thing already.”
Rizzo turned to her, a puzzled look in his eyes.
“Hell,” she said. “At least she didn’t say she wants to become a nun. Now that would call for a fuckin’ tirade.”