Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

in check but had given his nephew warning. "Tommy, you make my sister cry over you

and I'll straighten you out myself." It was intended as a friendly pally-uncle warning, not

really as a threat. But even though Tommy was the toughest kid in that tough Brooklyn

neighborhood, he was afraid of his Uncle Al.

On this particular visit Tommy had come in very late Saturday night and was still

sleeping in his room. His mother went to wake him, telling him to get dressed so that he

could eat Sunday dinner with his uncle and aunt. The boy's voice came harshly through

the partly opened door, "I don't give a shit, let me sleep," and his mother came back out

into the kitchen smiling apologetically.

So they had to eat their dinner without him. Neri asked his sister if Tommy was giving

her any real trouble and she shook her head.

Neri and his wife were about to leave when Tommy finally got up. He barely grumbled

a hello and went into the kitchen. Finally he yelled in to his mother, "Hey, Ma, how about

228

cooking me something to eat?" But it was not a request. It was the spoiled complaint of

an indulged child.

His mother said shrilly, "Get up when it's dinnertime and then you can eat. I'm not

going to cook again for you."

It was the sort of little ugly scene that was fairly commonplace, but Tommy still a little

irritable from his slumber made a mistake. "Ah, fuck you and your nagging, I'll go out

and eat." As soon as he said it he regretted it.

His Uncle Al was on him like a cat on a mouse. Not so much for the insult to his sister

this particular day but because it was obvious that he often talked to his mother in such

a fashion when they were alone. Tommy never dared say such a thing in front of her

brother. This particular Sunday he had just been careless. To his misfortune.

Before the frightened eyes of the two women, Al Neri gave his nephew a merciless,

careful, physical beating. At first the youth made an attempt at self-defense but soon

gave that up and begged for mercy. Neri slapped his face until the lips were swollen and

bloody. He rocked the kid's head back and slammed him against the wall. He punched

him in the stomach, then got him prone on the floor and slapped his face into the carpet.

He told the two women to wait and made Tommy go down the street and get into his car.

There he put the fear of God into him. "If my sister ever tells me you talk like that to her

again, this beating will seem like kisses from a broad," he told Tommy. "I want to see

you straighten out. Now go up the house and tell my wife I'm waiting for her."

It was two months after this that Al Neri got back from a late shift on the force and

found his wife had left him. She had packed all her clothes and gone back to her family.

Her father told him that Rita was afraid of him, that she was afraid to live with him

because of his temper. Al was stunned with disbelief. He had never struck his wife,

never threatened her in any way, had never felt anything but affection for her. But he

was so bewildered by her action that he decided to let a few days go by before he went

over to her family's house to talk to her.

It was unfortunate that the next night he ran into trouble on his shift. His car answered

a call in Harlem, a report of a deadly assault. As usual Neri jumped out of the patrol car

while it was still rolling to a stop. It was after midnight and he was carrying his huge

flashlight. It was easy spotting the trouble. There was a crowd gathered outside a

tenement doorway. One Negro woman said to Neri, "There's a man in there cutting a

little girl."

229

Neri went into the hallway. There was an open door at the far end with light streaming

out and he could hear moaning. Still handling the flashlight, he went down the hall and

through the open doorway.

He almost fell over two bodies stretched out on the floor. One was a Negro woman of

about twenty-five. The other was a Negro girl of no more than twelve. Both were bloody

from razor cuts on their faces and bodies. In the living room Neri saw the man who was

responsible. He knew him well.

The man was Wax Baines, a notorious pimp, dope pusher and strong-arm artist. His

eyes were popping from drugs now, the bloody knife he held in his hand wavered. Neri

had arrested him two weeks before for severely assaulting one of his whores in the

street. Baines had told him, "Hey, man, this none of your business." And Neri's partner

had also said something about letting the niggers cut each other up if they wanted to,

but Neri had hauled Baines into the station house. Baines was bailed out the very next

day.

Neri had never much liked Negroes, and working in Harlem had made him like them

even less. They all were on drugs or booze while they let their women work or peddle

ass. He didn't have any use for any of the bastards. So Baines' brazen breaking of the

law infuriated him. And the sight of the little girl all cut up with the razor sickened him.

Quite coolly, in his own mind, he decided not to bring Baines in.