Brooklyn Story (18 page)

“So what're we celebratin'?” I asked when we pulled away.

“Jus' a little sumthin' I picked up the other day,” Tony
said. He was aglow, and it wasn't just from our greeting. “Wait'll ya see.”

I couldn't imagine what it could be. Like all Brooklyn Boys, Tony was full of surprises and took pride in showering his girl with extravagant gifts and having them flashed in front of anybody and everybody. But his self-satisfaction that night told me it had nothing to do with me, and I was okay with that. The enjoyment I had seeing him get what he wanted was as much as the pleasure I took in my own attainments, in which Tony didn't show much interest. I knew he would celebrate my fulfillment after he got where he wanted to go.

Tony headed north on Ocean Parkway and then worked his way over to the Red Hook industrial section near the water that separated Brooklyn from Manhattan. “Jus' a quick stop,” he said as he turned into a dark street bordered by low warehouses, “and then we'll have the rest of the night to ourselves.” I looked forward to the rest of my life with him.

Flashing red and blue lights and sirens pierced the darkness as a police car appeared, seemingly from nowhere, on our bumper and another one sped up the block in front of us to cut us off. Tony veered to the curb, slammed on the brakes, and cut off the ignition. “Don' say nuttin',” he barked as he slumped in his seat and stared straight ahead.

A loudspeaker atop the squad car behind us crackled. “Put your hands on the wheel and don't make a move.” I shook as Tony complied.

Two uniformed cops got out of the car in front of us and stood beside it with their guns drawn. The two from the rear car edged along each side of the Cadillac to the windows behind Tony and me. In the side-view mirror I could see an officer leaning forward with a hand on his holster. The one on Tony's side tapped his window with a nightstick. Tony's hand moved slowly to the window switch. “What's this all about, Officer?” he asked as the glass disappeared.

“Shuddup and get outta the car,” the cop replied, adjusting his grip on his holstered gun. “Real slow.” Tony opened his door and slid out of the Cadillac. “You, too, Miss,” the cop on my side said. My moist, wavering hand pulled the door handle and I almost fell onto the sidewalk when my foot caught the doorjamb as I exited. I stood, trembling, beside the cop and looked across the car at Tony. Father Rinaldi's words echoed in my mind.
And that's the type of person you should be with, my child?

The officers in front of the Cadillac came forward and searched the vehicle, running their hands under the dashboard, inspecting every storage pocket and rifling through the contents of the glove compartment. When they were finished, the officer on the driver's side popped the trunk and joined his partner at the rear of the Cadillac. “What do we have here?” he announced. He looked around the trunk lid at Tony. “You have a receipt for these, of course,” he cracked. Tony didn't respond. “Let's take 'em in,” the cop said as he slammed the lid down. The cop next to Tony shoved him against the Cadillac and reached for his cuffs.

“Please turn around, Miss,” the cop beside me said with one hand on my shoulder and his other on his handcuffs. On the verge of tears, I lowered my head and did as I was told.

“Let her go, willya?” Tony asked over his shoulder. “She's got nuthin' ta do with this.”

“I told ya ta shuddup,” the cop behind him said. He slapped the cuffs on Tony's wrists and then Tony and I were led to separate squad cars.

The stale air in the rear seat reeked from years of others who had been there, handcuffed as I was. And if the metal constraints on my wrists weren't clear enough, the locked doors and the heavy metal mesh partition right in front of me told me I was farther from that bridge than ever before.

I never once looked up when I was led from the banged-up blue and white squad car to the front desk at the police station.
Tony was brought in right behind me, and we only had one moment to look into each other's eyes before I was escorted to a small room and then uncuffed by a plainclothes detective. “I'm Detective Quinn,” he said as he closed the door. “Take a seat.”

I shuffled to a wood chair at a gray metal table. He removed his jacket, slipped it over the back of his chair, rolled up his sleeves, and faced me. Light-colored crew-cut hair sat atop Detective Quinn's round head and splotched, round face. A wrinkled white shirt strained against his midsection and a gun that protruded from a leather holster flapped under his left arm as he placed his hands on the chair back. “Mr. Kroon is being booked and we can keep you here for quite a while,” he said.

“I was … just … on a date,” I quivered.

Detective Quinn smiled, straightened, and sat down. “We know that,” he said. “We know all about you, Miss Bonti.” My brow furrowed as I looked at him. “We've been following Mr. Kroon and his crew for a while. We saw you with him at the feast.”

“That's when I met him.”

“That's right,” Detective Quinn said. He clasped his hands and leaned on the table toward me. “What else can you tell us about Tony and his friends?”

I could have told him a lot about that. About Bensonhurst and Brooklyn Boys, and about the reality of a culture that was sometimes just over the legal line. But I didn't. “Not much,” I lied, “we only dated a couple of times.”

“Ever see 'im with Richie Sparto or …” Detective Quinn started and then leaned close to me. “Vin Priganti?”

I squirmed in my seat. “At Platinum,” I said. Dectective Quinn raised an eyebrow. “I didn't drink,” I added.

“We'll overlook that for the moment,” he said. “They mention anything about their ‘Midnight Auto Sales'?”

“I don't know what that is, Detective.”

“Traffickin' in stolen parts. Do you have any idea how much was in that trunk?”

I paused for a moment. “No, I don't know anything about that,” I said.

“You're sure.”

I nodded. “We just hung out and danced, is all,” I said.

Detective Quinn stared at me as I shifted in my seat. “We saw you with Father Rinaldi, too,” he began after a minute. “Perhaps you should spend more time wid him than wid the likes a Tony Kroon.” He slid his chair back and rose. “We'll have a squad car take you home.”

Carrying on in a Cadillac in front of my apartment was one thing. Showing up in a police car was another. “Can't I take the subway?” I asked.

Detective Quinn crossed his arms and narrowed his eyebrows. “Yeah, now get outta here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Maybe you should start choosing your boyfriends more wisely. Next time you won't be so lucky.”

The express train lights kept making my already red eyes blink tears of fear. There was no denying that Tony, my Tony, might've been not just some Brooklyn Boy, but rather an up-and-coming criminal. But I was not ready to believe such a thing, no way. The thought of it left my mind quickly but still engulfed my heart.

No one was in the living room at home when I entered after eleven. Thank God, I said to myself. I had had enough questions for one night. I wished I could call Janice but didn't want to run the risk of being overheard. Besides, I said to myself, she was probably still out with Richie. I tiptoed down the hallway to my room and undressed in darkness before crawling into bed.

I hadn't stopped thinking about Tony since I left the police station. I stared at the ceiling as I listened to Grandma's low,
strained breathing. Her struggle for air, I thought, mirrored the one I had for my future. And Tony's, too. He hadn't had much of a start in life and chose the only one that made sense to him. I had chosen to be with him and had chosen to show him how the baggage that came with his life could be unloaded. That was the way it was, I thought, and turned over on my pillow. I grasped the rosary under it and closed my eyes. Everything's going to be all right, I said to myself.

I was just kidding myself.

I awoke before Mom and Grandma early Sunday morning with a pit in my stomach. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen without making any noise, and then dialed Janice's number.

“Janice, it's me,” I said when she answered her private line.

“Sam?” she started groggily. “What da fuck time is it?”

“Seven thirty. Sorry I woke you.”

“That's okay,” Janice said, and I heard her shifting in her bed. “Whatsa matter?”

“You hear what happened last night?”

“No. Richie never showed up.”

“The cops busted me and Tony.”

“You?!”

“Yeah. Pulled us over in Vin's Cadillac and then took us to the precinct.”

“Where'd this happen?”

“Red Hook.”

Janice was silent for a moment. “Where are ya now?” she asked.

“Home. They let me go.”

“What about Tony?”

“They said they were booking him.”

“What for?”

“Stolen auto parts. That's all I know, which is why I called. To see if you knew anything.”

Janice paused for a long minute. “I wish I did,” she said.

“This ever happen to you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Janice said. “Once. Richie got caught with some hot radios. No big deal.”

I knew better. This
was
a big deal. It was apparent that we weren't dating boys who read at the local library, but who robbed, deceived, and did God knows what else. I would keep quiet and shove it under the rug. No matter how stupid it sounded. That seemed to be what I was doing these days.

How serious could it really be? There didn't seem to have been any impact on their lives, as Richie was out and about with the boys and he and Janice did whatever they wanted to do and went wherever they wanted to go. Business as usual in Bensonhurst, I concluded. I wanted to be able to be so calm about such things, as she was, but this was all new to me. The pit in my stomach was still there and my palms were sweaty. “I wish I knew how Tony was,” I said.

“Let me make some calls and I'll get back to ya.”

“Hurry, willya?”

“Sure,” Janice said. “And Sam?”

“What?”

“Don't worry. This is just normal bullshit.”

We hung up and I tried to follow her advice. I guessed that what had happened was normal, but normal for who? I figured it was all part of the baggage that would be left behind soon enough. Still, the thought of Tony in a cell troubled me. I occupied myself with putting on a pot of coffee, and when an idea for my next dating article struck me, I pulled out a notepad while I sat at the kitchen table and jotted some tidbits that I would flesh out on my typewriter. When I heard shuffling footsteps half an hour later, I tore the sheets from the pad and slipped them into my robe pocket. No way Mom was up at this
hour, I said to myself as I reached for my coffee cup. It had to be Grandma.

“Up so early, Samelah?” she asked at the doorway.

“Yeah,” I said as I stood up, then went to hold my grandmother close. I rested my cheek on her shoulder as we hugged. “I wanted to make breakfast today,” I said. Grandma stroked the top of my head and then held me at arm's length as she scanned my face. “What's troubling you?” she asked.

“Nothing, Gram,” I said with a peck on her cheek.

“You just get me a cup of coffee,” Grandma said as she headed for her chair. “Then we'll talk.”

I opened a cabinet and brought a cup and saucer to the table with the pot of coffee. I filled my cup, filled Grandma's, and then returned the pot to the counter while she flopped into her seat and started to massage her legs. As I sat down, I glanced at her stockings, which were rolled below her knees, and then at the frail hands that kneaded her calves.

“
Oy gevalt,
” Grandma moaned as she rubbed. “Don't get old.”

I stared at the pink scalp that showed through her white hair. “I want you to get a lot older right before my eyes, Gram,” I said.

Grandma reached for her coffee and sat back. “So,” she started, and then took a sip, “what's Tony done to my granddaughter?”

“Nothing, Gram.”

Grandma scanned my face again. “Your heart is heavy, no?”

“No,” I said as my hands clasped my coffee cup.

“Well, it's something,” she said.

I rotated the cup in my hands for a moment. “Even great relationships aren't always smooth, are they, Grandma?”

“
Acch!
” Grandma said, throwing her arms aloft. “There's no such thing.”

“I didn't think so, 'specially with young Italian boys.”

“Not even for the Jews.” Grandma shrugged. “So, you're having problems?”

“Nothing abnormal,” I said, then glanced at the wall phone. “Tony's dealing with guy stuff.”

Grandma leaned her arms on the table and looked into my eyes. “That doesn't concern me as long as he doesn't hurt my Sammy.”