The Wanderers (20 page)

"Christ Perry, we're sorry, man ... what can we say?" Eugene asked weakly.

"What
can
you say?... she was a goddamn saint ... loved everybody ... she used to cry for people allatime ... people wit' trouble who she hardly even knew ... two weeks after my old man died this lady downstairs lost her husband ... Mom din't even know her last name ... she went down to that lady's house every night for five weeks ... useta clean for her ... cook for her ... and Mom was hurtin' too. Don't you think she wasn't. For two months after my old man died she slept in the living room because she couldn't even lay in the same bed where she useta sleep with Pop. Every once in a while I would walk in on her and she'd be talking to him as if he was there as plain as me. She had a lotta heartache these last few years, don't you think she didn't."

"From Raymond too, hah?" offered Richie.

"Ah, don't even mention that cocksucker's name. Christ, I'm tellin' you, what he did to Mom—him and that bitch—I don't wanna talk about it." He spit in the grass at the side of the stoop. "She was a good lady, Richie. A good lady. Every month she couldn't wait to go to the Island to see the kids and every fuckin' time she would leave that house in tears, Raymond and that bitch would make her feel so bad. Like she was some kinda immigrant lowlife, you know? An' I kept pleadin' wit' her—Mom—don't go this month, don't go ... just this month. No ... she forgot what happened last time. Every month she would forget." Stretching his arms over his head, he squeezed out a yawn.

"Ah ... an' the funeral! Me an' Aunt Rosie had to run the whole show ... that bastard never even showed up at the wake ... he even came to the cemetery late. You know what that hard-on did? He comes by late, right? He rolls up in his big-ass Caddy in the middle of the service ... his wife ... she don't even got the decency to get her ass out of the damn car ... he comes over to me, puts his arm around my shoulder, says ... Terry, I'm sick, I'm sick. I loved that woman so. Oh God what am I gonna do what am I gonna do?' It took all my willpower to hold back from smashing his face in. I just twisted away so his hand fell off my shoulder and walked over to the other side of the grave so I'm facin' him You know? Anyways they bring out the casket an' I'm watchin' his face, see, an"he's cryin' little too. I mean most of the people are cryin' mainly old widows Mom's friends Anyways, they bring the casket to the side of the grave an' before anyone could stop him, Raymond runs over to the side of the casket falls on top of it an' starts screamin' 'Momma, Momma, forgive me, forgive me.' I just stood there shakin" just shakin'."

Perry started trembling, raising his hands, which were shaking too. His face was twisted in a snarl of black rage. "I was gonna murder the bastard! I felt like jumping over the grave an' breaking both his arms.
Now
he's sorry!
Now
he's sorry! An' all the old ladies are screamin' and shriekin', they're fallin' all over him an' cryin', 'He'sa socha gooda son, socha gooda son, he
lova
his mama.' I tell you I was so ... so tight I almost chipped a fuckin' tooth. I was just standin' there. I was cryin' too, but God forgive me I wasn't cryin' for Mom. I don't even know why, but when they helped Raymond up I was so sick. Anyways, after the casket was lowered an' we threw some dirt in an' everybody started goin' home, I went over to Raymond and put my arm around his shoulder. He said, Terry, I loved that woman, I just loved her.' I said, 'Sure, Ray, sure, she loved you too'—an' then I asked him to take a walk wit' me, an' he said, Td love to, Perry. But I gotta go to the office' an' he looks at his fuckin' watch I was controllin' myself, I was cool. I said, 'Just for a minute, Ray, just for a minute. I wanna tell you some of the things Mom said before she died.' Well we walked over to this little area wit' trees around so no one could see us, an' I face him an' I say, 'Ray, I got somethin' for you from Mom' an' I belted him on the jaw so fuckin' hard I almost broke these two knuckles." He held un his hammy fist "An' you wanna know what that bastard did?" he challenged his friends.

They didn't want to know. They were wiped out by Perry's sudden fury. They sat there staring at their shoes. They wanted to go home. Perry was a stranger.

"I'll tell you what that ... that
pussy
did. He sat on his ass 'cause he knew if he got up I'd put 'im right back down again. An' then he pulls out his fuckin' checkbook an' writes Rosie a check payin' for the funeral. Yeah, sittin' right there onna goddamn grass he writes out a five-hunnert-dollar check. You know what I did?"

No one answered.

"I'll tell you what I did. I took the fuckin' check, ripped it in pieces, an' threw it right back in his face." He stabbed Richie in the chest with a fat finger. "He ain't payin' his way outta this!"

Richie absently massaged his chest where Perry stabbed him. Perry walked to the edge of the sidewalk twenty feet away and stared up at the rapidly darkening sky. "She's up there now and she's sayin', Terry, what you wanna fight for? He's your brotha, I forgive, you forgive.'" He stared up at the sky for a moment, a scowl curling on his face. Turning, he stormed back to the stoop. The Wanderers jumped up and scattered in fear. Perry grabbed the doorknob and yanked open the door. He turned to them. "I ain't never! NEVER! forgivin' him." And then he was gone.

E
VERY
F
RIDAY
NIGHT
the Wanderers bowled as house hustlers at Galasso's Paradise Lanes. This meant they would take on any comers from the city or the Island or New Jersey, and Chubby, his six brothers, and other regulars would match any bets on the game against bankrollers who accompanied the visiting hustlers. The Wanderers rarely lost. Chubby and company would clean up to the tune of a thousand dollars or more on Friday nights. In return for this easy money, the Wanderers would get ten dollars a man, plus they could bowl for free any time they wanted. All they had to do was keep winning.

The week before Buddy and Richie got wiped out by two guys from Long Island. Even though they rolled the best games they had in the last six months they lost by sixty pins. They were scared, because Chubby dropped almost two thousand dollars, and Chubby Galasso was a big fat ball-buster who didn't want to know from best games in the last six years. The Wanderers lost by ridiculous spreads and when they slunk out of the bowling alley, Chubby was spitting fire.

The Wanderers had a thing about the bowling. Two guys would bowl as a team on Friday night. If they won, two different guys would bowl the next week; but if they lost, the same two guys would have to bowl again. And if they lost a second time they bowled the week after, and they'd bowl week after week until they won. Bowling was serious business, and nobody was coming off those lanes a loser no matter how long it took to win.

So this Friday, scared as they were, Buddy and Richie were honor-bound to represent the Wanderers again.

"Richie here?" Buddy stood at Richie's apartment door.

"Ri-chie!" Randy shouted back along the foyer to the bedroom. "It's Buddy."

"S'let 'im in, asshole!" Richie shouted.

"Hey, sewer mout'!" his father's voice echoed from the bathroom.

Buddy lugged his bowling bag into Richie's room where Richie was sitting on his bed running a rag over his bowling ball—a milky green beauty spangled with gold-metal flakes. "I got the car downstairs." Richie slipped the ball into the bag, took his bowling shoes out of the closet, and they left the apartment. Richie pushed the elevator button and ran his hand over his gut. "I think I'm gonna vomit." He winced.

Buddy shrugged. "Don't sweat it, we win tonight."

Richie stood on his toes and peered through the elevator window along the motionless cables. He slammed his hand on the elevator door. "C'mon, you bastads!" He pounded the door. "The fuckin' thing ain't movin'. It's the goddamn niggers on the first floor. You know what they like to do? They like to hold the fuckin' elevator so they can piss in it an' then they send it up to you wit' a little swimmin' pool on the floor so you can track piss into your house so a little baby that's crawlin' on the floor will get piss germs on his hands an' in his mouth and get sick." Richie viciously kicked the bottom of the elevator door. "Move it bastads!"

Machinery was grinding at the bottom of the shaft, and the elevator slowly glided up to the third floor. Buddy was scared that the boogies heard Richie and were coining up to kick ass. When the door rolled open, Eugene and Joey were in the car. "You guys playin' games?" Richie growled as he and Buddy stepped inside.

Eugene and Joey looked at each other. "What's wit' you?" Joey asked.

Richie didn't answer. Buddy shrugged.

As Buddy pulled up in front of the bowling alley, all conversation stopped. He thought of Chubby's fat puss last week. Buddy felt weak. Richie hadn't said a word since the elevator. Joey and Eugene got tight and sweaty. The reflection of the neon sign washed their faces on alternating seconds.

"You guys better win tonight." Eugene laughed weakly.

"Fuck off," Richie said flatly as he got out, almost slamming the car door on Joey's foot.

Chubby was waiting for them, leaning on the shoe-lined counter, his six brothers standing around the cash register. Mary Wells's "The One Who Really Loves You" played on the juke box at the far end of the alley. Chubby smiled, slapping Richie on the back. Richie cringed. The six brothers moved forward. They were all big boys. Fifteen hundred pounds of mean meat. "You guys feel hot tonight?" Chubby wheezed. He had asthma.

The alley was deserted, which meant Chubby had kicked people out, which meant a lot of money was going down on the match. Chubby was still smiling, and he started massaging Richie's shoulder. A cigarette hung at an impossible angle from the corner of his mouth.

"Sure. We're always hot," said Buddy, his voice cracking on the last word.

"Yeah. Sure." Chubby's face cracked into a wider grin, the cigarette smoke obscuring his features, making his eyes narrow into slits as he nodded in amused agreement. Richie focused his eyes on the big man's nose squatting in the middle of his face like a chubby bear paw. "You know who you guys are rollin' against tonight?" The four of them shook their heads in dumb unison. "The same guys as last week."

Buddy gasped. Richie's shoulder started to hurt where Chubby's fingers dug in.

"You know how much we're bettin' tonight?" Chubby kept his grin, but his wheeze became more pronounced as his chest heaved under his short-sleeve, open-necked shirt with pineapples and hula girls on it.

Joey and Eugene started backing toward the door but Albert, one of the brothers, caught their eye, stopping them in their tracks.

"A grand?" Richie managed. Albert laughed. Chubby removed his hand from Richie's shoulder and spread his fingers in front of Richie's nose. "Five?" Richie gasped. Buddy felt faint. From his back pocket, Chubby took out a fat roll of hundred-dollar bills wrapped in a rubber band.

"You know who's gonna win tonight?" No one answered.

Chubby dug in his pocket again and took out two twenty-dollar bills. He gave one to Buddy, one to Richie, and nodded in the direction of the bar/lounge in the back of the alley. "Getchaselves some Cokes." They dropped their bags, and the four of them walked to the dimly lit amber-glassed lounge that was paneled off from the lanes.

Eugene nervously spun himself around on a barstool. Joey hunched over the counter and lit a cigarette. "I think Chubby wants you guys to throw the game," said Eugene.

"No he don't," Peppy Dio cackled. Peppy, an old uncle of the Galasso brothers, ran the bar. He wiped the counter clean in front of the Wanderers. "You guys is gonna win big tonight." Peppy laughed. His teeth looked like a set of broken dishes.

"Peppy, what's happening? We can't beat those guys. They're good enough to be pros."

Peppy winked and tapped a finger against a hairless temple. "Now you thinkin'. They
is
pros."

"What!" in unison.

"Yeah. Yeah. Chubby got to thinkin' how good they was last week, and he checked up an' found out they was pros."

Silence.

"Yeah. Yeah. They goes aroun' to different lanes an' hustles house bowlers like you guys."

"
Sonovabitch!
" Buddy declared.

"Yeah. Yeah. Anyways, so Chubby got 'em to come back tonight for a rematch."

"We oughta kick their asses." Eugene rose, tight-lipped.

Peppy Dio giggled. "You guys got nothin' to worry about."

"Whada they comin' back for? They cleaned up las' week."

Peppy rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "They greedy boys. Want some more a this."

"Don't they know Chubby knows?"

"They don't know shit. Chubby's a smart boy." He winked and tapped his temple again.

"We still can't beat 'em," said Richie. Peppy only smiled and set a bottle of Canadian and four glasses on the bar.

A half-hour later Buddy and Richie were rolling practice frames when the two ringers walked in with three other guys who the Wanderers figured for bankrollers. They recognized one guy from last week, the two other bettors probably heard what a sucker Chubby was. They all looked uneasy, as if they didn't think it was a good idea to hit the same place twice in a row, but as Peppy said, they greedy boys. Buddy and Richie stopped bowling, sat down with Eugene and Joey, and watched Chubby come from behind the counter, a shit-eating grin on his face. The brothers were nowhere to be seen. Chubby waved for Richie and Buddy.

"You guys was lucky last week," Chubby said jovially to the ringers. "Let's give my boys here another chance." Richie and Buddy exchanged hostile stares with the hustlers.

One of the backers shrugged. "Why not?" Before he could say anything else one of his bowlers put a hand on his shoulder and motioned his group back five paces where they got into a whispered debate. Chubby just kept smiling, sensing that at least one guy smelled a rat. For a split second, when it looked like they were going to balk, Chubby dropped the grin and nodded in the direction of the bar. Richie saw the silhouettes of Chubby's brothers behind the dark glass partition.