Blood on Blood

ELEVEN

Jerzy

I glance over at Mick and he knows I’m looking at him but he turns to stare back out the window. I don’t know what to say and even if I did, I wouldn’t. The old man is gone and there is nothing else to be done. Period. No tears from either of us, but for different reasons, I’m sure.

“I’ll go get the faggot.” My voice is all quivery and fucked up so I fake a cough like that’s what is really wrong.

“All right…yeah,” Mick says. He just keeps looking out that window.

I was able to get the full attention of the little queer with a pissy attitude and a minute later, the prison chaplain comes stumbling in out of nowhere. He must’ve been on standby, waiting for the old man to cash it in. Right away, this bottom-end collared ass starts expressing his bullshit condolences. Bastard looks like an ex-con himself and sounds like a recording. He walks over to the bed and starts saying a few lines quietly.

What a fuckin’ joke.

But hey, this is prison. This is Columbia Correctional not St. Anthony’s Cathedral in Cicero right? So, fuck it. Whatever.

Speaking of St. Anthony’s, that is where the old man had told us he wanted it done. He wanted the funeral to be at the same place Mick’s mom was at. He was clear about that, and something else, too. No regular burial for old Gar. He had a big ass problem with that whole rotting in the ground thing. Reminded him too much of prison. He wanted to be burned into ashes as soon as the funeral as over. But he also said closed casket, because he didn’t want a bunch of assholes staring at him.

Yeah, my old man always knew what he wanted.

I see the preacher turn from the bed and he walks slowly over to me and Mick. His head is lowered and he’s all somber and shit. He puts a hand on my shoulder and holds a bible in the other.

I shrug his hand away. “Okay, I can really feel this and everything. This is fantastic, pastor, but now what?” I’m staring bullets at both Pastor Con and the little smartass fag. They’re standing there looking at me like fucking idiots.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, Mr. Sawyer?” The prison chaplain clears his throat and holds his bible even tighter across his chest like a fucking teddy bear.

“He means, are we done here, and what are the next steps?” Mick chipped in like a translator. “We don’t want to dwell on things. We need to move on.” After a brief pause, he threw in a “Father.”

After the preacher tells us the deal on the body being transported and things like that, we fill out some release papers and then even more paperwork checking ourselves out.

We finally make our way back out of Columbia and into the parking lot.

I can tell Mick’s in a daze, I guess we both are, and he just starts walking away. Then he stops and turns around.

“Well, Jerz, I’ll take care of the arrangements if you want.” His voice is almost friendly. “See you in a couple days at St. Anthony’s.”

I give him my best smart-ass sneer. “You’re coming, huh? Dad would be so pleased.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah, that’s right, I’m coming. If I have to set the whole fucking thing up for you, I might as well come to the party, too.”

I always knew how to piss him off.

“You were always better than me at that kind of shit, right, Hero? Setting things up, taking care of the details and all that.”

“Yeah, I was,” he snaps. “Speaking of that, Punk, I think that’s your poor mother and aunt whatever the fuck her name is, isn’t it?” He points over my shoulder, then turns and starts to walk away again.

“So, tell me this, Mickey boy,” I call after him. “Sure, you’ll set it all up real nice, take care of everything for your little brother. But you gonna pay for it? Huh? You got any money for this? It ain’t cheap. Huh, chief? You got any money? Any money for anything?”

He looks back over his shoulder at me but keeps walking. “Naw, you got me beat there, Capone.”

Before I could say something back at him, I hear her calling and she’s almost running to me.

“Jerzy, ohhh my boy Jerzy…”

She’s all crying and shit, wailing away with fat Aunt Alina waddling along behind her.

“Ma, take it easy. Ma, c’mon now.”

“Oh my beautiful boy, where is he? Where is Gar? Take me to him.”

I look at Aunt Alina hard and shake my head.

“I told you to hurry, Alina.”

“We came right away, Jerzy, as quick as we could. But, well, we got a little lost.” She’s scared, looking at me with her painted on eyebrows all raised up high.

It feels all wrong but I put my arm around my Ma anyway. She’s still crying and puts her trembling hands on each side of my face.

“My Jerzy. My sweet, sweet boy.” She kisses me on both cheeks, then looks at me all weepy and plants some more kisses on me.

“Ma…”

“Take me to him, Jerzy.”

“Ma…he’s gone. He died about an hour ago.”

Ania helped me pick out this black suit I’m wearing and it’s a good thing. I hadn’t worn one in years and didn’t know the styles. When I asked her to come with me today she hadn’t even blinked. I’m still not sure why I asked her. Maybe I just wanted somebody else to sit next to me besides just Ma, who was a fucking mess like I knew she’d be. Maybe, just maybe, I really wanted Ania to be with me.

Ania squeezes my hand and I look at her. At this kind of deal, you shouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking…but damn.

She’s wearing a conservative black dress, a simple gold crucifix necklace and toned down make-up. But damn. She could wear a potato sack and look hot. I look at her some more and swim around in those pale blue eyes for a second. I squeeze her hand back and rub my thumb slowly over hers.

I swear she knows exactly what I’m thinking about. Knows what I’m thinking about, right here in front of God and everybody, if I could get away with it. Right here at my Dad’s funeral.

Jesus. It’s hard to tear my eyes off of hers but I do it and try to think about something else.

St. Anthony is like so many other Catholic churches in Chicago, a three story high ceiling with paintings and clouds up there. Stained glass wherever you look. Gold crosses and Latin. Jesus and Mary everywhere.

I don’t belong here, never did. They use to have to push Mick to church, but with me it was even worse. It was more like dragging my little ass here.

The priest is droning on about something and after we get up from kneeling again, I glance at Mick. He’s in the same pew but down on the other end and he’s staring right the fuck at me.

He could be thinking about those diamond earrings that Dad had told us about. Tell you the truth, that’s about all I’ve been thinking about. Where in the hell were the damn things and how was I going to find them? The old man had been a bittersweet tricky bastard to the end. He told us both about them and that hadn’t been a mistake. Old Gar had always liked fucking with people and that included his two sons.

Then again, Mick might not be looking at me at all. He might be checking out Ania. There is a big part of me that would enjoy the hell out of that. I could only hope he was looking at her and saying ‘what the fuck’? Be jealous like he should be. Have him wish for it but know that I got something he could never get.

Hero boy had never had any luck with the ladies and I always did, simple as that. Rubbing it in was just natural, you know?

I keep staring back at him and the more I do the more I start to believe he’s thinking diamonds.

Mick had always tried to do the right thing, be the good guy, save the day and all that other good shit. But from what I heard, he also had a long string of fucking hard times when he stopped being a cop.

Here’s what I’m thinking. Shit jobs, no women and no cash helps make heroes like my brother here, very unhappy boys. Makes them think about doing things they would never dream of doing normally.

That’s Mick, though. Me, I got shit goin’ on already. I got the money from Patrik and even more coming when I kill that old Russian bastard. But hey, why shouldn’t I get some more with the earrings? Fuck Hero.

I look at the priest now, who’s swinging his incense canister around and the chain on it echoes softly.

I’m not trying to get all deep here but I think I agree with one thing the church preaches. Man is a failed animal. We’re all born with sin. It’s always right there, sometimes on the surface, sometimes down deep. It’s a matter of whether you just go with that and make the best of it, or fight it.

Sooner or later, you sin. You fail. So, I’m thinking Mick has reached that breaking point. I mean, how long can you really keep slinging slop around in the back kitchen of some fucking greasy spoon? No money equals no money, right?

So I can see me maybe playing all nice for awhile. Maybe we’ll even use each other’s help to find those fucking earrings. If so, he’d be planning on a split, no doubt. The fair thing.

Sorry, Mick, but I’ll fuck you over just as sure as I’m sitting here. In the end, I’ll leave you standing there with your dick in your hand like always.

The priest seems to be wrapping this up. Maybe. There’s not too many people here and I’m not sure if anyone is getting up there to say anything or not. I know I’m not. I just don’t know how these things work.

Ma is still blubbering away, so I look away and think about Dad a little. I can’t believe that plain ass casket he’s in. It cost me a small fortune and so did everything else today. It all should be made outta gold for what I paid and it’s not even the good stuff they bury people in.

Down on our knees we go again. I cross myself and look over at Ania.

She’s looking past me now, down the pew. She looks serious, her eyes full of fire. Kind of a ‘what the fuck you looking at’ glare. I follow her gaze over to Mick who turns his eyes back up towards the front.

I’m liking this girl more and more every day. She just knows things instinctively. I told her a little bit about Mick and me earlier, but not that much. I can tell she already don’t like him. She knows he’s a loser.

Then Ania’s ice blues flick back to me with a much softer look. I stare into them again and think about later. Her hip pushes hard against mine.

I look up at the high ceiling and to some who might not know me, it probably looks like I’m praying. To be honest they’d be right. I’m praying for this dentist appointment of a ceremony to be over.