Worlds Apart (42 page)

“You should’ve hit him months ago….Brass has a real short fuse. People that lose their temper easily are not going to last too long in any business.” Carlos’s face displayed regret.

“Are you having second thoughts about going into business with Brass?” I asked.

“I am. The guy is nuts. He’s paranoid, and has already threatened to shoot me in the head. I told him that I want to quit his job and go to college. I’ve saved up a lot.”

“I think it’s a good move, Carlos. Working for Brass is not going to get you anywhere.”

“I’m really lost when it comes to a career choice or even a major in college,” he confessed.

“You don’t need to figure it all out now. Just see what you like and what interests you. That’s the hold that Sam and Brass have on you. They can steer you in their directions because you have no direction of your own.” We walked to the nearest subway station.

“What about the SATs and the investigation?” I asked him.

“No one cares that Sam was involved. He’s at the top of the graduating class,” Carlos said.

“You are probably right,” I said. “Stanton is not about to let a Harvard guy and a potential valedictorian take any blame.”

“The rest of us cheaters have to re-take the SATs. They already cancelled our scores. I’m okay with it, as long as I still get to graduate.” Carlos headed into the subway.

“I don’t know why you hang out with that guy!” I shouted.

“I could say the same about you,” Carlos said as he left.

There was something about Sam that made it hard to end my friendship with him. He was a terrible friend, and an obvious user. But he was smarter; more sophisticated, and always found a way to hang around. It was too late to do anything about my friends. There were only a few weeks left until I graduated high school, and what would be the point in changing the people that I hung out with now?

At school, it was very difficult to focus. It was a perfect May spring day, and a percentage of students were not turning up for all their classes. This included Sam, who could be seen on the concrete steps of the neighborhood brownstones. He was hanging with Juan Perez, smoking, loitering, and doing nothing. Juan seemed to like smoking pot with Sam. They both hated the fact that I was close to Delancey, and they were both attending Harvard in the fall, so I guess they had a lot to talk about.

The cafeteria was empty. I gazed out the window and saw many students at the park across the street. Some played Frisbee and hacky sack; others just sat on the grass relaxing. Stanton did not enforce too many rules on the senior class at this time. The school year was nearly over, and the students had little left in their gas tanks anyway.

I had two Regents exams in June, and four finals. I was in a lethargic mood, but was intent on not skipping any classes. After all, this was my last opportunity for the rest of my life to be in high school…why miss anything?

I decided to find Detective Ganz after school at the Brooklyn precinct. Eddie Lo was on my mind.

I waited at the precinct for an hour. Finally Ganz emerged carrying a box filled with his personal belongings. He wore an overly starched white shirt, making him look very stiff. He was wearing a loud tie, and overly pressed pants. His hair was grayer, and still slicked back. There was no mistaking this guy was cop. He even walked like one.

“Did you get fired?” I asked, referring to the box in his hands.

“Even worse, I got promoted,” Ganz said smiling. He was moving to a new Special Task Force division in Manhattan called the Asian Gang Intelligence Unit. He would operate out of the Fifth Precinct in lower Manhattan. The police now knew that Chinese gangs were a big problem.

“What can I do for you?” he said.

“We have to talk about Eddie Lo.”

“Who – The Serpent?” said Ganz.

“Yes. I wanted to tell you that he killed someone, and that in order to avoid an all out war between the Chinese gangs, he’s been ordered dead by the Chinatown Gang elders.”

“This part I already knew. Do you know where he is?” asked Ganz.

“I don’t. But I would hate for him to get killed.”

“Then find Eddie Lo and get him to come in for police protection,” said Ganz while he chomped on a chocolate doughnut. “Eddie Lo is not exactly into keeping the peace. Word on the street is that Eddie has a short fuse, and takes everything too personally. ” Ganz poured himself a cup of coffee.

“There was an incident at Tekk Billiards; he shot another gangster. The whole thing was self defense.” I figured I’d tell Ganz everything since it may save Eddie’s life.

“Well, I already knew that…I’m a detective…remember? And now Johnny Chan’s dead. But Johnny’s father is the head of a very powerful family. You really need to play pool with different people,” said Ganz. “Eddie Lo can’t risk showing his face. You know the gangsters that hang out outside of your school?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Well they think that Eddie may show up to school eventually. And they are looking out for him there.”

“Detective Ganz, where do you think he his?” I asked.

“It’s hard to find a serpent in the Chinatown underworld. Call me if you hear anything.” Ganz gave me his new phone number.

I called Christine and told her about my conversation with Ganz.

“I doubt Eddie would ever go to the cops for help. But we have to try to convince him. He’s going to get killed,” Christine sounded very scared.

The owner of the café needed part time help on Fridays. I volunteered because I needed extra money for the prom. The owner had leased extra space next to the café to open a bar. My job was to clean the bar, and wash beer mugs and wine glasses. The place was packed; more than fifty people in a very small space, each more inebriated than the next.

The bartender was named Steve. He was really busy and told me to take orders for beer only. I poured twenty mugs of beer in my first five minutes, and then tried to keep up with the mess the customers were making.

An hour later, the crowd grew larger. I was pouring more beer and wine as well. Steve was making drinks with hard liquor and a frozen margarita machine. It was really busy, and I kept working at a pace faster than I had ever worked before. Steve was doing tricks in the air with rum bottles. He was talking to all the customers at once, and kept them laughing and smiling with his jokes. Steve would take a shot of something or another, and keep working. He flirted with all the women at the bar, complimenting them, and bringing smiles to their faces. I was very impressed with his ability to connect with the customers.

After three hours, things cooled down. I finally caught my breath. Steve was exhausted, and soaked in alcohol. My sneakers were soaked with beer. I cleaned the counters and tables, emptied ten bags of garbage, and started mopping. Beer and booze had spilled all over the previously pristine marble floors of the bar. It took a full hour to have the bar looking neat and clean. Steve called me over.

“We were supposed to have live music tonight, but the guitar player is too drunk to function. Do you play guitar?” Steve seemed desperate and I agreed.

I played guitar with a small band, simple songs, nothing fancy. There was a woman singing, a keyboard player, and a drummer. They sang songs that everyone knew, the classics, and they had a guitar and sheet music with them. I even sang a little back up, and did a duet. It was a lot of fun, and when it came to an end, everyone cheered.

“Nicccee jobbb today.” Steve slurred his words, and was unable to focus. He was exhausted, and also quite inebriated.

Steve pulled out the cash from all the tip jars, and counted it. “You get ten percent in addition to your regular pay.” He handed me one hundred and twenty dollars. I was elated and asked him if it was always this busy. “Thursdays and Fridays are always this busy. I make out pretty good for the week just on those days alone.”

Steve handed me a drink, and we started talking, while I cleaned. It was a margarita, and the salted glass rim made the tequila taste good. Steve looked like a California surfer type. He was an actor, auditioning during the day, and working as a bartender at night. He was from a small town in the Midwest and came to New York to try to make it as an actor. That was ten years before.

Steve had an incredible ability to make friends out of strangers. As some of the patrons walked by, Steve was quick with a joke and extended a warm handshake. People genuinely loved him. I supposed that this part of his personality was a necessity in his role as bartender. I had never known anyone with such charisma.

“So what are your plans after high school?” Steve asked. An attractive woman came over and sat next to him, rubbing his shoulders seductively.

I told Steve about state college, and although he could not speak or think clearly, he became quite passionate and animated about the topic.

“You are making a mistake. You are such a good guitar player and singer…definitely take a few years to pursue a career in music. You have talent, and not everyone has that.” Steve was energized by the conversation. The woman agreed with Steve.

“Look, I’m gonna give the actin’ bug ten years, and if it doesn’t work out, I can go back to college, but I have to try to make it. I’m not gonna sit around in twenty years and regret not having taken a shot. If I don’t make it as an actor, I’ll live. So what…you know….The same applies to you. You got to give it a shot, so you don’t look back. Just think…what if Babe Ruth had decided to be a bartender instead of going after baseball? What if Ronald Reagan decided to remain a B-actor instead of going into politics? What if Martin Luther King Jr. had remained a preacher and not become a civil rights leader? David, my boy…all I am saying is that you have to try, otherwise you will never know. There’s an old saying…it’s better to try and fail than to fail to try.”

Steve closed up the bar and walked out with the female customer. I had spent a total of five hours with him and thought that he was the coolest guy I had ever met. Steve’s words weighed heavily on my mind.

I would have liked nothing more than to make it in music, playing the guitar, and singing. Fear had been stopping me from pursuing my dream. As Ms. Eris said, fear of the unknown.

The next day at the café, Christine was panicking.

“Listen, everyone is thinking that Eddie is going to be at the Seaport this weekend. It’s Memorial Day weekend and all the gangsters are coming to John street for some business. Maybe you should try to talk to him,” said Christine.

“Do you think he would go into police protection?” I said.

“You have to convince him. Look, he doesn’t want to get killed. He may think that you can help him up with the cops. Just talk to him and persuade him. Eddie can’t walk the streets. The Dragons are harassing his family, and they burned down his store. It’s a complicated situation between the Chinese gangs right now. I’m really worried about him. Everyone has become his enemy. He feels that there is no way out.”

What would I even say to Eddie Lo?

Shesha handed me a note from the café owner. It read, “I need you to work Sunday night at the Seaport at my other store. Come around four pm. Work until two am.”

That Sunday, Christine was a no show. I worked from seven a.m. until three p.m. at the café. Then I headed to the Seaport by foot, feeling anxious and nervous. The streets were narrow; and there were few street lights.

On holidays, the seaport attracted a few thousand people, until the late hours of the night. The owner’s other cafe had sixteen flavors of ice cream, in addition to food. It was a hot Memorial Day weekend, and I probably scooped about a thousand ice cream cones. The ice cream was frozen, and it took tremendous effort to scoop the ice cream out of the bucket. My wrists were sore after the first hour.

There were three other guys working that evening, and one was Kenny. Kenny and I spoke for the first time in a long time. He told me that he was not going home afterwards but intended to sleep on the floor in the café. Kenny was terrified about a gang war at the Seaport that night. “I can’t afford to get shot and killed; I’m the man of the house. My father’s dead.”

I asked if knew anything about Eddie Lo, and Kenny said that Eddie was going to be “in play.” I explained that I needed to speak to Eddie. Kenny said to wear a bullet proof vest. “Tonight is very dangerous. There’s not going to be a lot of talking.”

A nervous and unsettled feeling simmered in my stomach. Was I really going to risk my life in the middle of gang war to talk to Eddie Lo?

The Seaport was packed with several thousand people, mostly tourists. But there were quite a few Chinese gangsters lurking.

At the end of the evening, I could barely feel my hands. They were frozen and swollen from scooping ice cream. At two in the morning, I cleaned up, but could not get the smell of ice cream out of my nose. I decided to take the safest way home – Gold Street, which was a two way street with bright lights.

There was hardly anyone on the streets. The Brooklyn Bridge was a monumental sight in the far corner. Closer to me was the Manhattan Bridge. The lights caused it to glow, giving a resplendent view of the hundred-year-old bridge. I headed toward Gold Street, but was told to not cross by the police, who had closed it off for a parade in the morning. I went toward Water Street by way of John Street, but ran into the same road block. I had no choice but to go the way I came, up the narrow and winding corridors of Fulton and Ann Streets. This was a corridor of crime.