Nick.
So now he had a name. But I still preferred the nickname I’d given him. I’d have to warm up to Nick.
His family was Catholic, and he showed me the cathedral where they attended mass. It was a beautiful building, the kind I’d only seen in movies or history books. There was a gothic look to it, stalwart and strong, like nothing could sway the faith held inside. He told me we’d come back for a look inside later, after we stopped by his house for some aspirin for my head.
I was actually excited to see Blue’s house. (I mean Nick’s house. Nick’s. That would take some getting used to.) I wanted to see what it was like in a normal Twenties home. And I couldn’t wait to meet his mom, whom he talked about like she was his hero. I wanted to see where he grew up, where he went to school, and I wanted to meet Old Man Nowicki, who ran the deli where he worked as a delivery boy.
But I didn’t make it that far.
We came to another busy street, just like the one near the bakery. Blue said his apartment was only three blocks away. The buildings were taller in this part of the neighborhood, some squat, some so narrow they looked like they might topple over. Every shop had an awning, and they stretched down the street as far as the eye could see, one of every color. Old Fords and Oldsmobiles puttered past while other cars sat parked this way and that along the sidewalk. (I guessed there weren’t many parking laws back then.) Women ushered their children along, pulling them from the front window of a candy store. A group of boys ran past, a dog at their heels along for the fun.
It all seemed so idyllic. So peaceful and slow-paced. But I was learning fairly quickly that those idyllic moments could be swept away in a flash, like a wink of sun slicing off the side of a Model T.
“Shit.”
Out of nowhere, Blue seized my elbow, his thumb digging in, and steered me down an alley on our right. When he saw the alley was closed off by a fence halfway down, chained and padlocked shut, he added, “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What is it?” I whipped my head around, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
He kept pushing me toward the fence at the end of the alley, his expression grim. “Hide,” he said, giving me a push in the direction of a rusted-out dumpster.
“Behind it?”
“No, inside. Quick.”
He wore the same look he had when we ran from Hansen, so I obeyed. I pulled myself up and threw a leg over the edge. I only had time to glance at the mound of garbage I was about to fall onto before Blue took the liberty to flip me over the rest of the way. I landed hard on an uneven surface of broken crates, empty milk bottles, and something gooey that smelled like rotten bananas and diapers.
“Not a word,” he whispered. I heard his boots scuff the brick stones as he stepped away from the dumpster. I could tell he had his back to me. “Don’t show yourself. Don’t even move. No matter what happens to me, no matter what you hear, don’t move. Promise me.”
“I promise,” I said, so soft I almost didn’t hear it myself.
A thick lump of fear lodged in my throat. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t breathe. I simply huddled on that mound of garbage, so rigid my muscles trembled, staring out a small hole in the corner of the dumpster, eaten away by rust. I saw brick stones, but I couldn’t see Blue.
Then I heard them.
More footsteps, slow and purposeful, making their way down the alley toward us. My heart seized, but the blood still thumped through my head like a bass drum.
“Well, lookie here, fellas,” came a man’s voice. “It’s Nicky boy. Just the fellah we wanted to see.”
I cringed at the bright joy in the man’s tone. I cringed at the laughter of his cohorts that followed. There had to be half a dozen of them.
They had to be the Cafferelli thugs.
I shifted silently in my hideaway and peered out the hole at a different angle. I saw him – the leader of the pack. Twice the size of Blue, tall, broad-shouldered, black hair, dark circles under his dark eyes, and a nose that looked like it had been broken one too many times. He wore trousers with suspenders, a white undershirt, and an unbuttoned wool coat. The others were dressed in similar clothes. They didn’t look as menacing as modern street thugs, but something about the hungry, sadistic looks on their faces told me they were just as dangerous.
I still couldn’t see Blue, but I heard him reply. “Loogie.”
I guessed that was the leader’s name.
“Hansen said he saw you at Sloan’s today,” said Loogie. “What were you doing up there, Nicky boy? Long way from home.”
“Just making a delivery for Old Man Nowicki.”
“Is that so?” Loogie took a few steps forward. His lips stretched wide across crooked teeth. “Wrong place, wrong time?”
“That’s right.”
He took another step closer. He rubbed his knuckles with his other hand, warming up his fist. “So you weren’t keeping an eye out for Sloan? He didn’t pay you to keep watch?”
Blue was silent. I shifted again, trying to get a look at his face. He wouldn’t have taken a job for Sloan or any other gangster, no matter how much money his brother owed. Blue was too good. I knew it in my gut.
So why was he so quiet?
Loogie stepped all the way up to Blue, out of my eyesight. The others moved in closer. I chewed on my lip.
“You didn’t do a very good job, Nicky boy,” Loogie said. “Sloan pays you to watch his back, and what do you do in return? You let him bleed to death.” He chuckled, his laughter light as foam. “One would think you were on our side.”
“If it were up to me,” Blue said, teeth clenched, “I’d let the whole lot of you bleed to death.”
I heard one of the guys spit. Maybe it was Loogie. Maybe that’s how he got his nickname.
“Boys,” said Loogie, “I think we have ourselves a threat.”
They all moved out of my eyesight, closing in around Blue like a pack of wolves. Then I heard the first blow, sounding like a low thump right in the gut. Blue groaned. I craned my neck to see better through the rusted hole, and I watched as the barrage came. A few loud thwacks to the jaw. Several more fists to the gut. Blue’s face turned reddish-purple. Spittle hung from his bottom lip.
If Blue had been hired to keep watch for Sloan, he’d given it all up to save my life instead. He’d traded Sloan’s life for mine. I couldn’t watch him get beaten to a pulp after he’d risked his life for me. I had to stop it.
My body snapped into action, quick, like it had been itching for it the whole time. I reached down and curled my fingers around a broken milk bottle. I pushed myself up, the garbage beneath me shifting with a great deal of noise. I leaned over the edge of the dumpster and hauled myself over the side, landing somewhat clumsily on the balls of my feet. All six of Cafferellis’ thugs jolted around, one freezing mid-kick. Blue was on the ground, clutching at his ribs. Blood trailed from his nose. It dripped on the brick stones.
“What have we here?” Loogie said, his startled expression morphing into a grin. He rose up from kneeling beside Blue and ran a hand through his glossy black hair. His eyes slid over me. His lips stretched thin, almost white.
Back home, I would’ve run for my life if I’d come face-to-face with a guy like him in an alley. But in this body, I wasn’t scared.
Why the hell wasn’t I scared?
“Attack dogs are all well and good, Nicky boy,” said Loogie, “but you should ask for your money back. This one’s a poodle.” The others laughed as they slinked toward me.
Six to one. I didn’t know a damn thing about fighting, but I knew those weren’t good odds. For a split second I remembered the pepper spray Dad always tried to get me to take to school. The pepper spray I kept in my work bench drawer at home because I thought it was stupid.