You're nobody 'til somebody kills you

Twelve

We stopped off for pizza and a couple of six-packs of Ballantine beer, then drove to Jerry’s apartment, which was in Sheepshead Bay.

We parked in a carport behind the building and went up a flight of stairs.

“I got the whole top floor,” he said, as he unlocked the door. “You can smell the water from here, and you can see the bay from the roof. It’s only a couple of blocks away.”

Sheepshead Bay was home to fishing boats that went out every morning and came back every evening with their catch, as well as shops and restaurants that depended on the fishing. I’d spent a lot of time there as a teenager, and enjoyed many meals in Lundy’s, a Brooklyn landmark that seated as many as 2,400 people, as well as Randazzo’s Clam Bar, the best place for clams in Brooklyn.

We entered through the kitchen, put the pizza and beer down on a yellow Formica-topped table.

“It ain’t fancy,” Jerry said. “Just a living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, but it’s enough for me.”

“I don’t want to crowd you, Jerry …”

“I got a big sofa, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “You don’t mind sleepin’ on it, you ain’t gonna crowd me.”

He retrieved two mismatched plates from a cabinet, set them on the table, and opened both pizza boxes. One was plain cheese, the way I liked it, the other pepperoni, for Jerry. We sat, popped the tops on some beers, and dug in. Jerry was right, it had been years since I’d had Brooklyn pizza. It was even better than I remembered.

“I was surprised when you called, Mr. G.,” Jerry said. “Ain’t nobody in your family got a car?”

“I don’t get along so well with my family, Jerry,” I said. “Haven’t for a very long time. That’s why I called you. I just … needed somebody I could count on. You’re the only person in New York who fit the bill.”

“Wow,” Jerry said. “That’s, like … okay, Mr. G. You know you can count on me. You want me to drive you to the funeral home?”

I took a second slice of pizza.

“That’s what I was thinkin’, Jerry, but now I’m not so sure I want to go. Not tonight.”

“Okay, so, tomorrow, then?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“I mean … you flew all the way here, and not to go?”

“I’ll go Thursday,” I said. “For the actual burial, but the wake-you know, that’s just a bunch of people who haven’t seen each other since the last funeral.”

“Ya know,” Jerry said, “sometimes I think those wakes-people use them as family reunions.”

“Exactly,” I said, “only it’s a bunch of people gathered together who don’t really want to see one another, other than at funerals.”

“I know what ya mean, Mr. G.,” Jerry said.

I grabbed a third piece while Jerry had a fourth, a second beer while he had a third.

“Jerry, we’ve never talked about your family,” I said.

“Ain’t got one, Mr. G. I spent time in foster homes, then boys’ homes, reform schools, then prison. But I been on my own now for twenty years.”

“You were never adopted?”

“I was too bad to be adopted,” Jerry said. “I knew that. I never took it personal when they sent me back to the home.”

“Maybe you were better off,” I said. “You didn’t have crazy parents playin’ with your head.”

“That’s what happened to you?”

“Me, my brother, my sister.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you had no brother an’ sister, Mr. G.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t make it out like I did,” I said. “They’re as crazy as the people who raised us.”

“Your father,” Jerry asked. “Is he still alive?”

“Oh, yeah …”

“So you’ll see him at the funeral.”

“Yes.”

I used a napkin to clean grease from my chin, then drank some beer. Pizza and beer, such simple pleasures, reminding me of the good parts of my youth in Brooklyn.

“I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”

“But you gotta do it, right?” Jerry asked. “Because she was your mother?”

“That’s the only reason I flew here,” I said. “Because I had to.”

That reminded me. I had to call the Sands, let them know how to get in touch with me.

“Can I use your phone to call Vegas?”

“Sure, Mr. G. It’s right there.”

Jack’s girl made me wait, but finally put me through to him.

“I’m at this number, Jack,” I said, reading the digits off the dial.

“What hotel is that?”

“I’m … stayin’ with a friend.”

“Not family?”

“Hell, no.”

“Okay, Eddie,” Entratter said. “I hope it’s not all too … bad for you.”

“Thanks, Jack. I’m sure I’ll be back by Friday.”

“Okay.”

Next I called Danny’s office, got Penny, his secretary.

“Eddie, where have you been?” she asked.

“Busy. Is he around?”

“No, he’s in L.A.”

“He is? Still?”

“Well, you gave him permission to tail Marilyn Monroe. I think he’s taking full advantage of it.”

“Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Okay, if he wants to talk to me he can get me here.” Once again, I read the number off the center of the dial.

“What hotel is that?”

“Why does everybody want me to spend money on a hotel?” I asked. “I’m stayin’ with a friend.”

“Not family?”

“Good-bye, Penny.”

I looked at Jerry, who had one slice of pizza left in his box. There were four still in mine. I went over and picked one up.

“Startin’ already, huh?” he asked.

“What?”

“All the questions.”

“Questions I don’t want to answer.”

“I know,” Jerry said. “People used ta ask me about my family all the time. They wuz always shocked to find out I didn’t have one. Guineas, they got so many family members, ya know? Oops, sorry, Mr. G.”

“That’s okay, Jerry,” I said. “I know Italian families are large.

Nothin’ I can do about that. All I can do is steer clear of the crazy.”

“So you moved to Vegas,” Jerry said. “No crazy there, right?”

I bit into my pizza. “At least I’m not related to it.”