Gangster by Lorenzo Carcaterra Read Free Book Online Page A

photos on the walls orderly and dust-free. He stepped deep into the room and stood in front of Ida's bed, staring down at her sleeping form, her back to him, her face resting on a pillow curled against a brown wall. Angelo sat on the floor, his robe wrapped around him like a quilt, and leaned his head against the side of the bed. He reached a hand up and rested it on top of Ida's rich, curly hair, his fingers buried inside the thick strands. His eyes were open and brimming with tears as he listened to her steady flow of breath. He leaned in closer and placed his head against the small of Ida's back and closed his eyes, at peace in the silent room. Grazie tanto, signora, Angelo whispered to Ida seconds before he dozed off. Thank you so much.
        Ida's eyes were open, staring at the dark wall inches from her face. She waited until the boy was sound asleep, turned slowly and lifted him up onto the bed, covering him with her blanket She stared at his wounded face and rubbed a warm hand against his hard bruises. Ida kissed Angelo on the forehead and then rested her head back down on her pillow. She closed her eyes and surrendered to sleep, her arms gently wrapped around the frail boy she had rescued.
       
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    TWO WEEKS LATER, on a rain-swept Sunday morning, Ida the Goose called Pudge Nichols into the Cafe Maryland.
        I ain't punched anybody since I did the wop, Pudge said, standing in the Cafe's doorway, a gimme cap clutched in his hands. I swear.
        It's a start, Ida said, glancing at him above the rim of a large white coffee mug.
        Ida was standing behind the bar, a spit-shined black boot curved onto the metal pipe that ran along its base. Even in the semidarkness of the large room, her eyes shone. Her dark hair was pinned up, long strands inching their way down toward a luminous face. Ida slipped a hand-rolled cigarette into the corner of her mouth, slid a long wooden match down several niches of the bar until it sparked and then put the lit end up against the raw tobacco. She waved Pudge closer, smoke drifting out of her nostrils. The boy walked toward her, hesitant, his eyes scanning the Cafe.
        I'm all the company you're gonna get, Ida said. Got a little wild in here last night. Everybody's out sleepin' it off.
        What do you want? Pudge asked, reaching the bar and staring up at Ida with nervous eyes.
        It might be a good idea for you to relax a little, Ida said. I'm not in the business of hurting kids. Not unless I got good reason.
        Ida reached under the bar and came up with a fresh cup of coffee, which she pushed across the wood. Pudge eased his way onto a stool and put his hands around the cup. He took a long sip and looked around the Cafe. It true what they say about this place? he asked. About all the people been killed in here?
        I don't see your old man around anymore, Ida said, ignoring his questions and coming back with one of her own. He doin' a stretch or a split?
        He left just before Christmas, Pudge said with a shrug. I don't mind. Don't get yelled at as much and my mom is too drunk to spend her nights whackin' me around.
        So long as you're happy, Ida said, blowing a lungful of smoke up toward the ceiling.
        Pudge leaned forward against the bar, the cup cradled in both hands. So why am I here? he asked.
        It's about that boy you did a number on, Ida said.
        The wop? Pudge said.
        Ida nodded and handed Pudge what was left of her cigarette. He put down his cup, reached for it, brought it to his mouth and took a long pull.
        What about him? Pudge asked, trying not to react to the warm burn of the tobacco on his lungs.
        I want you to take care of him, Ida said. Make sure nobody else does to him what you did.
        I don't get it. What's this really about? Pudge asked, tossing aside the cigarette.
         It's about what I want, Ida said. And it's about what you're going to