Bayview Heights Trilogy (20 page)

Cassie stood between them. “Stop it, you
guys, right now. I won’t have any name-calling in class. If you
have a difference of opinion, you’ll have to settle it—”

But Johnny wasn’t listening. “I know, you
dumb shit,” he told DeFazio. “
I
know. You’re the one who
doesn’t know anything.” Wildly, he looked around. No one spoke for
seconds, then he spat out, “Screw this,” reached down, grabbed his
jacket and bolted for the door.

Cassie was about to go after him when she saw
Mitch leap from the chair and head out. “Stay where you are. I’ll
take care of this.”

Mitch caught up to Battaglia in the hall just
before he reached the exit—almost at the exact spot he’d tackled
the kid the night Cassie got locked in the storage room. He grabbed
a fistful of Battaglia’s shirt and yanked back. “Hold on,
Battaglia.”

Johnny swore and jerked his shoulders, trying
to free himself. “Let me go.”

Mitch’s fist tightened. “Not yet.” His voice
was gentle, and his tone must have gotten through.

Johnny stopped struggling. He sagged against
the wall face first, his arms braced on the tile. Mitch let go of
Johnny’s shirt and clapped a firm, fatherly hand on his shoulder.
“Who do you know that was there?”

Johnny buried his face deep in his arms and
shook his head.

“Who?” Mitch asked implacably.

After a long long time, Johnny muttered, “My
father.”

“I thought it was something like that.” He
squeezed the kid’s shoulder. “But he couldn’t have died over
there.”

“Not physically. His heart stopped beating
when I was ten. It stopped feeling long before that.”

Mitch swallowed hard. “I know.”

The boy turned around, his black eyes
brimming. “Yeah, sure.”

“I do.”

Battaglia’s eyes widened. When Mitch didn’t
elaborate, Battaglia said, “You don’t know shit. You’re a
phony.”

Rage welled in Mitch. All the anger he kept
so carefully buried started to surface. It was what happened every
time he tried to talk about his time in Vietnam, which was why he
had to keep everything in control. “I know,” he said, “because I
was there, too.”

Battaglia just stared at him.

“I almost lost it when I got back, too. I was
just luckier than your father.”

The boy sank against the wall. His eyes never
left Mitch’s face. Neither man moved for seconds. Then, slowly,
Battaglia reached out and laid his hand on Mitch’s arm.

Something inside of Mitch snapped. The
constricting band around his emotions, tightened year after year by
self-imposed loneliness, finally loosened. He reached out his own
hand and slid it around the kid’s shoulders. “Come on, Johnny,” he
said hoarsely. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

WHEN MITCH AND JOHNNY walked into Pepper’s at
ten on a Thursday morning, the old man’s eyebrows almost
skyrocketed off his face.

Though the tension in Mitch’s neck knotted
his muscles, inside he was calm. He chose a booth in an isolated
corner, out of view from the restaurant. Mitch could see the
doorway and counter, but Johnny could not.

Pepper approached them. “What’ll ya have,
gentlemen?”

“Coffee.” Mitch looked at Johnny.

“The same.” They were the first words the boy
had spoken since his revelation. Mitch respected his privacy; he
knew Johnny needed time to get back some of his control.

After they were served, Mitch circled his mug
with his hands, blew on the coffee and sipped. Johnny still stared
out the window.

“How old were you when he died?”

“Ten.”

“It was bad?”

Johnny nodded.

“You ever tell anybody about this?”

“No.”

“Not even Cassie?”

He shook his head.

“She wouldn’t have done this unit if she’d
known.”

Johnny looked at him then. “About you,
either.”

“What?”

“If she’d known about you being in Vietnam,
she wouldn’t have done the unit.”

That gave Mitch food for thought. He filed
the idea away to digest later. “What’d he do?”

“In the war?”

“Okay, start with that.”

“He was a pilot. Mostly helicopters. Later,
at home, when he got drunk, he’d talk. I remember a little. He said
he was the most hated and appreciated man in Nam.”

“Hated, because the birds brought us to the
fighting. Appreciated, because they picked us up and took us
out.”

“What’d you do?”

“I was a paratrooper.”

“No shit? You jumped from those planes?”

“Yep.”

Johnny drank some of his coffee. “You
drafted?”

Mitch shook his head. “My number in the
lottery was high, so I didn’t
have
to go. You know what
the lottery was?”

“Yeah, when they drew birthdays to see who
went into the army first.”

“I enlisted,” Mitch said. “What about your
father?”

“His number was two.”

Mitch stared at his coffee, searching for
answers in the dark, bitter liquid. He raised his eyes when Johnny
spoke.

“What’d you mean when you said you were
luckier than my father?”

“I take it he was messed up when he came
back.”

“My mother says that. All I remember is
the...” Johnny looked back out the window.

Mitch held his tongue. Disclosure was
hard.

When the boy faced him again, his cheeks were
ashen and his eyes were moist. “Most of the time he kept to
himself. But sometimes, he got mad at nothing. He hit us. I was too
little to protect my mother, but I tried.”

Mitch ached for the young boy Johnny had
been. “Did he ever get help?”

“Like counseling?” Mitch nodded. “Not that I
know of.” Johnny’s gaze leveled on Mitch. “Did you?”

Thinking of the only sane decision he’d made
in the first few years he was back, Mitch nodded. “My brother
pushed it. Relentlessly. I went at first because...” God, the
memory hurt.

“Because?”

“I beat the crap out of him one time when he
was on me about getting my act together.”

Johnny’s brows rose.

“Abuse happens.”

“Why?”

“A few reasons, I’d guess. First, you’re
trained to be violent. And you do it. You do all of it. Unspeakable
things.”

Johnny just stared at him.

“Then you see it done by others all the time.
Or worse, you experience it firsthand.”

“You ever get captured?”

“No. Did your father?”

“Yeah. For six months.”

“I’m sure it was hell, Johnny. When you have
that kind of experience, your mind snaps. Mine did when...”

“When?”

Mitch shook his head. “There are some things
I still can’t talk about.”

Johnny watched him for a minute. A reluctant
grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah, then don’t let Cassie know that.
She’ll dog you until you tell her.”

Mitch smiled at how well Johnny knew her.
“That why you never told her about your father?”

He nodded. “Like you said, it’s tough to talk
about.”

“Anyway, the violence doesn’t go away as soon
as you return to the world. It’s always there, barely controlled. I
couldn’t have conquered it unless I’d had help. And sometimes, I go
back when I feel my control slipping.”

Johnny drummed restless fingertips on the
table. “My dad? You think, if he’d had help, he would’ve been
better?”

A secret and silly wish that he had been this
boy’s father washed over Mitch with the force of a monsoon. He
reached across and squeezed Johnny’s arm. “I think he would have.
Maybe you need to hold on to that.”

The door to Pepper’s blew open before Johnny
could respond. In walked three guys—all wearing Blisters jackets.
They paid no attention to the few late morning patrons in the
restaurant.

Mitch saw Pepper stiffen when he turned from
the counter and spotted them.

“Hey, old man.”

Pepper said nothing.

“Get us some Cokes.”

“Or some coke.” They laughed at the pun.

“I told you guys I don’t want you hanging out
here.”

“Yeah, well Zorro sent us to give you a
message.”

The boy whipped out a can of spray paint from
his jacket pocket and shook it up and down. “Know what this is,
dirtbag?”

Pepper stepped back.

Mitch sprang out of the booth and strode to
the counter.

“What’s going on here?”

Heads swiveled toward him. “What the
hell—”

“I’m a police officer.” He whipped out his
star and looked pointedly at the can of paint. “You got something
for Pepper?”

The boys stood stock-still.

Then the spokesperson mumbled, “No, man. We
just came in for somethin’ to drink.”

“What’s that for?”

Holding up the can, the boy shrugged. “This?
Oh, this is for a school project. Art class.”

The others laughed. “Yeah. We doin’ some
paintin’.”

Mitch stared down the gang members. “Get out
of here. If I catch you in Pepper’s again, I’ll take you in.”

“What for?”

Mitch lurched forward and grabbed the wise
guy by the collar. “Loitering. Being a menace to society.” He
yanked hard. “Got it, kid?”

The gang member swallowed hard but said
nothing.

Mitch tightened his grip. “I said,
Got
it?
”

“Got it.”

He let go. With belligerent looks, the trio
sauntered out of Pepper’s.

Mitch turned to see Johnny, leaning against a
booth, staring at him.

o0o

ON FRIDAY MORNING, Cassie wrote in her
journal that she was worried about Johnny. And about Mitch. When
she started to get into painful areas concerning Captain Lansing,
she put her pen down and sat back to wait for the kids to finish
up. Glancing around the room, she noted that no one was absent but
Joe DeFazio—who had come to school with glazed eyes and reeking of
marijuana. Cassie had immediately called the nurse and Carolyn
Spearman, one of the vice principals, who came and escorted the boy
out. DeFazio’s absence lightened the classroom atmosphere
considerably; his hostility over the last two weeks had affected
everyone.

She watched Johnny. He’d propped himself up
against the wall, knees bent, writing furiously. She had no idea
what had happened yesterday when he’d stormed out of her room. Zoe
told her that Mitch had returned to school at noon with Johnny in
tow, taken Johnny to Zoe and explained—in vague terms—why he’d
missed her class. Mitch left without seeing Cassie at all. Johnny
had stopped by after lunch to apologize for disrupting her class.
When she’d asked what happened, he didn’t want to talk about it. He
looked totally drained, so she didn’t press him.

Now Mitch was settled in one of the beanbag
chairs, writing also. For the first time in school, he was dressed
casually in a navy blue sweater. He still wore dress slacks, but
had on loafers. He looked so good Cassie wanted to curl up on his
lap and cuddle into him.

Shaking herself from the mood, she glanced at
the clock. “All right, who’d like to share first?”

She waited.

And waited.

Finally, Nikki Parelli raised her head and
said, “I will.” Cassie was shocked to see tears in the girl’s hazel
eyes. She read from her journal. “Everybody’s talked about their
experiences with the war but me. Because I’m ashamed. My father was
in Vietnam, too.” Nikki stopped reading to swipe at her cheeks.
Mitch, who was sitting behind her, put a hand on her shoulder,
squeezed it gently and gave her a handkerchief.

Wiping her eyes, Nikki continued, “He came
back messed up. He’s still messed up. I don’t know how to deal with
him, especially now that he doesn’t live with us. He smokes dope
and drinks all the time. He...”

Then she started to cry hard. Cassie started
to get up to go to the girl, but before she could, Johnny reached
Nikki. Putting his arm around her, he said, “You want me to read
the rest?”

Nikki nodded and handed him her journal.

Johnny read, “He used to hit me and my little
brother, which is why my mother finally kicked him out. Why would
he do that?”

Slowly Johnny lowered the book and lifted his
eyes to Mitch. Something passed between the two men that Cassie
didn’t understand.

“Nikki,” Johnny said. “Not everybody came
clean. My father was there, too.”

Cassie was taken aback. She’d had no idea.
But the look on Mitch’s face revealed that he had known.

“He came back messed up, too,” Johnny
continued. “And he hit me, too.”

Nikki stared at Johnny with soulful eyes.
“Why? Why do they do that? We didn’t do anything to them. I don’t
understand.”

Johnny looked up at Mitch again. This time
Mitch’s expression was strained. His jaw was clenched and his brow
furrowed. One hand gripped his journal and the other fisted at his
side. After a few seconds, he said quietly, “
They
don’t
understand why they do those things either, Nikki.”

Frowning, the young girl circled around to
face him. “What do you mean?”

“Vietnam messed a lot of people up. Some vets
came back crazy and did crazy things in the world.” He drew in a
deep breath. “We don’t always know why we do them.”

The room went still. Soft laughter came from
across the hall, and somebody’s heels clicked loudly on the
linoleum tile outside their door. But there wasn’t a sound in room
401.

Jen Diaz finally said, “We?”

Mitch nodded. “I was in Vietnam.”

Cassie sank back on her knees. Again, she
hadn’t a clue. Again, she could see Johnny had known. Yesterday
fell into place.

After a prolonged silence, Austyn Jones came
up on his knees. “Can we ask you some questions?”

“I don’t think that’s a good—” Cassie began
but Mitch cut her off.

“No, it’s okay, Cassie.” He gave her a long
look and turned to Austyn. “You can ask me questions, but I might
not answer some of them.”

Again no one moved.

Mitch smiled. “And start with the easy ones,
would you?”