Melancholy Baby

“I’m beginning to learn some things about myself.”

Richie nodded.

“I’m not exactly who I was,” I said.

“It’s tough work,” Richie said. “You should be proud of yourself for doing it.”

I nodded.

“I there anything you need?” Richie said. “The Burkes got resources, you know.”

“I never ever could quite be sure,” I said. “Are you involved in the Burke family business?”

Richie smiled a little.

“I’ve told you no before.”

“I know.”

“So I won’t again,” Richie said. “Lemme tell you a story instead. When I graduated high school, my father and my uncle Felix took me out to dinner. My father said to me, ‘You know what we do?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’ And my father said, ‘It’s the life we chose, Felix and me.’ and I said, ‘I know.’ And my father said, ‘It ain’t a very good life. I don’t want you in it.’ Now you have to understand, my father probably said one hundred words to me in my first eighteen years. For him, this was like the Sermon on the Mount. ‘You unnerstand?’ he said. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Awright,’ he said. ‘I want you to go to college, and when you get through, I’ll be able to set you up in some legit part of the, ah, family enterprise.’ And being me, and being eighteen, I say, ‘If I want to.’ And my father looks at Felix and they both smile and my father says to me, ‘You do anything you want that’s legal. Me and Felix can give you a head start, and I don’t see no reason you shouldn’t take it, but that’s up to you.’ ”

“And you never were in the rackets?” I said.

“No,” Richie said, and smiled. “I went to college, and when I graduated, they gave me the saloon as a graduation present, and there hasn’t been an illegal dollar spent there since I owned it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I believed him. Why the hell hadn’t I always believed him? Richie grinned again, thinking back.

“Here’s a nice touch, though. At this same dinner, my father also said to me, ‘Whatever you do, you’re a Burke, and not everybody is going to be your friend. I want you to learn to shoot, and to use your fists.’

“And I said, ‘I already had a few fights in high school.’ And my father smiled at Felix again and said, ‘Yeah, sure. But Felix will teach you how to do it even better. Shooting, too.’ ”

“And did he?” I said.

“Five afternoons a week for a year,” Richie said.

“And he knows a lot,” I said.

“Felix is getting older now, but he could still kill a man with a lollipop,” Richie said.

“And now you know how.”

“I do,” Richie said. “It’s not something you forget. And I practice.”

“But you don’t use the skills.”

“Not yet,” Richie said. “But since we’re talking about this, Sunny, you gotta understand. I come from a family of gangsters and thugs, and I’m neither. On the other hand, I love my family. I will never turn away from them.”

“It’s a fine line,” I said.

“It is,” Richie said. “But it is a line.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

“I thought when I said I wasn’t in the business, you should have believed me.”

“You were right,” I said. “I should have. Does your wife know this story?”

“No.”

“Has she met your father and Felix?”

“Just at the wedding,” Richie said. “Neither was carrying a tommy gun.”

“So she doesn’t know what I know,” I said.

“No.”

I was thrilled.

“So,” Richie said. “You need anything?”

“A man named George Markham,” I said, “was shot to death last week in the parking lot in back of the Castle in Park Square.”

Richie nodded.

“Anything I could find out about that, including who did it, would be a great favor.”

Richie nodded again.

“I’ll speak to Uncle Felix,” Richie said. “Felix knows stuff.”

He put his coffee cup on the table and stood up. Rosie jumped down and went to the front door and wagged with her tongue out. I got her leash and gave it to Richie.

“When Rosie’s with me,” Richie said, “it’s like she’s with you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I love her like you do,” Richie said.

I nodded. Richie opened the door, and Rosie surged through it as far as the leash would let her, and stopped and stood motionless, waiting. Richie looked at me for a minute. Then, with Rosie’s leash looped around his right wrist, he put his arms around me and hugged me. I was rigid for a moment, and then I hugged him back as hard as I could.

“Remember Yogi Berra,” Richie said.

My voice was muffled against his chest.

“It’s never over until it’s over,” I said.

“Something like that,” Richie said.

Then he patted me softly on the back, let go of me, went out the door with Rosie, and closed it behind him. I stood without moving, looking at the door, trying to get enough air.

59

The place felt empty when I woke up the next morning. Rosie was with Richie. I felt a ripple of excitement when I thought of Richie. It’s never over until it’s over. I couldn’t quite remember who Yogi Berra was. Some kind of sports person. But I knew the phrase by heart. I went for a run by myself, and came home and showered, and was drinking coffee in my bathrobe when the phone rang and I picked it up and Sarah’s voice said, “Sunny, you have to come here.”

“To your school?”

“Yes. My room. You remember where it is?”