Gangster by Lorenzo Carcaterra Read Free Book Online Page B

do, which is keep him safe.
        And what if I don't? Pudge asked.
        I might forget about it, Ida said. Or I might go out and find somebody with nothin' much else to do but beat the shit outta you.
        This is nuts! Pudge said, raising his voice and slamming his hands against the cool wood of the bar. The kid's a loser. You see him walk, you wanna belt him, just for kicks.
        And that's where you come in, Ida said. Pass the word around. They mess with him, it's like messin' with you. You got a strong enough rep that the rest of the street kids'll back off.
        How long you want this to go on?
        Till I say otherwise, Ida said. You gave him a pretty solid workover. I don't want to see that happen again. From here on, that kid cuts himself, somebody else is gonna bleed. Even if that somebody has to be you.
        What do you get outta this? Pudge stepped down from the stool, his frown showing that he was resigned to his fate.
        There's nothing to get, Ida said, smiling and walking down the length of the bar. Maybe we just do this one on the arm.
        Pudge watched her leave and shook his head. Body-watchin' a wop, he mumbled. I'm better off being found dead.
        I can make that happen, Ida the Goose said, over her shoulder. If that's your choice.
        Pudge Nichols didn't respond. He just turned and ran out of the Cafe Maryland.
       
         *     *     *
       
    GANGSTERS HAVE FEW friends. It is the nature of the life. There is a story Angelo always liked to tell me when I was younger, one he never tired of repeating, and which, to him, summarized the gangster ethic. A father puts his son on a ledge, fifteen feet from the ground, Angelo would say. Kid's about six. The father then tells the kid to jump. The kid shakes his head, afraid to make the move. The father tells him not to worry, Daddy's here and Daddy will catch you. The kid swallows hard, clenches his hands and makes the jump. The father moves out of the way and lets the kid land on the ground, cuts, bruises, scrapes, what have you. The father bends over and points a finger in the face of his crying boy. And then he tells him, 'Remember one thing. In this life, never trust anybody.'
        It is rare in the gangster life to find someone to confide in. It is even rarer to find a friend. The majority of alliances are forged out of territorial expedience and adhere strictly to business policies. Those friendships last for as long as there is profit to be made. You wash my back and I wash yours, Angelo would say. Until the time comes to shoot you in the back.
        With Pudge Nichols, friendship came out in its most natural colors. It grew out of hatred and evolved into a bond chain-linked to loyalty and mutual respect. Pudge and Angelo fed off each other's strengths, protected their weaknesses and allowed no one to infiltrate their well-constructed wall of trust. Within the confines of their brutal world, the two lived as one. They were so unalike in both manner and personality, Mary said. But they grew to truly love each other. In fact, I don't believe there was anyone in this world Angelo ever loved more than Pudge. And even in that love, as pure as it was, there was risk.
       
         *     *     *
       
    ANGELO AND PUDGE walked with their heads down against a bitter, icy wind. It came whipping off the East River with a series of angry howls, lashing at their worn winter clothes.
        Let's duck inside the Maryland, Pudge said, shoving his hands into the rear pockets of tattered knickers. Just until I get the feeling back in my toes.
        We be late for school, Angelo said in his stilted English. Teacher get angry.
        That makes two good reasons to do it, Pudge said.
        We no go all this week, Angelo said. The teacher soon will call my papa.
        Ida needs us to move beer outta the basement, Pudge said. That pays. School don't.
        Pudge had followed Ida's instructions