The Steel Kiss

Now Freddy turned, looked Nick up and down and waited all of a half second to hug him.

The man pretty much resembled a toad.

Though a friendly, cheerful one, a grin burned onto his toady face.

“Man, man, man. Heard you were out.” He backed off and gave an arm’s-length gaze. “Damn.”

Freddy and Nick went way back. They’d been classmates, public school classmates (no private schools in Sandy Hook, at least not for them). Nick was the good-looking one, the athlete. Freddy—five two then and now—couldn’t swing a bat or catch a pass, let alone dunk. But he had other skills. You needed a term paper, he’d write one for you. Free of charge. You needed to know if Myra Handleman had a date for the prom, he’d tell you who and give good advice how to convince her to break it and say yes to you instead. You needed help on a test, Freddy had a knack for knowing what questions would be asked (students speculated that he broke into teachers’ offices late at night—some said in a ninja outfit—but Nick suspected that Freddy simply thought the way the teachers thought).

Nick had built his cred on an impressive batting average and the class officer thing—looks too, sure.

Freddy had nurtured his differently, by working the system the way Amelia would needle-valve a carburetor. The rumor was Freddy got laid more than anybody else in high school. Nick doubted it but he still remembered that the plum Linda Rawlins, a foot taller and Cosmo beautiful, was Freddy’s date to the junior prom. Nick stayed home with TV and the Mets.

“So. What’re you up to, man?” Nick asked, sitting down. He gestured to the bartender and ordered a ginger ale.

Freddy was nursing a beer. A lite.

“Consulting.” And Freddy laughed. “How’s that for a job title? Ha! Really. Sounds like I’m a hit man or some shit. But it’s like Shark Tank.”

Nick shook his head. No clue. Not a lot of pop culture inside.

“A TV show about business start-ups. I hook entrepreneurs up with investors. Small business. I learned Armenian and—”

“You what?”

“Armenian. It’s a language.”

“I know it is. But what?”

“Lot of Armenians here.”

“Where?”

“New York. I put together Armenian businessmen with money people. Not just Armenians but anybody. Lot of Chinese.”

“You speak—”

“Nee-how!”

“Rich.” They high-fived.

Freddy grimaced. “Mandarin’s a bitch. So, you did your time. You’re out. That’s good. Say, I heard your brother passed. I’m sorry about that.”

Nick looked around. He took a breath. Then, in a soft voice, told Freddy about his brother, his own innocence.

Toady eyes narrowed. “No shit, man…  That’s heavy.”

“Donnie didn’t know what he was getting into. You remember him, a child.”

“We always thought he had some problems, sure. Nobody cared. Just, he wasn’t quite right. All respect.”

“No worries,” Nick said, sipping the soda he’d ordered.

“Delgado. Doesn’t surprise me. Piece of crap. Total floating crap. Deserved what he got.”

Nick said, “You treated him good—Donnie.”

“And there’s no way he could’ve done time.” Freddy toyed with his beer bottle, peeling the wet label down. “You did the right thing. Jesus, I don’t know I could’ve done that.” He grinned. “Course, my brother’s an asshole. I woulda let him spin in the wind.”

Nick laughed hard. “But now I’ve got to get my life back. I’ve lost some years. I’m going to get a business going.”

“Find a lady, Nick. Man needs a woman in his life.”

“Oh, I’m working on that.”

“Good for you. And you can still have kids.”

“You’ve got the twins, right?”

“And two more. Twins’re boys. The four- and five-year-old’re girls. The wife said enough is enough. But, hell, that’s what God put us here for, right? So you need some money? I can stand you to some. Not a lot. Ten, twelve K.”

“No, no, I’m fine there, got some inheritance.”

“Shit, really?”

“But, Freddy, I do need a favor.”

“What?”

“I found out that there’s somebody who might know about the ’jacking Donnie was behind. Maybe he was a fence, maybe he just took delivery of some merch. Maybe he financed the job. I’m hoping he knows I wasn’t behind it. I gotta find him.”

“Who is it?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t have much to go on. I could ask around the ’hood, but you know—”

“Sure, nobody’d trust you. Think you were a CI or something.”

“Well, that, yeah. But mostly, if this guy was actually connected, I can’t really be seen talking to him.”

“Oh, shit, sure. The parole thing.”

“That’s it.”

“You need me to ask around?”

Nick raised his hands. “You can say no.”

“Nick, I gotta say there was a lot of people in the ’hood who didn’t believe it. They thought some other cop fucked you over ’cause you wouldn’t play along. Everybody liked you, Nick. You were a golden boy.”

Nick slapped Freddy’s arm and felt his eyes welling up. “Means everything to me, man.”

“What kind of business you looking at?”

“Restaurant, I’ve decided.”

“Yeah. Ballbreaker work. But there’s money to be made. I do some Armenian restaurant deals. You ever have Armenian food?”

“No. I never have. Don’t think so.”