The King of Mulberry Street (16 page)

Gaetano grinned. “We'll have to start earlier.”

“But, hey, what if it rains tonight? Where will we put a roll of brown paper?”

Gaetano knitted his brows.

“Where'd you put the pieces of paper we still have left?”

Gaetano pulled them out of his pocket. They were folded up small. “A whole roll is gigantic, though.”

“Okay,” I said, “here's the plan. We buy three sandwiches at Pierano's tomorrow morning and cut them up. We've already got the paper to wrap them. After we sell those, we can buy the roll of paper and bring it to Grandinetti's. Maybe he'll let us keep it in his store.”

“Give me the money.” Gaetano held out his hand.

I pulled back. “Why?”

“You can't keep it safe overnight in a barrel.”

“I'll put it in a bank, then. You said there were banks everywhere.”

“I don't trust these banks,” said Gaetano. “No one treats kids fair.” He put the fingertips of one hand together and
shook them in front of my face. “They'd report us as lost and we'd wind up in an orphanage, and the banks would keep our money. Don't be such a mook. Give it to me.”

“No.”

“You don't trust me?”

I just looked at him. He'd stolen my documents.

“I asked you a question,” said Gaetano.

I took the three quarters from my pocket and handed Gaetano one. “We'll split them overnight.”

“Hey, I'm three years older, I should keep two and you keep one.”

“The whole thing was my idea,” I said.

Gaetano pocketed the quarter and walked off.

Just like that, I was alone again.

And tired. My stomach growled. Lunch had been so small. I had a headache. It was hot. I wanted a midday nap, like back home. People were stupid in America; they didn't know enough to get out of the sun.

Crowds cluttered the sidewalks; it was an effort just to weave my way to the alley. When I got there, the reek hit me like a slap; little piles of trash stewed in the sun-warmed puddles. I put one hand over my nose and mouth and headed for my barrel.

It was gone.

Clank
!

I turned around. A big boy with shiny hair had entered the alley and knocked into a stack of debris. Another boy came running up behind him. One look at their faces and I knew they were after me.

I took off in the other direction and fell in rotten vegetables that had turned to slime in the heat.

One boy jumped on my back and rolled me over. He sat on my chest, pinned my arms to my sides with his knees, and pressed both hands over my mouth. The other reached into the pocket with the two quarters, as though he knew what was there. “Is this all of it?” He held a fist in front of my face.

The boy on my chest lifted his hands so I could answer.

“Thief!” I screamed. “Thief, thief!” I thrashed and twisted.

The boy clapped his hands down again and squeezed me with his knees so hard I felt tears come. “Watch who you call names,” he said. “Where'd you get all this money? You picked someone's pocket. You're the thief.”

“What about the shoes?” said the other boy.

I felt hands fiddling with my shoestrings. No! I kicked and bucked like a wild thing. With every ounce of strength I had, I ripped my arms free and pummeled the boy on top of me. We were rolling in the garbage filth now, all three of us, kicking and punching and biting.

“What's going on there?” came a man's voice.

The thieves ran off.

The man walked toward me. “You okay, kid?”

I got up and swiped at the slime on my pants. Now my hands were slimy, too. “I'm fine.”

“You sure? You look pretty bad.”

He spoke Napoletano. For an instant I wanted to tell him everything, to beg for help. But then I thought of finding myself in an orphange. “I'm fine.” I closed my eyes and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyelids, slime and all. When I opened my eyes, the man was gone.

I had no money.

I had no barrel to sleep in.

Gaetano was right: I was a mook. All that money … gone. And it was Tin Pan Alley's and Gaetano's money as much as it was mine.

I hurt—all of me. But my mouth hurt the most. I wiped it. Blood. I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. My bottom lip was cut.

And look how stupid I was to still be here. The thieves could come back at any moment. So I went the only place I could go—Grandinetti's store.

He was busy with customers. A broom stood in the corner. I swept, careful to go around people politely, keeping my eyes lowered so no one would take much notice of me. Plums had fallen behind a bushel. I wiped them off and put them neatly back in place. When there was finally a break in the business, Grandinetti leaned against the weighing counter and looked at me. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? Nothing that's going to end up as a black eye by morning. And what's that?” He came closer. “A fat lip, too.” When I didn't say anything, he walked over to the fruit bushels. “Three tomatoes or an orange. Your choice.”

“I need a penny.”

He put his hands up in the halt sign. “A few pieces of fruit—that's one thing. But money? I can't afford a paid helper, Dom.”

I waved my arm across the room. “Look how nice your floor is now.”

“You do good work.”

“Just a penny. One penny.”

“A penny now. What tomorrow? A nickel? The next day a dime?” He put his hands together as though praying and shook them at me—a gesture I already recognized as his favorite. “I don't make a big profit here. I have to be careful.”

“I won't ask for a penny tomorrow.”

“I don't know what trouble you're in, Dom. And you seem like a good kid. But …”

“I won't ask for a penny tomorrow.”

Grandinetti raised both brows. “Promise?”

I hated to promise. What if I still needed a penny tomorrow? But, well, if I did, I'd have to get it someplace else. “I promise.”

Grandinetti gave me a penny.

“Thank you.”

I walked to the train depot and checked my shoes in baggage overnight. They'd be safer that night than I would be—how funny. I went to Central Park and pawed through trash. All I found were ends of bread smeared with a nasty yellow paste. They barely eased the ache in my gut. And they did nothing for the ache in my head; I'd had two quarters in my pocket and now I had nothing. In the morning I'd have to face Tin Pan Alley and Gaetano. I was pretty sure Tin Pan Alley would forgive me. But Gaetano … even if Gaetano didn't punch me, he'd be disappointed. They'd both be disappointed in me. Sick of me. I was sick of me. Me and my big plans. I'd never get home if I kept doing things wrong.

This was too hard. Everything was too hard.

Long before dark, I crawled under the thick bushes by the big pond and slept.

“You lost both quarters?” Gaetano shook his head.

“I told you. I was robbed. They jumped me in the alley.”

“Both?”

I turned my pockets inside out. “See?”

“What'd they look like, these thieves of yours?”

“One was kind of big. Bigger than you. With slick hair. The other one, I don't know, he was ordinary.”

Gaetano smirked. “What are you, blind? No one would pay a cent for information like that.” He shook his head. “You look pretty good for someone who got jumped. Your face isn't so hot, but your clothes are clean.”

“I woke up before dawn and rinsed my clothes in the pond and washed myself off.”

“Your clothes dried that fast?” Gaetano tapped his foot.

I didn't want to tell him that my clothes dried fast because I'd been running around for hours. After I got my shoes out of baggage deposit at the station, I stacked fruit at Grandinetti's and earned a tomato for myself and a badly bruised orange that I shared with Tin Pan Alley at his corner. Gaetano would say it was stupid of me to give Tin Pan Alley oranges. But I was going to give Tin Pan Alley an orange every morning I worked; the look on his face as he ate was worth it. I'd told Tin Pan Alley about the thieves and he didn't get mad—and that was before he knew I had an orange to share. All he said was “I hate thieves.” I could tell he'd been robbed before. Lots of times.

I looked at Gaetano now and shrugged. “It's hot out.”

Gaetano scratched behind his ear.

“What? You think I hid the money someplace? You don't trust me?”

He grinned. “That's what I asked you yesterday. If you'd given me all the money, we'd be fifty cents richer today. Am I right?”

“Yeah.”

He put out his hand. “Trust from now on?”

I shook his hand. “How come you're not crazy mad that our money's gone?”

“
So' cadute l'anielle, ma so' restante 'e ddete
—The rings have fallen away, but our fingers remain—and we've still got the quarter in my pocket. Let's get to work.”

That was Uncle Aurelio's kind of optimism—bad things happen, but you don't miss a step. Gaetano could make a decent Jew. I didn't tell him that, though.

We bought the long sandwich at Pierano's and cut it in fourths. The block before we got to Tin Pan Alley's corner, Gaetano stopped. “You stay here with the sandwiches. Let me check things out first.”

“Why?”

“His
padrone
. Or don't you remember?”

Oh. I had to confess. “Tin Pan Alley's all right. I saw him this morning. Early. He was alone.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gaetano looked hurt. “The two of you are close, huh? Well, I think I'll just go ahead anyway, to check if that
padrone
's come back.”

Right. The
padrone
could have shown up again by this time of morning. I hugged the sandwiches and stood against a building wall. The walkers were so thick I couldn't see past them. I couldn't see Tin Pan Alley's corner.

A woman came out of the nearest door and said something to me in English. I moved over to the next building.

What was keeping Gaetano?

Finally he appeared beside me. “The area's clear.”

“And Tin Pan Alley?”

“The mook's playing his triangle. You go sell with him. I'm going to patrol. If I spy his
padrone
, I'll come get you fast.”

Over the next hour and a half, we sold four sandwiches, each one for a full quarter, to guys in fancy suits, and no sign of the
padrone
. Soon I sat on the curb outside the paper mill in Chatham Square, waiting while Gaetano bought the roll of brown paper, basking in that day's luck. Tw o customers had been repeats from the day before. The new ones were friends of theirs. One of them said that if we sold sandwiches at lunch break that day, he'd send down a few
of his friends. Tin Pan Alley swore we'd have plenty for everyone.

I could practically feel the ship ticket in my pocket. One thousand sandwiches would be sold in no time. I looked around—yes, good-bye to New York—good riddance.

And out of nowhere there they were: the thieves. I sat tall. The big boy's hair was so slick it glistened in the sun. They stood on the north side of the street, watching. They didn't even have the decency to turn their heads away when our eyes met. I leapt to my feet, but then what? Surely they wouldn't jump me here, in front of everyone. Besides, I had no money on me. The quarters we'd made so far that day were in Gaetano's pocket. My heart beat hard; I wanted to run.

“What's the matter?” Gaetano came out of the factory with the roll of paper in his arms.

I pointed.

Gaetano looked at the boys. They looked back.

“Those are the guys who robbed me.”

“Oh yeah? I figured as much. Maurizio's the only thief I know who uses ape snot in his hair.” He gave them a wave and walked leisurely toward Park Street.

I walked beside him, looking back at the boys. “Why'd you do that? Why'd you wave as though they're buddies or something?”

“I'm not buddies with anyone,” said Gaetano. Then he winked at me. “Except you, that is.” He sort of swaggered now. “They stay out of my way, I stay out of theirs.”

“They stole some of your money yesterday.”
“No, they didn't, not as far as they know. They think they stole your money. They'd never steal mine.”

“Why not?”

“My big brother. He'd stab them.”

“You have a brother?”

“I told you not to ask about my family.”

I could have bitten my tongue.

“Anyway, this time I'll answer, 'cause we're buddies. No. No brother. But they don't know that.” He stopped outside Pierano's. “If you ever talk to them, remember: they've done wrong to you, not to me. If they think they got away with robbing me, then nothing protects me anymore. You got it?”

“Can't your big brother protect me, too?”

“Here.” He gave me seventy-five cents.

I went into Pierano's, bought three long sandwiches, and came out holding them in a bundle tied together with string.

“Where'd you get the string?” asked Gaetano.

“Pierano tied them. Without my even asking. And he smiled at me. I'm becoming his best customer.”

“Not you, you mook. He thinks whoever you're working for is his best customer. You're just a kid.”

We walked toward Grandinetti's. I kept looking around for the thieves. “What're we going to do, Gaetano?”

“About what?”

“Our money, for one.”

“I can keep the money safe.”

“What if you can't?” I said.

“I can. With my big brother's help.”

I twisted my fingers through the string around the sandwiches. “Well, what about that roll of paper? You already admitted you don't have anyplace to store it where it won't get rained on.”

“I'll come up with something.”

I looked over my shoulder again. “The thieves. A block back.”

Gaetano didn't say anything.

“They won't know I don't have money on me,” I said. “They'll jump me anytime they get me alone.”

“After a few times of finding nothing in your pockets, they'll stop.”

“I don't want to get jumped. It hurts. Where do they live?”

“What?” said Gaetano in surprise.

“I want to make sure I don't go on their street.”

“I can't help you.”

“Tell me,” I said.

“You don't get it, do you? I don't know where they live, okay? I don't ask. That's how it is with the kids in Five Points.” He stuck his finger in my chest. “I'll see you later. For now I've got to come up with a place to stash this roll of paper.”