Fathers Day

Carmine shifted in his seat, struggling to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. He still had three hours before the red eye he’d caught to Milwaukee touched down and this was probably his last chance to rest before getting off the plane and going to the hospital. But it was almost impossible to curl up in the tiny coach seat, plus some idiot behind him was snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

Unable to take it any longer, Carmine turned around and said in a loud whisper, "Keep it down, would you?" Then his eyes focused on the face of the snoring man and he said, "Squiggy? Is that you?"

Squiggy opened one eye and said, "Mommy?"

"No, thank God," replied Carmine. "Squig, what in the heck are you doing here?"

Squiggy’s other eye opened. He raised his head and peered at Carmine over the seat back. "Carmine? What are you doing here?"

"I’m going to Milwaukee."

"What a coinky-dink!" said Squiggy. "Me, too. I’m gonna see my old man for the weekend. You?"

"The same, actually."

"You’re goin’ to seem my dad, too? Why?"

Carmine groaned. "Nice talking to you, Squig. Good night." He turned back, leaned his cheek against the tiny window beside him, and closed his eyes.

A rustling beside him told Carmine he wasn’t going to get off that easily. He opened his eyes and saw Squiggy was now sitting next to him. "Hello," Squiggy said.

"Yeah?" said Carmine.

"So, I guess it’s your own old man your gonna go see," said Squiggy. "Why? I thought you, you know, hated his guts."

Carmine sighed. "He had a heart attack."

"Oh. So you’re gonna point and laugh at him in his hospital bed?"

Carmine cringed. "You’re a messed up individual, you know that? No, I’m going because he wants to see me and I might not get another chance."

Squiggy shrugged. "Hey, whatever. You know, if my father treated me like your old man treated you, I’d point and laugh at his sick old self, too."

"Your father did treat you like mine treated me," Carmine reminded him. "He ignored you and abandoned your family over and over again."

"Yeah, but he never called me names. Only my mom did that. And he never took a swing at me."

Carmine looked away. "My father didn’t hit me. Much."

"Oh, no? Then what about that time you came to school with sunglasses on and the teacher made you take ‘em off, and you had that big shiner? There wasn’t a guy stupid enough in Filmore High to take a swing at Carmine Ragusa, so…."

"That was the only bad one," said Carmine, staring intently out the window. "I got between him and my mother. After that, I took up boxing and he never tried it again."

Squiggy cleared his throat. "I’m just sayin’, I’d understand you wantin’ a little revenge."

"What? You think I should pop him one on his deathbed?" Carmine chuckled, but felt a little sick inside at how appealing the idea was. "I’m not going to kick him while he’s down, Squig. I’m going to…well, I’m not sure what I’m going for. But it isn’t for that."

Squiggy shrugged. "Whatever you say. Look, me and my old man, we’re gonna do the town while I’m there. Maybe when you’re done making nice with the sadist, you can join us at a strip bar or somethin.’"

"Gee, that’s really, um, swell of you, Squig. But I think I’d rather watch paint peel in my hotel room."

"Sure," sneered Squiggy. "God forbid you should spend any time breathin’ the same air as me. You know, I remember a time when you felt the same way about Len. Funny how easy it was for you to get over that."

"Lenny saved my life," Carmine reminded him.

"Oh? Hm, I seem to remember somebody…who was that, now…who donated blood to you when you was nearly empty."

Carmine sighed. "I know, Squig, and I’ve thanked you for that before. But Len and me, we kind of developed a certain bond. He’s been a really good friend to me for the past couple of years, not just that one time. You, on the other hand, sicced my psycho ex-girlfriend on me for a few bucks and almost got me sent to jail!"

"Hey, I said I was sorry about that! Besides, I used my expert investigatative skills to get you outta that, didn’t I?"

"What are you getting at with all this anyway, Squig?"

"Nothin.’" Squiggy snapped. "Nothin’ at all. Look, I just extended an invite, that’s all. It’s no skin off my eye if you ain’t interested!"

Carmine shook his head and wished Squiggy would just go away. "Since when are you paling around with your father anyway? I thought he was back on the grift."

"He was travelin’ for awhile, lookin’ for his next gig, that’s true. But he apparently found it and now he wants to share his good fortune with his little Andy."

"How…sweet. Seeing as how he never supported you or your mother or sister before. What’s with the sudden burst of charity?"

"Hey, don’t you go pickin’ on my old man just because yours is such a loser," sniffed Squiggy. "Oh, sure, Dad ain’t perfect, but at least he’s tryin’ to make up for it now."

Carmine closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. "Well, I’m gonna try to catch a few winks before we land, Squig, so if you don’t mind?"

"Oh, no, sure. I can take a hint." Squiggy put his head back and shut his eyes. "Nighty-night."

Within a few moments, Squiggy’s mouth popped open again and he started to snore. Carmine looked at him in amazement. "That’s a talent, right there," he marveled. "I swear, he could fall asleep leaning against a wall." He folded his arms and closed his eyes, wishing he could turn off his brain so easily.

***

The jolt of the plane touching down, plus something bobbing against his right shoulder, woke Carmine with a start. He opened his eyes and saw the sun rising outside the window. Then he glanced down and saw Squiggy’s head resting on his shoulder.

"Ugh," Carmine groaned, pushing Squiggy upright. He frowned at the sleeve of his shirt. "That’s gonna leave a stain."

"Huh? What?" Squiggy opened his eyes and looked around. He blinked at Carmine and said, "Oh. You’re still here?"

"Yeah, Squig. They were fresh out of parachutes." Carmine stretched and rubbed his eyes.

Squiggy yawned, then stood up. A stewardess walked by and said, "Sir, please remain seated until we are at the gate."

Squiggy leered at her. "I’d like to sit at her gate," he murmured as she strolled past.

"Always the ladies’ man, ain’t ya?" Carmine shook his head. "How are things going with Rhonda, anyway?"

"Slow," Squiggy admitted. "Good, but slow. I sometimes get the feelin’ she’d rather not let people know about us. Like she’s worried I’m ashamed of her or somethin.’"

"Or something."

The plane came to a stop at the gate and the two men filed out along with the other passengers. "Well, have a good time with your father," said Carmine.

"Yeah, you too. I mean, uh, you know."

"I know." Carmine gave Squiggy a half-hearted wave, then went in search of a cab.

***

"I don’t think they saw us," whispered Lenny from the back of the plane.

"Good. What’s Squiggy doing on this flight, anyway?" Frank whispered back.

"He’s visiting his father, too. It’s a regular homecoming day here in Milwaukee."

They waited until everyone was off the flight before rising and filing out. Then they stood out of sight, watching until Carmine headed out of the terminal and Squiggy disappeared downstairs before stepping out into the open.

"Helmut’s here? That loser?" Frank snorted. "I’m surprised Squiggy still bothers with him."

"Yeah, well, hope springs eternal and all that jazz," said Lenny.

"I can remember him back when me, Tony, and he worked at the can factory. Always sniffin’ around the ladies, even the married ones. I almost popped him once for touchin’ my Josephine when she dropped by with lunch for me." A guilty expression crossed Frank’s face. "Not that I should be throwin’ stones, all things considered."

"Look, we gotta get you to the hospital before Carmine gets there."

"All right," said Frank. "I got us a rental car. Let’s go!" With surprising speed for a man his age, he headed off toward the rental car counter. Lenny hurried after him, hoping that they made it to Tony in time.

***

"Andy!" His father’s booming voice caught Squiggy’s attention as he stood next to the baggage claim.

"Dad!" he exclaimed happily. His father was snazzily dressed in a plaid leisure suit and a dark green fedora. A large cigar was clamped between his exposed teeth. "You look like a million bucks!"

"Close to it, my boy. Dern close to it!" His father gave him a hug, nearly setting Squiggy's chest hair ablaze with his cigar tip.

"Ah!"

"Oh, sorry, kid, sorry. Where’s your suitcase?"

"Right here." Squiggy picked it up. "So, where to, Dad?"

"The new Pfister Regale, of course! Nothin’ but the best for me and my boy from now on!"

"Wow, really? That’s one pricey hotelery," said Squiggy. He followed his father out to the parking lot. They continued on until they reached the back of a long, black Cadillac, then his father stopped.

"So?" asked Squiggy.

"So? Get in!" His father pointed to the Caddie.

Squiggy boggled at it. "No way. This is yours?"

"In about another thousand payments, you betcha! I told ya, kid, it’s first class all the way for the Squigman boys, from now on." He opened the trunk and Squiggy put his suitcase inside. He marveled at the space. It was bigger than his old closet back home.

As his father drove them downtown, Squiggy tried to get more information. "You gonna tell me about this ship of yours what came in, Dad?"

"Ah, well, it’s not quite in dock yet, my boy. But it’s close enough to see the steam comin’ out of the smokestack!" His father started to hum a little.

Squiggy felt his heart sink a little. "If it ain’t in yet, Dad, then how can you afford all this?"

"Credit cards, Andy. Little plastic thingies, let you enjoy now and pay later. Heard of ‘em?"

"Um, yeah, Dad. But are you sure you’re gonna be able to pay later?"

"Don’t you have any faith in your old man?"

Squiggy thought for a long time, before deciding not to answer that. His father looked at him out of the corner of his eye and sighed. "Yeah, okay, I guess I’ve given you reason to doubt me in the past. But this time, it’s practically a done deal."

"What’s a done deal, Dad? Why don’t you give me some details of this big windfall you’re expecting?"

"As soon as we get up to our room, I promise. I’ll tell ya everything."

***

After a lengthy wait for a taxi, Carmine finally arrived at Milwaukee General Hospital. A few minutes later, he was standing outside the cardiac care unit. He started to walk toward the room that the nurse told him was his father’s, then paused and started to walk away. Then he turned around and walked back again. He stopped outside the door and rested his forehead against the wall. His heart was pounding and he could feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat. Then he heard voices, coming from inside the room, his father’s and someone else’s. Another man, speaking very low….

"It ain’t none of your business!" his father was saying, his speech somewhat slurred.

"You’re not gonna break that boy’s heart! Not anymore," warned the other voice, a man’s, and sort of familiar. Carmine peered around the threshold, trying to see who it was. All he could make out was one side of a broad, grey-haired figure standing at his father’s bedside.

"I’ll tell him whatever I please! You ain’t gonna stop me!" Tony sneered.

My dad, making friends and spreading sunshine, Carmine thought. At the same time, Carmine noticed a man with dark blond hair, dark glasses, and a black, full-length raincoat standing nearby. It looked as though he was listening in on the conversation, too. Before Carmine could ask him what he thought he was doing there, he heard his father yell, "Get out of here! Just get out of here!"

"Okay, okay, that’s enough!" said Carmine, stepping into the room. He froze when he saw Frank DeFazio looking back at him. "Frank? What are you doing here?

"Carmine," said Frank, looking at him with a strange mixture of grief and leftover anger. "Look, come with me a minute, okay? I gotta talk to you."

"Me first," said his father, his eyes narrowing.

"Carmine, please," said Frank, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

Carmine looked from one man to the other. "What is going on here?"

"I raised you, boy!" snapped his father. "The least you can do is mind me! Get this bozo outta hear so I can tell ya what I gotta tell ya!"

Rolling his eyes, Carmine said, "Whatever you say, Dad. Look, Frank, I’m sure this won’t take long. I’ll come right out and you can tell me whatever it is you flew all the way out to Milwaukee to say. But for now?" He gestured to the door.

Frank opened his mouth, then closed it. His head drooped a little and he nodded, then walked out the door. He paused before exiting and said, "Remember, son, this bastard lives to make other people miserable. Whatever he tell you…just don’t rush to judgment, okay?"

"Oh-kay," said Carmine, puzzled. He turned back to the old man in the narrow hospital bed. There were tubes and wires attaching him to machines and he looked unnaturally shrunken. His limbs rested on the bed awkwardly, as though someone else had arranged them there. But his dark eyes were filled with the same, familiar iciness as they turned and focused on Carmine’s. "So. You came."

"Yeah. I’m not sure why, but I did." Carmine folded his hands in front of him, then tried putting them behind his back, then finally shoved them into his pants pockets.

"Ain’t you gonna ask how I’m doin’?"

"Sure, Dad. How are you?"

"How do I look?" his father snarled, his speech a little garbled. "I had a heart attack!"

"I know," sighed Carmine. He stepped a little closer to the bed. "I’m sorry this happened to you, Dad."

"That was almost believable," grumbled his father. But his eyes lost a little of their coldness.

"Look, Dad, what was Frank doing here? I know you guys used to work together a long time ago, but why would he show up here now?"

His father sneered. "Came to gloat over my corpse. Forget him, Carmine. I got some stuff I need to tell you, just in case this doesn’t get better." He glanced over at the heart monitor that blipped beside him.

Carmine shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Go on."

His father started to say something, then paused. Tony was studying his face with an intensity that made Carmine increasingly more uncomfortable. Finally, he said, "You look like your mother."

"That’s what you wanted to tell me?"

"No. It’s just…forget it. Look, kid, I don’t know how much more time I got. And the thing is, I’d like you to do somethin’ for me."

Carmine felt his heart sink. "Oh? What’s that?"

His father had a strange look on his face, as though he was struggling with his own words. Finally, he let out a long sigh and said, "Just go to the house, will you? Go in my room. On the bureau, you’ll see a little wooden box. Just…bring it here, would you?"

Carmine just looked at the old man for a moment. "That’s it?"

"Yeah. That’s it."

"You ask me to come all the way here from California, just so I can run an errand for you?"

"It’s important, boy! Just do it, all right? Now get outta here. I need my rest." His father closed his eyes.

Carmine continued to stare at him for another moment or two. I’m not going to let this hurt me, he recited. I’m not going to care. I knew this would happen. He’ll never change. Stupid to think he’d change. Stupid, stupid, stupid….

"Goodbye," said Carmine. He turned around and walked out of the room. He kept going, down the hallway, past the man with the dark blond hair and sunglasses, past Frank who was waiting for him in the lounge. He didn’t pause when Frank called his name, didn’t stop walking until he was out of that cold, stifling place and away from that cold, stifling man he’d wasted his too much time hoping would turn into a human being. Only when he was outside did Carmine stop, lean back against the brick hospital building, and mutter, "What difference does it make if you live or not? You’ve been dead inside for years."

***

Lenny walked into the waiting room and found Frank standing there, alone, with a lost expression on his face. "What happened?" he asked, handing his father-in-law one of the cups of coffee he’d picked up in the hospital cafeteria.

Frank took it and Lenny saw that his hand was shaking. "Oh, geeze," said Lenny. "You already talked to Carmine? How did it go?"

"It didn’t," said Frank. He tried to take a sip of coffee and nearly spilled it. Lenny grabbed the cup and set it on a table, then helped Frank into a nearby chair. "I tried, Len. First I went to Tony, begged him, threatened him, whatever, not to tell the boy. But then Carmine showed up and I couldn’t get him to listen to me and after, Carmine just ran out."

"Oh, no," said Lenny, sitting down next to Frank. His heart sank. "So Tony told him first, huh?"

"He must have. Carmine came outta that room lookin’ like he’d been sucker punched. Wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain – just marched out. That’s it, Len. Now how can I tell him my side, explain that his father is me, why I didn’t tell him first?" He trailed off, eyes filled pain.

Lenny felt a sympathetic lump rise in his throat. "This stinks worse than anything," he said, patting his father-in-law on the back. "But, Pop, he could just be in shock, you know? After he thinks it over, I think Carmine’ll hear you out. Really. He’s pretty reasonable, most of the time. And I’m sure he’s worryin’ about who is real father is. You sure Tony don’t know its you?"

"No. Marie swore she’d never tell him and since he never said nothin’ to me about it, I assume she kept her word. Dammit!" shouted Frank. "I should’ve smothered the bastard when I had the chance!" He glared in the direction of Tony Ragusa’s room. "I had time, ya know. I could’ve just taken the pillow and…." He pantomimed pushing something over someone’s face. "But no, I try to reason with him. I use words on a guy who ain’t heard nothin’ but what he wanted to hear for decades!" Frank rose to his feet, a gleam of murderous intent in his eyes. He started toward Tony’s room.

Lenny grabbed his father-in-law’s arm and held him still. "Whoa, down boy! It ain’t gonna help no one if you go to jail for murder!"

Frank paused, then slumped back down into a chair. "You’re right. I know your right. It’s just…but no. It’s too late. Too late." Frank buried his face in his hands.

Lenny slouched back in his chair. There had to be a way he could make this all better. He was still convinced that after all, this was good news; Carmine’s father was actually a decent human being who he could be proud of. Surely he’d realize that and then he’d forgive Frank and maybe they could be like a real father and son. Then Laverne would see how happy her father was and welcome her new brother into the family. "And then puppies and kittens will rain down from the sky," Lenny muttered aloud.

"What?" asked Frank, peering at him from between his fingers.

"Nothin’. Just somethin’ my father used to say whenever I’d get overly optimistic. He was a realistic sort of guy, my Pappa. ‘Deal in facts, son,’ he’d tell me. ‘Don’t focus on what you wish, focus on playin’ the hand you got dealt.’" Lenny smiled a little at the memory.

Frank cleared his throat and sat up. "What ever happened to your dad, Lenny? I knew him a little from the old neighborhood. Worked for the fish packing plant, didn’t he?"

"Yeah. He stuck it out with me and my sister after my mom split. He was a good guy, worked hard, did what he could for us. Times were tough, but, you know, at least we didn’t starve." Lenny looked at his shoes. "We kinda lost touch over the years, except for cards at the holidays."

"You know where he is?"

Lenny shrugged. "Not for sure. I tried to find him to tell him about the wedding, but the invite I sent came back address unknown. He moves around a lot."

"Aw, Len. Sorry to hear that," said Frank.

"Anyway, that’s all in the past. We’ve gotta deal with the hand Tony in there just dealt. Which means, you gotta go find Carmine and talk to him."

Frank nodded. "You’re right. The boy needs me, whether he knows it or not." He stood up and shot one last, dirty look in the direction of Tony’s room. "C’mon, Len. Let’s go find my son."

***

Squiggy rolled over on the soft, wide bed and stretched to his full length. "Cool, I can’t even reach the edges!" he said gleefully. He sat up and looked around the room. "Daddy? Dad, you here?"

No response. Squiggy climbed out of bed and went about his morning preparations. He spent a little extra time getting his hair just right. After all, he was about to be rich. It was important to look the part.

Walking over to the wet bar in the hotel room, he noticed some writing on a piece of paper torn from the hotel notepad. Picking it up, he read, "Dear Sonny Boy, I hope you had a good nap. I know you were tired after your long flight. I’ve gone to talk to your brother. Will let you know how it goes. Love, Mr. Helmut Squigman."

Aw, geeze, thought Squiggy. He went without me? Squiggy sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on his shoes, his mind still reeling from the incredible story his father had told him on the drive to the hotel. It was hard to believe any of it – a stash of hidden money, a long-lost sibling, an evil double-crosser – it was wilder than any Dragnet episode he’d ever seen.

"He shoulda woken me up to go with," Squiggy complained to his right shoe before tugging it on. "After all, I’m actually a friend of Carmine’s. Well, maybe friend is too much…or not enough, as the case may be." He pulled on his other shoe, picked up the phone, and pressed "1" for the front desk.

"Hello?" Squiggy said. "Yes, this is Mr. Squigman, in the penthouse room? Yes, and good day to you, too." He smirked. "I need a taxicab to…." Where? Where’s Carmine’s old house? He wracked his memory. "Um, somewhere on Delancey Street. Yeah, I know it’s a long street. I just need to get to one end of it and I’ll figure out the rest from there. Thanks." He hung up. "Delancey Street. Oughtta change the name to Easy Street, once the Squigman boys get together today." He grinned and whistled as he walked out the hotel room door.

***

Carmine unlocked the door to his father’s crumbling rowhouse with the key he’d found on top of the door frame. Why his father even bothered to lock the place was a mystery. There was nothing in it anyone would want.

He walked inside and made a face at the musty smell. No windows had been opened for years to release the smells of old food and empty beer cans. Carmine conjured up a vague memory of the place when his mother was keeping it, the thin drapes fluttering in the breeze, sunlight pooling on the spotless, bare floor. They may have been broke, but at least when she was there, they hadn’t lived in a sty. He wondered if his father missed that, or if he even bothered to remember all the good his mother had done. Probably not.

Carmine started up the creaky wooden staircase to his father’s bedroom. He paused midway up when someone behind him said, "Oh, good! You’re here."

Startled, Carmine turned and saw a stocky man framed in the doorway. He was dressed in a somewhat mismatched leisure jacket and trousers, a green hat stuck on his head. "Do I know you?"

"Yeah, you do. Well, not all that well. Not as well as you should." The man strolled through the door as if he owned the place. He stood on the bottom step and looked up at Carmine with familiar, beady eyes.

"You’re Squiggy’s father," said Carmine, more puzzled than before. "Helmut, right?"

"Right. That’s me."

"Um, what are you doing here?"

"I’m here looking for you. Carmine, right?"

"Yeah." Carmine reluctantly held out his hand. Helmut climbed the stairs jauntily and gave it a firm shake. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing, my boy. Nothing but to give you some good news. How’s that rotten old bastard that raised ya? He dead yet?"

"I…no," said Carmine, offended and surprised to be offended at the same time. "How’s my father any of your concern?"

"Your father. Well, see, that’s the point of my little visit." Helmut leaned casually against the faded wallpaper covered wall. "Your daddy wasn’t too nice to you growing up from what Andy tells me."

"He could have been better."

"Yeah, well that’s a cryin’ shame. You know, if I’d have known sooner, I’d have protected you from him."

Carmine shook his head. "What?"

"I mean it, kid. Look, I wasn’t the greatest dad to Andy and his sister, but at least I wasn’t mean. Your father, he was always nasty, especially after what Marie put him through."

"What do you know about my mother?"

"I know a whole lot about her, boyo," said Helmut, leering a little. "I knew that little tamale real well. Not that I was the only one."

Carmine’s eyes narrowed. "Hey, you watch what you say about her! My mother had her problems, but she was a wonderful woman!"

"Oh, no doubt, no doubt. In fact, I’d go as far as to say she was the best!"

Carmine didn’t like what Helmut was hinting at. "I think you’d better go."

"Okay, calm down. Look, I got good news for you, Carmine. Hear me out."

Carmine folded his arms across his chest and glared down at the older man. "What is this good news you keep going on about?"

Helmut grinned like a Cheshire cat. "I’m your daddy, Carmine. Your real daddy, not that nasty a-hole who raised you."

Carmine’s mouth dropped open. He struggled to find a response to something so absurd, but failed.

"I can see you’re a little surprised," said Helmut. He reached up to pat his arm, but Carmine pulled away before contact could be made. "Look, it’s simple, kid. Me and your mamma, we had us a little, um, how to say it nicely? A fling."

"You…what? You and my mother?" Carmine boggled at him. Then he burst out laughing.

Helmut looked at him with some annoyance. "It ain’t that funny."

"Oh! Oh, yes, yes it is! You and my mother…and you think…that’s rich." Carmine tried to catch his breath. "Right, okay, so I’m your son. And, so what then, that makes Squiggy my brother? Oh, brother!" He started to laugh again.

Helmut rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, calm yourself down. I know this is a shock."

"Shock? It’s insane! You can’t actually believe this…can you?" Carmine stopped laughing and leaned a little closer to Helmut, studying his eyes. "You can’t seriously think that you’re my real father!"

Helmut just looked at him smugly.

Carmine frowned. "You do though, don’t you? Oh, my God, you’re completely nuts!" He turned away and started back up the stairs.

"Wait!" said Helmut, grabbing his wrist. Carmine tried to tug it away again, but this time the older man’s grip was firm. Carmine turned back to face him. "Carmine, I’m not kidding. I did your mother, back in the day, and you’re the result. You are my son, not Tony’s. I should think that’d be a relief to you."

Carmine slowly counted to ten before answering. When he spoke again, his voice was almost as cold as his father’s usually was. "There’s nothing in the world I’d like better than for Tony Ragusa not to be my father. But what you’re saying makes no sense. My mother wasn’t some tramp who slept around, like your implying. Now get the hell out of here and let me go about my business."

"I got proof."

Carmine blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Proof, kid." Helmut reached into his leisure suit and pulled out a letter. He handed it to Carmine, who looked at it as though it might bite him. "Go on. The writing should look familiar."

Hesitantly, Carmine took the letter. After a quick glance, he looked up at Helmut. "This is my mother’s handwriting."

"Yeah, I know. She had nice penmanship, Marie did. Amongst her other talents."

Carmine frowned at him, then looked more closely at the letter. He read it three times before the words started to sink in.

Carmine looked up, his hand clenching around the letter. It took him some time before he trusted his voice. "This was written a long time ago," he finally managed. "Why now? Why come forward now?"

Helmut’s expression was sympathetic, but his eyes remained gleeful. "I didn’t wanna mess up your life, you know, make you feel bad about your mother. But now, what with Marie gone and Tony goin’, it just seems like the time is right. Don’t worry, though, Tony never saw this."

"He knows, though. He’s always known." Carmine closed his eyes. "It explains so much."

"Yeah, well, I’m sorry I didn’t come forward sooner. I was kinda busy, you know, what with my own family and other enterprises. But, hey, better now than never, right?" Helmut extended his arms. "Son."

Carmine felt as if he were choking. He stepped back, nearly stumbling on the stairs. "He knew he wasn’t my father. That’s why he didn’t care. That’s why he was so angry with her, and with me. My God." Carmine balled up the letter, stared at the crumpled paper in disbelief, then threw it to the living room floor.

Helmut was watching him closely. "Yeah, okay, I can see this is gonna take some getting used to. But, listen, kid, I got more good news for you. Somewhere in this house is a paper with some important numbers on it. You’re gonna want that, because when Tony dies, as his only ‘son,’ you’re gonna inherit the mother load!"

Carmine slowly returned his gaze to Helmut’s face. "What?"

"Pay attention! Tony’s bank account numbers, Carmine. He hid ‘em in here, somewhere. You gotta find ‘em and then, once the old goat kicks, we’ll be set for life. So, you have any idea where to start?"

Carmine shook his head, as though waking up. "Wait a minute. Bank account numbers? For what, the vast Ragusa fortune?" He gestured angrily at the room around them. "If he even has a bank account, it’s empty! At most, I might be able to sell this dump for a thousand bucks. It’s hardly worth the effort!"

"I’m not talkin’ about this craphole, kid!" snapped Helmut, losing a little of his jocularity. "Tony, he had a colorful past back in the day. He rustled up a lot of money rum-runnin’ during Prohibition. He and I were even partners for awhile, bet you didn’t know that."

"You’re out of your mind," scoffed Carmine. "My old man worked in a factory his whole, miserable life. If he had money, why would he have kept on working at a job he hated and living like a pauper?"

"Because, kid, he got caught. The only way he could hold onto his earnings and stay out of the slammer was to hide the evidence, the money. He stashed it in a Swiss account, usin’ only a little here, a little there, nothin’ big so that he didn’t arouse suspicion." Helmut furrowed his forehead. "Part of that stash is mine by all rights, but he kept it all for himself."

"So what makes you think it’s coming to me?" asked Carmine, suspiciously.

"’Cause I did a little checking. I got connections, kid, and they tell me your old man don’t have any other surviving relatives. He dies and whatever dough he’s got automatically goes to you, his only heir." Helmut rubbed his hands together. "Tell me where the account numbers are and we’ll both get even with Tony. Me for the money and you for how he treated your mamma and you."

"I don’t know. This is all pretty convenient." Carmine glanced upstairs.

Helmut followed his gaze. "He told you where the info is, didn’t he? That’s why you’re here."

Carmine widened his eyes innocently. "He didn’t say anything to me about account numbers. He just asked me to bring him some stuff to the hospital, a toothbrush and razor, that sort of thing."

"Right," said Helmut, clearly not convinced. He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. "You look a lot like your mamma, kid."

"Yeah, so I’ve heard." Carmine carefully took another step.

Helmut stepped up, too. "She was beautiful. No, more than that. She was hot. When she used to dance with Tony when they was courting, whoo-boy! She drove all the guys crazy!" Helmut ascended another step as well. "She coulda had any guy she wanted, Marie. And she did, believe me, before and after she hooked up with Tony."

Carmine stopped and glared at Helmut. "I told you, watch what you say about her!"

"About who? My mistress?" Helmut’s smile vanished. "You know, she only married Tony because she thought she’d get a cut of the bundle he was makin’ on the side. Oh, sure, kid, you don’t think a woman like that married that rat out of love, do you? No way. She certainly didn’t marry him because of his sterling career on a factory line. She knew, Carmine, she knew we were connected. Only reason she chose him over me was the money. Joke was on her though…after Tony got busted, she didn’t see a dime. That’s when she started sniffin’ around my door again, even though I’d gotten hitched myself by then. And hey, what can I say? The flesh is weak…."

"I’m warning you!" Carmine started to turn away. "Get the hell out!"

"What?" Helmut reached up and grabbed his wrist tightly. "Don’t like to hear the truth, do you? That your mother was nothin’ more than a common whore?"

"Get off of me!" Carmine tried to jerk his wrist away from Helmut, yanking the older man off balance. Frantically trying to regain solid footing, Helmut clung to Carmine’s arm as he fell backward. Helmut’s full weight dragging him down, Carmine plunged straight down the wooden staircase right after his newly proclaimed father.

It took only a moment or two before they landed at the bottom of the staircase. Then the dingy house was once again as silent as a grave.

***

Helmut raised his head and looked around, blinking. "Christ, that hurt," he groaned, rolling over onto his stomach. He touched his nose gingerly and winced, then forced himself to his knees. He looked around. "Nice, real nice," he said, looking down at the young man lying on the floor by his side. "No wonder Tony never liked you. You young people these days, you got no respect for your elders." He glared at Carmine for another moment, then put his hand on his shoulder. "Get up, kid. You owe me an apology!"

He waited, then shook him a little. "I said get up. Come on, we ain’t got all day! Tony could go at any minute and the lawyers’ll need to know…Carmine? Hey, come on." He rolled the motionless man onto his back, then muttered, "Aw, geeze. Look what you’ve gone and done."

The young man’s eyes were closed and there was large bruise starting to darken over his left eyebrow. Gulping a little, Helmut tried again. "Come on, snap out of it, kid. You’re okay. Ain’t you?" His hand shaking a little, he patted Carmine’s cheek. Then he pressed his fingertips against the side of his neck and waited.

"Crap!" Helmut shouted. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "Okay, okay, this is not what I had planned. Not at all." He looked at Carmine with wide-eyed helplessness. "You got your old man’s rotten temper and look where it got you! This is your fault, you know, not mine."

Groaning, Helmut got to his feet and dusted himself off. Then he glanced up the stairs. "Tony must’ve sent you here for those numbers, and I’m bettin’ they’re why you were headed upstairs," he said, as though Carmine could hear him. "You know, even if something permanent happens to you, I can still use those codes to get what’s mine, so long as I have that letter to prove I’m your next of kin." He looked around the floor, until he found the crumpled missive, then swept it up and jammed it back into his pocket. He looked down at Carmine once more. "I’m really sorry about this, kid. I was hopin’ we could do this all nicely; share and share alike. Oh, well, best laid plans and all that." He shrugged, then carefully stepped over the young man’s body and hurried up the stairs.

***

Squiggy paid for the taxi and got out. Once on Delancey, he’d realized that all the rowhouses looked alike and he still couldn’t remember the right number. It’d been years since he’d been on this street, and even then, it hadn’t been to go to Carmine’s house. It wasn’t as though Carmine had given him the time of day when they were kids, except to push him down and take his lunch money, or make fun of him on the playground. So Squiggy figured he’d have to resort to going door-to-door, knocking and asking until someone pointed him in the right direction.

Before he could go up the walk of the first house, he saw his father hustling toward him from down the street. "Hey, Dad!" he exclaimed. "Boy am I glad I found you! Did you…?"

"We’ll talk later, sonny. Right now, we need to go."

Squiggy looked at his father as he quickly approached. His suit was disheveled and one of his trouser legs was ripped. He also had a bruise along the bridge of his nose and what looked like dried blood around his nostrils. "What happened to you?" Squiggy demanded. "Did Carmine do this?"

"Um, not exactly," said Helmut, grabbing his arm and propelling him down the street. "Where the hell did I park?"

"He did, didn’t he?" Squiggy planted his feet, stopping them both. "That no-good…I knew he might be a little upset, but there’s just no excuse for beatin’ up an old man, especially not his own old man! Where is he? I’m gonna teach him a little brotherly lesson!" Squiggy started back in the direction from which Helmut had come.

"No!" shouted Helmut, stopping him in his tracks. "Don’t," he added in a slightly quieter voice. "Look, your, um, brother, he didn’t hit me. Not for lack of tryin’…but that’s not important now. What’s important is I got what I went there for. Now, let’s get back to the hotel." He started tugging Squiggy back down the street.

Squiggy let him until they were in front of the Cadillac, then halted again. "Wait a minute. I thought you went to the house to tell Carmine about the Swiss account, and that you were his real father, and that now we was all gonna be rich once Tony croaked."

"Yeah. I did all that. Now let’s…."

"But, where is he?"

"Where’s who?"

"Carmine!" said Squiggy, exasperated. "I mean, didn’t he wanna, you know, join us? Talk about all this? Get to know his little brother?"

"He already knows you, kid, remember?" Helmut ran around to the driver’s side. "Come on, get in, let’s go!"

Squiggy reluctantly slid into the car. "Yeah, he knows me as the annoying kid he went to school with, or the irritating neighbor, or the guy whose best friend he took away. But he don’t know me like I am now, which is his own flesh and blood. Well, half anyway." Squiggy looked at the floor. "I thought he’d at least want to try, you know, to be brothers."

Helmut sighed and reached over, cuffing him fondly on the back of the head. "Cheer up, kid. You’re gonna be loaded. After that, you can buy whatever friends or family you want."

"I guess." Squiggy stared out the window. "So, if Carmine didn’t slug you, what happened? Was he glad, or ticked, or what?"

Helmut turned on the Caddie and drove away, tires screeching as he pulled out of the parking spot a little too fast. "He took it okay. What do you want me to say? I think he just needs some time, you know? He’ll be all right, after a while." Helmut looked distracted.

"Yeah. But what about…?"

"A pole. I wasn’t looking where I was going, I was so excited." He patted his jacket pocket. "It’s all here, Andy, numbers and passcodes. That idiot Tony just had ‘em sittin’ in a box in his room, practically right out in the open."

"Carmine just let you take his – I mean, Tony’s – hidden account info? Just like that? I’d a thought he’d want to keep it, seeing as he’s the beneficiary."

"Will you cut it out with the third degree?" Helmut snapped angrily. Squiggy flinched a little.

"Sorry…Andy. I’m sorry," his father said, looking at him guiltily out of the corner of his eye. "Look, just don’t you worry about Carmine. He’s fine. Or at least, he will be. Probably."