I’m seventeen and haven’t cried, haven’t felt anything close to the sensation of crying since I was four or five years old.
I don’t want to lose it now.
I push it away, don’t let myself cave to weakness.
***
It’s the next day, after school. We’ve just gotten home, so I look my brother in the eyes and tell him that he doesn’t need details, but the guy who hurt Mom is no longer gonna terrorize anyone. I tell Willie he can’t tell a soul I’ve said that to him.
My kid brother looks me in the eyes with wisdom beyond his years and nods. I tell him I’ll stay in with him and we’ll watch something or play a game.
He looks me in the eye again and puts his hand on my shoulder like he’s wise beyond even my years.
“You got business to take care of Kill. I’ll be good. Can I go to the neighbor’s place for dinner? They got a kid my age and we like the same things. They asked me over for macaronis.”
The family is nice; he gets along with their two kids and tells me the dad never yells. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have men around who don’t yell. He needs buds, so I agree, dropping him off before I walk down to the pizza place.
I walk in to Nino and Tommy sitting there at the best table in the house. Bianca is on Nino’s lap, putting a Santa hat on his head while he grins at her. He sees me and lifts his chin in greeting.
A waitress named Carla that I dated last summer is leaned over Tommy, pouring beer into a glass and doing her best to flash her cleavage in his face.
Dario comes out of the men’s room and jerks his chin up at me. We walk to the table together and I pull a chair over from the next table.
“How’s things, boys?” I ask, casually.
“Things are good,” Nino says. “Everything’s good.”
And he doesn’t have to explain further that Max’s body is looked after.
Gina from my old building walks in with two friends. And she’s wearing a halter top with her tits half hanging out, in November for fuck’s sake. She’s also got an inch of makeup on her face. I don’t hide my annoyance when I make eye contact.
She looks at me with longing.
“Help yourself,” Nino invites, gesturing to the pizza and jug of beer on the table. “Carla, grab him a glass.”
“Sure,” she says. “Hi Kill.”
“Hey,” I say, turning my back on Gina.
“How are you doing?” Bianca asks me.
“I’m good. Thanks, Bee,” I say.
Mr. V, the owner of the pizza joint comes over and slaps my back. “Ima so sorry for your pain, Killian,” he says in his thick Italian accent.
Again.
“Thanks, Mr. V.” He’s seen me at least five times in the past month but says it every time.
“You better? You wear it in your eyes. But you have it a little less today. Today is better?”
“Yeah,” I reply, “gettin’ a little better.”
My eyes slide to make brief contact with each of the three guys at the table. They’re all watching me, and they all know I’m better than yesterday because of their help.
“Thazza good.” Mr. V. slaps my back again. “You wanna come back and work, you can come if you follow my rules.”
He fired me a few months ago for taking bets while on the job. He didn’t suffer for it, either; people bought slices and drinks when they stopped in. Or ordered food to go. But he was old-school and didn’t like it. I respected that. It’s his business and he can make the rules. I don’t need his job anymore; people who want to bet know how to find me. Business had been good before, but it’s been even better working as part of the bookie crew Mr. Ferrano put me on and having my schedule more open. More customers, more time on my hands, paying up a share of my profit but resulting in way more cash in my pocket.
“I think I’ll be okay, but thanks, Mr. V.”
“Okay. You change-a you mind, you lemme know.” He walks away.
“Be back,” Bianca gets off Nino’s lap and goes to the bathroom.
It’s just us guys at the table now.
“Handled yourself well last night. Respect, Kill,” Tommy says quietly. “I’d probably have made him suffer for a while first, but you did good. Handled it like a man.”
He shakes my hand.
Dario takes the new glass from Carla who approaches, waving her away before he pours me a beer from the jug. Mr. V lets us drink here, regardless that some of us are under twenty-one.
I take a long drink and then stare into my glass for a minute.
“Could’ve made him suffer more,” I say finally.
“Doesn’t matter, brother,” Nino leans forward and looks me in the eyes. “All that matters is you dealt. That’s done. Bottom line. No good for anyone to look backwards when lookin’ back makes no diff.” He slaps my back.