Alfonzo (12 page)

Carey smirked as footsteps approached and a shirtless
Nunzio
appeared. His fat body resembled a sumo wrestler.
There were s
weat
stains under his armpits of the
size t
riple
X
t
ees
hirt. The fabric
was stretched in an effort to
conceal
his
distended abdomen
and Carey
wondered
how
anyone found
Nunzio
appealing.

“Hey, ‘
aint
seen your lovely face in a
minute detective
;
what brings you
‘
round
here
?” He asked
displaying
one
front t
oo
th.

“Some of us actually work
an honest job
for a living,” she said while surveying the hall
then
looked him in the eye, “I need a favor big guy.”

Nunzio
leaned against the wall rubbing his belly, “What you
givin
’ for this favor?”

She ignored the remark and removed a police sketch from her bag and showed it
to him.
Not locking his fat ass up was the favor
!
“You recognize this guy?” She asked.

His pupils dilated in recognition, “
Nahhhh
.”

“You sure?”
She moved in close to give him a full view of her cleavage, “y
ou
’ like these
tits
Nunzio
?”

He smiled, “Hell yes.”

“
Wanna
’ feel how soft they are?”

Sweat po
u
red from his forehead at the possibility, “Yeah.”

“Favor for favor, you first.”
Carey pressed her body against him smiling
seductively,
men were nothing but big
horny
boys.
Tits and ass got men talking.
Her police methods were unorthodox but hey got results. She never went as far as sex but letting someone catch a glimpse of her tits or cop a feel she considered
more effective then bashing their heads in. Her way got results.
He looked about to burst from his pants as she cooed, “
I’m waiting big fella
.”

“The
tattoo
looks familiar, like this dude I seen near the west
side
got something like it
.”

“And this guy got a name?”

His eyes were thinking, “Weird Freddie…he just got out the joint. Don’t know his last name.”

He reached out and seized her breasts with both hands, “Damn they’re luscious.”

Carey remained detached as rough hands squeezed and manipulated her areolas
,
“I need a
n
address.”

Nunzio
licked
the
tobacco stained t
oo
th as his hands caressed
her cotton covered breasts.
“I just know he got a hole down on one
thirtieth street
and Adam Clayton Powell, that’s all
.”

“Nickname?”

“
Oooooh
babe…you in the wrong profession
.”
He whispered.

She rubbed he
r hand over his arousal, “He got a nickname
big man.”

Aaaah
shit…this
trick got
him comin
g
’, “
Freddie, they call him Freddie!
”

Carey stepped away and adjusted her blouse. Fat slob got sweat on her
cotton
Dior
blouse
.
She noticed the female pit
-
bull peering from
the
cracked door and grinned.
Nunzio
had a lot of explaining to do.

Alfonzo
sped north on the FDR, music cranked at full volume. He didn’t give a
shit
if he got
pulled over and issued citation
s
!
The m
usic drowned out the anger in
his head. Time should rub the rough edges off the
hurt,
instead it only sharpened into
a blade of hate.
Three
weeks since the murders and nothing!

Detective Johnson assured him they were working every angle, combing the streets for suspects but people weren’t talking. They were simply too afraid. The only witness they had was a drunk resident of the building who recalled seeing someone enter the building wearing dark clothes then emerge later in a white shirt and jeans. He’d not seen the man before. They got a description of the guy and a sketch circling but so far nothing. He hadn’t told Alfonzo the old drunkard did recall a tattoo on the man’s arm…Chinese symbol or something like that…the drunk wasn’t too sure.

He looked at the speedometer…80…he lifted his foot
from the accelerator until the needle teetered around
70.
Alfonzo gripped the steering
wheel;
Uncle Al’s death
was taking
an emotional toll
on his family
.
They wanted this psycho caught, Alfonzo wanted him dead!

He’d lost a father figure and friend. The residual
effect
resulted in an
intense ache
in
his heart
. Nothing could ass
uage
it except looking in the eyes of th
e
monster
responsible
and blowing his goddamn head off
!

The sadness crept into his bones.
Uncle Al finally settled down and looked forward to having kids…when….when…Alfonzo began crying. Alone he could display emotion without fear of being labeled a bitch!
In
the street
motherfuckers
always tested your manhood.
As a result he had
physical and emotional scars from fights with gang members, drug dealers
and anyone who thought blue eyes meant a lack of street credibility.
T
he tough blue eyed Puerto Rican
gained respect when he disproved their assumption.
He wiped
at his cheekbone then
sniffled recall
ing
the night h
e made his first kill. Not intentionally, it was self-defense but he killed someone nonetheless and would’ve ended up in
juvie
if Uncle Al hadn’t intervened. It
felt
like yesterday
when
he was that bad-ass
little
kid, hanging out late, breaking curfew, smoking weed, doing shit a kid at that age shouldn’t. Driving, sexing, selling, beefing and thinking it all was a game
–
b
ut games have players and with a roll of the dice the game can turn deadly.

He remembered walking home late, hoodie on, bop to his step dreading his mom’s ire. He rounded the corner near
Second Avenue
when these dudes jumped out of nowhere. They were two big dudes, mean thuggish brutes not from the area and they wanted his kicks and jewelry. Alfonzo wasn’t about to part with his new Jordan’s, hell no
,
he paid a good piece of cash for the
retro sneakers and these bums who didn’t know how to hustle wanted them. Nah, it wasn’t happening!

They scuffled, he pulled out his knife and started cutting. When they fell back he took
off running
in the opposite direction
.
The streets were dark and the closest place for shelter was Uncle Al’s. He got there in a minute flat and lay on the buzzer. His apartment was over a bodega and Alfonzo stepped out when he heard a window open
and saw his uncle peering down at him, “
Niño
,
tú
loco? Este tarde!
It’s
late!”

A second later
clad in his boxers Uncle Al
opened
the door for his nephew.
One look at
Alfonzo
and
he pushed the boy
up the flight of stairs to
his
apartment then locked the door,
“What happened?”

“
Some guys tried to roll on me and take my shit,
Tio
!”

“You hurt?” Uncle asked.

“Nah…nah…I’m alright but I fucked-up one of the guys real bad.”

“Watch your mouth
ni
ño
,
calm down
and tell me what happened!”

Uncle Al listened intently as Alfonzo recanted the entire incident then
he
directed Alfonzo to
take a shower and gave him a set of clean clothes.
Uncle Al
then called his
mom
and produced a cover story to get him out of trouble.
“Yeah…yeah…we
fell
asleep playing video games. Yeah,
lo siento
hermana
, I just woke-up. He’s still asleep but I’ll make sure he gets home in the morning. All right…
sis…
buenos noche
.”

After the call he put his hand out for the knife, “Give it to me.”

The blade was taken
out of his
pocket and placed in his uncle’s palm. He never saw the blade again
.
Roaring
sirens caused fear to shoot through his body but uncle was calm. He dressed quickly, grabbed his keys and told Alfonzo to stay put until he returned.
Those were the longest fifteen minutes of his life and when uncle came back the somber expression confirmed what he had done.
“The bodies are covered,
ni
ño
. The men are dead.”

The thirteen year old boy who fought to gain respect graduated to a murderer. It did not matter whether it was self-defense, the outcome remained the same. Two men were dead by his hands.
“
What
,
they’re dead, you sure
?” Alfonzo asked in bewilderment.

His uncle sat down next to the boy in the oversize shirt and pajama pants,
“It’ll be alright…
we will not talk about this to
anyone
. Give me your word.”

The boy nodded, “
On my word
.”

“This never happened, you and I were here playing video games and you fell asleep. That is what happened,
comprende?”

“
Si,
tio
…
comprendo
.”

He recalled the months of paranoia, checking his back, jumping every time the doorbell rang. Certain the police would eventually learn where he lived and
arrest him.
Yet, t
he
police
never came.

Alfonzo
n
ever told anyone about
what
occurred
, not even his cousin
Domingo.
The experience hardened his soul. His
fierce reputation
grew as did the
reckless disregard for
his own life.
Somewhere
,
deep inside he wanted to get caught
and
pay for
his
crime but
the
police w
eren’t interested in catching the killer. Another unsolved murder in the ‘hood. No big-deal, right?

On the street they called him
l
ocos los
ojos
azules
,
crazy blue eyes.

His heart grew colder, his actions bolder. He sold drugs, amassed loads of cash,
built an illegal business which afforded him to move his mom into a nice place and eventually branch out on his own. He was never happy, though.
The thirteen year-old
boy
never healed from the trauma.
Abuela once made him promise to go to college and when she passed a few years ago he did just that. His SAT scores were enough to get him into Columbia University. He did well in business and finance courses and eventually earned his degree. The fascination with business prompted him to continue his studies and last year he received a Master’s Degree
simply because he wanted to prove to himself he was as
good as or
better than most of the
gringo
and Asian kids whose parents were footing the bill. Meanwhile the smart capable Latino and black students were busting their asses working to pay tuition or going through hassles with financial aid every semester.
This one black dude Samson was a genius in math, he aced
every course but his financial aid got cut because he got arrested for drug possession over summer vacation. The dude was pissed after he tried to register for the fall semester and
was
informed about it. Alfonzo saw him outside of school and he vented about the injustice of the situation and Alfonzo agreed then said, “
Mira hombre
,
let me pay for your tuition.”