Chapter 9 #2
Carmen Torres shook her head. “You should concentrate on your books, not boys,” she said in rapid Spanish. “You will have more than enough time to think about them after you become a nurse.”
Delores pursed her lips as if she were expecting to be kissed. “The only thing I think about is becoming a nurse and marrying a doctor.”
“What makes you think doctors marry nurses?” Ray asked his sister.
Delores’s expression grew serious. “Don’t they?”
Ray picked up a bottle of cologne with a small amount his father had given him, poured a drop onto his palm, rubbed his hands together, and massaged it on his throat.
Papi had cautioned him never to douse himself with cologne or aftershave, because some women found it overpowering.
Although he wasn’t shaving, he still wanted to look and smell nice.
“You’ve been reading too many nurse-doctor books, Delores.” His sister had read the Sue Barton nurse series over and over, and then one day announced she wanted to become a nurse. Delores wanted to be a nurse, and Ray had planned to become a doctor.
Enrique and Mariana had three boys and three girls, of which Ramon and Delores were the oldest and were lectured to continuously about how they had to be good examples for their younger siblings.
Both parents worked out of the house, with Enrique as the foreman in a Bronx dress factory.
Mariana had secured a position as a nurse’s aide at a nursing home in upper Manhattan, after her mother-in-law moved to New York from Puerto Rico to look after her grandchildren.
Mariana worked from midnight to eight in the morning, then rushed home in time to see her children washed, dressed, and fed breakfast before they left for school.
Then she went to bed and slept until the afternoon, and with Carmen’s help, prepared dinner for her family.
Ray knew his parents worked hard to support their kids, and he’d made certain to stay out of trouble, because he didn’t want to disappoint them.
He didn’t smoke or cut classes like some other boys in the neighborhood.
He also tended to avoid girls, who openly flirted with him.
His father had cautioned him to keep his fly zipped until he was ready to accept the consequences of becoming a father.
He picked up a jacket off a hanger in the wardrobe. “I have to go now, because Frankie’s cousin is supposed to pick me up downstairs at two.” Ray left the apartment and walked down the stoop at the same time a four-door, powder-blue Chevrolet with a navy-blue top maneuvered up to the curb.
Frankie waved at him through the open passenger-side window. “Come, get in.”
Ray opened the rear door and slid in next to Kenny. They shared a smile. “Thank you, sir, for giving me a ride,” he said to the driver.
Anthony Esposito shifted in his seat and smiled over his shoulder.
The sun had darkened Frankie’s cousin’s complexion, and it was only slightly lighter than Ray’s.
The man’s lips parted in a smile, but the gesture did not reach a pair of large dark eyes under inky black, thick eyebrows.
Ray didn’t know what it was, but there was something sinister about the man.
His grandmother, who claimed to be a bruja, would’ve been able to discern something about him with a single glance.
“There’s no need to thank me. If you’re friends with my little cousin, then that’s all I need to know.”
Ray wanted to ask Kenny if there was something about Frankie’s cousin that also made him uncomfortable, but looking at his friend, who appeared completely relaxed, Ray realized his imagination was getting the best of him.
Frankie told him Tony was a cop, so that meant he couldn’t be a gangster.
He stared out the rear side window at the passing landscape as the vehicle went uptown on Central Park West before turning east on 110th Street toward the East Side.
The ride ended when Tony Esposito stopped on Pleasant Avenue near 108th Street.
“You all can get out here and walk, while I drive around to find some place to park.” His three passengers got out and had barely shut the doors when the Chevy sped off.
“We only have to walk a few blocks,” Frankie said, as he reached up and pushed back a wave that had fallen over his forehead.
“Are you sure your cousin is a cop?” Ray asked Frankie as they began walking.
“Yeah. Why would you ask me that?”
Ray lifted his shoulders. “I don’t know. He didn’t look like a cop to me.”
“How is a cop supposed to look?” Kenny asked.
“I don’t know,” Ray repeated. “I guess he would look different if he were wearing his uniform.”
“My cousin is a detective, so he doesn’t wear a uniform when he’s on or off duty,” Frankie explained.
Ray felt better. He’d accused his sister of reading too many nurse-doctor books, while he was guilty of watching gangster movies and reading crime stories in the local newspapers.
He’d find himself glued to the television as he watched Joseph Valachi testify before the U.S.
Senate Committee on Government Operations that the Italian American Mafia actually existed.
It was the first time a member had publicly acknowledged its existence.
His testimony had violated omertà, breaking his blood oath, while he had provided many details of the history, rituals, and operations of the Mafia.
When he asked Frankie if any of his relatives were in the Mafia, his friend denied knowing any.
Then he talked his friends into becoming blood brothers like the ritual mobsters made once they were inducted into the Cosa Nostra.
They’d made small cuts on their fingers with a penknife, and mixed their blood, thereby becoming blood brothers.
Frankie stopped midway along a tree-lined block with brownstones and four-story apartment buildings. “We’re here.”
Ray shared a hint of a smile with Kenny as they followed Frankie up the steps to a three-story brownstone.