Tower

That time in the hospital with Nicky’s mother pouring it on was like being back home. Don’t know about Nick, but I was only half-listening. I remember that in spite of my folks, my childhood had been a good one. Spent most of it outdoors, beyond the walls of the Rosen Asylum for Empty Lives. Remembered the summer days when the moms, not Sophie, of course, would group together on someone’s stoop. We happily lived in the gutter and the schoolyard. We could weave a world out of asphalt and chalk. Now we lived in our own traps. Held incongruous shotguns in our hands.

Some detective named Ortiz came by to ask Nick a few questions. Waste of time. He would stay silent even if it was Boyle vis-à-vis Griffin that sent him a lead love letter. Nick would want to see to it himself. Me too. Rules of the street.

O’Connor met me at our usual spot. Wasn’t thrilled with my having been turned out. Acted pissy. Like I wanted to get exposed, right? Yeah boss, I even had a bull’s eye painted on the back of all of my clothes to make Griffin’s job easier. Might’ve been relieved to have it out there, but I wasn’t glad to become a fucking target. O’Connor gave me marching orders. I was to lay low and see how things with Nick would shake out, then it was out of town again till the time came to testify.

In spite of their high hopes for me, they hadn’t been able to build the grand case they had envisioned. Boyle’s crew would go down, that was certain. Maybe a few peripheral guys at JFK and the Port of Newark as well. But the big conspiracy case, the one reaching from Brooklyn to Boston, Belfast to the Mexican border, that was shot.

“Don’t fret, lad, your job is secure,” O’Connor assured me, a look on his face as if he’d been digesting glass shards.

As if it mattered. Thanked him anyway.

“What are the flowers for?” he wondered.

“I’ve thrown up on her grave twice. Sonya deserves a little something else from me this last visit.”

Shook his head. “Dead is dead, lad. She’s beyond caring.”

“I’m not.”

That hung there for a few seconds, him pondering the fact that inside he was nearly as dead as Sonya Einstein.

“Nicky’s gonna need a place to run.”

O’Connor started humming a tune that was familiar to me, but that I couldn’t put a title to.

“What’s that you’re humming?”

“‘My Old Kentucky Home.’ We’re way ahead of you, lad. Why do you think I asked you to hang around? I’ll have a package with the details delivered to you later today.”

Watched him walk away. When he was fully out of sight, I placed the bouquet on the grave. Didn’t do an apology. Picked up two rocks. Placed one atop Sonya’s headstone, one on my mom’s. It was Jewish tradition that. Explain it? Can’t. It would be like trying to explain how the fuck I got here in the first place.