Absent Friends

“No,” said Marian. “No.” Then: “Are you serious?” But of course Stone was serious. And like a nightmare vine that breaks the earth and in seconds spreads, branches, and soon towers overhead, blackening the sky, a memory threw a cold black shadow over Marian, a memory she had long buried.

Herself, younger than this young reporter, in bed alone, after Jimmy had gone to Manhattan, after Jimmy had left. The siren at the firehouse going off, Marian burrowing more deeply in the blankets while Engine 168 screams down the street. And Marian thinking of Jimmy gone from that truck, and thinking how it would be, how it would be better, if he were missing because he'd been lost. Missing because he'd been a hero and he'd died. Instead of the way it was, when he was not a hero—although Marian said that to no one, not even, after that night, ever again to herself—and had not been lost, but had merely turned his back on what had happened and gone away.

BOYS' OWN BOOK

Chapter 10

A Hundred Circling Camps

September 1, 1979

It begins with a phone call, Tom's father to Jimmy. Soon Jimmy's in a booth at Flanagan's, waiting, sipping beer from a heavy glass mug, nursing it really. He wants to have his wits about him when Mike the Bear walks in.

Not that Jimmy's spooked, being summoned to a meet with Michael Molloy. Nothing spooks Jimmy. And he's known Mr. Molloy all his life. Barbecues in the big backyard, Mr. Molloy grilling hotdogs, Mrs. Molloy making sure all the kids have something to drink, the kids running around, squirting each other with the garden hose. Trips to Shea Stadium (without the girls, without Mrs. Molloy), Mr. Molloy springing for ice cream and Cokes for everyone. Scary carved pumpkins and the best candy take on the block at Halloween, Mrs. Molloy dressed like a witch, green hair, extra-long teeth, but you knew it was her so you were never afraid. A Fourth of July pig roast in the middle of the street, the street closed because Mr. Molloy asks the cops to close it. And then the cops who close the street disappear, every year called away on urgent business, so that they never notice the fireworks Mr. Molloy sets off as the violet sky goes to black; a convenient thing, as fireworks are illegal in New York.

But Jimmy's father, a steel-muscled Teamster, though also spooked by nothing, has always grown uneasy in Mr. Molloy's presence. His eyes will narrow, his talk become short, and he drinks at another place, not at Flanagan's.

And it is whispered that Michael Molloy became Mike the Bear when, at Jimmy's age, he crushed a man to death in his arms.

Jimmy's beer is halfway gone when Mr. Molloy walks into the bar. Tribute is paid, in How ya doin'? and Hey, Big Mike. And he is big: six foot six, edging three hundred pounds, hair almost gone now but hands still hard. Jimmy feels the power in his handshake; Jimmy tries to return it with one of equal weight.

Mr. Molloy calls for a beer, and another for Jimmy. He inspects Jimmy, he asks how life is treating him.

Fair, Jimmy answers, returning his smile, nodding his head, to show Mr. Molloy he's appreciative that he's been asked.

Fair? Mr. Molloy pulls back in his seat, as though surprised. What I hear, you're hot shit, kiddo. What Tom tells me, you're the balls.

Hey, and now Jimmy's smile widens.

The waitress brings two more mugs, both full, both cloudy with frost. Jimmy's momentarily confused, not sure what's called for. He makes his choice, abandons the old beer—the one he paid for—in favor of the new one, from Mr. Molloy.

Mr. Molloy takes that first cold sip of beer. No, really, kid, it's what I hear. Last week, the Chinese restaurant, that guy in the fire, you rolled him in the tablecloth? Saved his life?

Yeah, says Jimmy, guy'll smell like moo shu pork for a year.

Mr. Molloy laughs with Jimmy.

Jimmy sips at his beer, but for a minute he doesn't see Mr. Molloy.

Last week: dark street, locked restaurant, smell of smoke even before they pile off the truck. Probably a grease fire in the kitchen, Jimmy's captain says. Calls for Door Man to bring the irons and the others to stretch a line to the front door. Door Man's Jimmy, he's right there. He pops it and they go in together, the captain and him. Place smells, smoke's banked halfway down. No one here, says Jimmy's captain. Bring it in! he yells to the men ready with the hose. He heads toward the kitchen. Jimmy stands for a second, takes it all in, thinks, that's wrong. Wait! he shouts. The kitchen door bursts open, flames push out. Jimmy's captain jumps back as the fire rolls over the ceiling into the room, looking for something to devour. And there's this guy staggering out from the kitchen, screaming, running around, covered in flames. Worst thing you can do, run: it feeds the dragon.