Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn (15 page)

“A lady?”

“Yeah, she’s in there now.”

“Oh!”

“I’m almost finished in here.”

“I’ll be in the other room. Don’t forget to leave this one open.”

Scanlon entered room 2B, closed the door and looked around. He pulled the string to a bare 60 watt bulb hanging from a loose fixture in the ceiling. The drawers in the bureau were neatly tucked in place. He removed each one of them completely. He knew some people liked to hide money in an envelope scotch taped to the undersides or to the back of the shelves. The bureau itself, he laid on its side to check the bottom.

There were no cuts in the mattress and nothing behind the radiator or underneath it, ‘though those would have been the first places anyone would have checked. The closet was clean, the floor boards and molding there as well as in the rest of the room showed no signs of having been tampered with.

He entered the bathroom and thoroughly checked there as well. When he was done, he stood in the middle of the hall. “You almost done?”

“Yup! I have to get the last of my tools together.”

A few minutes later, Scanlon heard the tool box shut.

“See ya,” the maintenance man said.

The cop ignored his departure while steadily focusing on the roof hatch with his arms folded. After a search of the back room proved fruitless, he returned to the street.

Inside 2A, Mary backed away from the key hole, left the TV on and settled into the recliner.

Chapter Six

The Steel Box

“I’m doing things differently with the team this year,” Larry said to Diego.

“What’s going to be different from last year, Larr?”

“I’m gonna practice.”

“You? Practice?”

“Yeah, why? Ya don’t believe me?”

“Sure I do. We need another good player.”

“I don’t wanna sit around this time. I wanna play first base.”

“Hey, that’s great, but you’ll need a lot of practice for that.”

“I’m gonna hit, too. You know, like Jose, but I need you to show me?”

“I can’t teach you what I can’t do myself. I’ll tell you what. I’ll check the roof for a decent ball and if I find one, we’ll go to the school yard and practice hitting. I got one from the garbage men, but it’s kind of new. I’m saving it for the team this spring.”

“Good idea. Let’s go up!”

“Stay down here. I’ll give you a yell if I find any and throw it to you.”

“Why can’t I go with you?”

“Because I’m not supposed to be up there in the first place. Wait down here, I’ll be right back.”

On the top floor, a wrought iron ladder lead to the roof hatch. Diego unlatched both eyehooks, pushed the cover off and laid it to the side.

Searching his, as well as the adjoining roofs, he made his way to as far as Leroy’s building before finding three pinkies and all them looking worn. He bounced each of them several times before settling on two. The dead ball, he leaned way back and tried to make a roof on the other side of the back yards. It sailed across the open space and hit one of the top floors and then bounced into a yard below.

Back at the front edge of his own roof, he leaned over and yelled out to Larry. “I found two! You ready?”

“Go ahead…throw them down!”

The balls were dropped one at a time. At the last moment, Officer Scanlon walked by from underneath an overhanging branch of a large maple.

“What’re you doin’ up there? Get off that roof!”

“Sorry officer. I’ll come down right now.”

“You better! And I don’t want to see you up there again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Asshole, Puerto Rican!” Scanlon muttered.

Diego watched the cop cross the street and walk corner toward Bergen.

“I’ll be right down, Larr!”

“Yeah, hurry up. I’ll play stoop ball until you get here.”

The roof was one of Diego’s favorite places. He liked going up there, especially on a warm summer’s night, though now, during December, it was chilly. He crossed to the back edge of the building and peered down into the yards, a few with dogs barking up at him. Clothes hung from lines strung from fire escapes to metal poles. Someone’s pigeon coup, a homemade affair using scrap 2×4’s and chicken wire, sat on the roof of the same building where he had thrown the ball. Weekends, the owner, with the aid of a long pole, could be seen training the birds to fly in a hovering circle above the coup. Diego would watch for hours as the birds swooped and dived and circled obediently.

Sitting with his back against the brick chimney of the building next door, he stared across the flatness of black tar paper from his own roof, to the top floors of his old elementary school, P.S. 47, on the next block. He thought back to the fun he had had in sixth grade and Mrs. Obendorfer and how he was sure she had been in love with his father. She seemed quite adept at conjuring up any excuse she could think of to get him to pay her a visit: poor grades, inattentiveness, arguing in class—whatever would work. She was awfully hard to look at, though. The kids even had a nickname for her, Mrs. Ed, a reference to the TV sit com, Mr. Ed, the talking horse.

Diego’s gaze wandered downward to the chimney of his own building, recalling when he first moved to Brooklyn from Rochester. At the time it was a whole new adventure for him. The idea of living in a big city had intrigued him and he remembered being excited about the move.

As he pictured those early days, he noticed something amiss with the chimney of his own building. Something wasn’t right. He tilted his head to the side while staring at it until he realized what it was. One of the capstones was ajar, slightly out of place with the rest. He went to straighten it out, curious as to why there was no mortar holding the rectangular shaped stone securely in place.

Just like the rest of the building…the whole place is falling apart.

He slid the heavy stone ever so slightly so that it lined up with the ones next to it, leaned over and looked inside the chimney.

The deep, black depths of the bottomless chasm beckoned like a rock walled passageway to a dragon’s lair. Diego, replete with knight’s armor, peered into the gloomy, darkened shaft with sword drawn and glistening shield before him. He could hear the very breath of the hidden beast as it sounded from below. It bellowed up forcefully like a frightening nightmare, exuding smoke and cinders along with a rumbling that shook from the deepest depths
—
the castle keep in the far below.

The brave knight dared to grab the dragon by its tail.

Diego held onto the rope that was hanging down inside the chimney and immediately felt the weight of something heavy tied to it. He pulled five feet of the rope up, hand-over-hand and retrieved a grey, steel box, similar in size to a cigar box. Curious, he laid it on top of the chimney, undid the latch and flipped the lid open.

Inside, was tucked a brick sized package wrapped tightly in brown paper. He carefully peeled back the corner and what he saw underneath gave him an instant feeling of elation. A nervous, tingling sensation ran down his spine as he eyed a four inch stack of crisp new bills. On top, a portrait of Secretary of the Treasury, Alexander Hamilton—the only portrait on an American bill that faces left—seemed to smile back at him like an all knowing custodian. A keeper of riches and all that runs deep of meaningful virtues and the most moral of reaches, thanks to the artful brush strokes of John Trumball.

Diego thought to give the money to the police. They would know what to do with it. That would certainly be the right thing to do.

And then, thoughts of his mother, a new dress, a well-respected doctor for her, a home of their very own and all the Louie Armstrong records she could ever want to dance to, came immediately to mind. Could that be considered greed? Diego wasn’t sure. And had he lifted the heavy capstone, instead of sliding it into position like he had done, both, the weighted rope and the steel box would have plunged three floors to the basement and into the fiery furnace.

Closing the lid, he flipped the latch, placed the end of the rope under the capstone and carefully lowered the box down the chimney. After a quick pit stop to the bathroom, he returned to the street with an aura of well-being and an immense feeling of wealth. As if nothing had happened, he met up with Larry.

“Where’ve you been?” his friend asked.

“The bathroom, let’s go practice.”

All day in school, on Wednesday, Diego thought of nothing else but the box full of money. His imagination went wild with thoughts of movies, trips to the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty—the Staten Island Ferry. He’d rent the whole damn boat and invite everyone on the block, everyone on Mr. Jackson’s block and Louie’s, too.

In time, he realized how foolish those thoughts were. And what if only that top bill was a ten? The rest could be all ones, or monopoly money for that matter. The new worry plagued him. He had to look again, count it, see how much was really there. He couldn’t get any of it out of his mind.

3:23 P.M.

“Hi Mom, anything to eat?”

“Rice weeth eggs, and I make Jello for ju, the green kind ju like. How was school?”

“Okay, I guess. I’m starved!” Diego ate faster than usual. “Ju weel choke like that, Hijo…slowing down.”

“I have to go up to the roof to look for more balls.”

“So, what ees ju rush? They are no going nowhere.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“When ju go upstair, see eef Maria want sometheeng from dee store.”

Perfect
!
That’s my excuse for going up there for nosy-body Mary…and Karen’s kids, in case they see me going up the stairs.

After a quick trip to the store and back, and knowing Mary would be busy stuffing her gizzards with two pounds of baked macaroni, a quart of chocolate milk and enough Twinkies to build Barbie a three story doll house, he silently climbed the ladder to the roof hatch. He had purposefully left the eyehooks off the last time to minimize noise the next time he went up. All he had to do was lift it and gently place it off to the side. He retrieved the steel box and opened it on top of the chimney. Removing the stack of bills, he sat with his back against the bricks, thankful for the lack of wind. He removed the brown paper completely and thumbed the side of the bills to scroll through for a quick look.

All tens!

Double checking, he did it again and then divided the stack into two halves. He proceeded to count them three times each.

He couldn’t believe it. He counted it again.

$10,000 and all in tens.

He now knew what it felt like to hold $10,000 dollars in his hands. Except for the five tens he put in his pocket, he wrapped it all up in the brown paper and placed it into the box with the lid closed shut.

Leaving the box lying on the floor of the roof, he stepped toward the front of the building. There, he stared at the steel as if it was Black Beard’s treasure chest resting half buried somewhere on a beach in the outer banks of North Carolina.

He dug his toes into warm, gritty sand. Before him, and in audience, lay a vast and open sea where the parallel rays of a setting sun burned as would rubescent flames across a rolling, copen blue surf.

Was this enough money to buy the D’avino’s store, he wondered, or that fancy, Ford station wagon with the wooden sides, parked across the street? Maybe Herzog would sell him the deli or maybe he would just buy the whole damn block for that matter. He could probably buy a city bus, or a taxi—maybe even ten taxis?

Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars.

He kept repeating that to himself.

With his arms folded across his chest, Scanlon continued to eye what he could see of Diego’s head moving about the front of the roof. And not that he totally believed it, or could even count that high, but if he put two and two together, there was a remote possibility that the kid knew something. He had never considered the roof, but why not? As far as he knew, it was the only place nobody looked. Still, the whole idea seemed doubtful and right now he had more pressing things to do with his time.

After dinner, Ana took her usual long shower. Diego seized the moment to go into her bedroom. He reached inside the closet and picked up a pair of her best dress shoes. The heels were worn and the black finish as dull as worn asphalt. A decorative leather bow on the left shoe barely hung there with a push pin and precariously leaned at an odd angle to that of the right. He memorized the size, 6M, and moved on to her favorite dress. It hung on the rack in the far right corner from the only wooden hanger in the closet. One of only three dresses, the other two were well worn, one of which had missing buttons, the other, a zipper that didn’t work. Diego read the tag on Ana’s favorite dress—size 7 Petit.

At Larry’s building, he knocked loudly on the door.

“Hello Diego…you looking for Larry?”

“Hi, Mrs. Constantine. Yes. Is he home?”

“Just a minute. He’s right here.”

“Hey, what’s up, Diego?”

“Nothing much! I’m going downtown to buy my mother a present. You want to go?”

“Downtown? Sure!”

“I found fifty dollars and I want to get her something.”

“Fifty dollars!
Holy Murgatroyd!
Where?”

“Uh…In a hole!”

“In a hole? Where?”

“I can’t tell you. I mean…that’s all that was in there, fifty dollars. That was it!”

“Damn! How come I never find anything like that?”

“Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, but let’s go to the movies, instead.
The Commancheros,
with John Wayne is playing at the Majestic. We even got enough to go to Woolworth’s for banana splits. Come on, man! Whaddya say?”

“Larry, is that all you think about…food?”

“Yeah, of course! So, whaddya say?”

“I’ll tell you what. After we’re done we’ll get ice cream, all right?”

“Oh, I guess so; but I gotta square it with my mom first.”

May’s Department Store, Fulton Street

“Man, this is embarrassing,” said Larry, upon entering the women’s section on the second floor. “What’re we getting up here, by the way?”

“Buying a dress.”