Bayview Heights Trilogy (28 page)

Johnny tried to banish Zorro’s claim, but it
had taken root and grown in the twenty-four hours since Lansing had
approached him. Johnny had finally gotten the nerve to talk to
Cassie about it. She’d been evasive, tiptoeing around her feelings
about him helping the cops out. It had made Johnny more
nervous.

There was a loud rap on the outside door.
Johnny unlocked it to find DeFazio shivering in the alley. He
stumbled in. Enraged at what this punk had done to Cassie, Johnny
grabbed DeFazio by the collar and raised his fist. But he halted
when he saw the kid’s face.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit.”

Bruises covered DeFazio’s forehead and
cheeks. His nose and one eye were swollen. The bruises hadn’t
yellowed yet. It had only been four days since his initiation. He
looked grotesque.

“What you want from me?” Johnny asked,
releasing him. He couldn’t make himself pound the punk’s already
battered face.

DeFazio sagged against the wall, his eyes
darting around the small room. “This safe?”

“What? You got national secrets?”

“I got information. Bad information.”

Johnny scowled. “About?”

“They kill, Johnny.”

“Who?”

“The Blisters.”

Johnny shook his head. He’d never seen the
gang kill anybody, but there had been talk. Which Zorro had denied,
so Johnny had ignored.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’.”

“I do. They...that...you know, that guy
who...” DeFazio sank onto a chair and put his hands over his
face.

Johnny waited.

“They killed that cop last year. He was only
twenty-four. He had a pregnant wife.” DeFazio looked up at Johnny.
“Geez, I didn’t know they killed people.”

“How do you know this now?”

“I overheard Zorro and Hulk talking.”

Johnny digested that.

“What should I do, Johnny?”

Johnny sank into a chair. “I don’t know.”

The door that led to the pool room opened.
Pepper stood in the archway, his wrinkled features accented by a
frown. “What are you guys doing back here?”

“You eavesdropping, old man?” Johnny
asked.

Pepper straightened. “This is my place, kid.
Not yours.”

Johnny remembered talking to Cassie once.
You ask Pepper to keep an eye on me, Teach?

Yes, Johnny, I did. I’ll do anything to
keep you straight.

Just then, one of the workers called back,
“Pepper, phone call.”

“I’ll be right back,” Pepper said, and
left.

Johnny turned to DeFazio and swore.

“What are we gonna do now, Johnny?”

They’re gonna use you....

“Let’s get out of here,” Johnny said.

o0o

MITCH LOOKED UP from the desk where he sat in
Cassie’s classroom. There was a new poster on the wall. It was
titled A Teenager’s Bill of Rights. His gaze lit on number nine. “A
teenager has the right to adult guidance in his life, even if he
doesn’t know he needs it.”

A good omen, Mitch thought. At least, he
hoped it was.

Restless, Mitch stood and glanced at the
clock. Cassie should be back any minute. She’d agreed to meet him
at three o’clock, but Zoe told him Cassie had unexpectedly gotten
called to Seth’s office. Mitch needed to talk to her before she saw
Johnny at four o’clock.

After wandering around the room, Mitch found
himself standing before the bookcase, staring at the books,
portfolios and journals. Cassie was worried because Johnny had
written furiously in his journal all week, but had marked the
entries Private, Do Not Read. Now Mitch knew why. This morning,
Pepper had come to see him and told him what he’d overheard two
days ago.

Johnny hadn’t told Mitch.

And it hurt.

He thought he’d gained the boy’s trust.

Leafing through the stack of journals, Mitch
stopped at Johnny’s. He could read it, get some insight into what
was going on in the boy’s mind.

A teenager has the right to adult
guidance.

He picked up Johnny’s black-and-white
notebook.

A teenager has the right to
privacy.

A rustle at the door distracted him. Mitch
turned to stare into the angry face of Johnny Battaglia.

Arms crossed over his chest, the collar of
his leather jacket turned up, Johnny’s black eyes were accusing. “I
might have known.”

“Known what, son?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Mitch held up the journal. “I didn’t read
it.”

“And I believe in Santa Claus.”

“I’d like you to believe in me.”

Fierce emotion flickered in Johnny’s eyes. He
glanced around the room. “Where’s Cassie?”

“Right here,” she said from behind
Johnny.

Stepping away from the door as Cassie came
into the room, Johnny jammed his hands in his pockets. Cassie
stopped when she saw the journal in Mitch’s hand. Mitch held his
breath. She gave him a puzzled look, but not an accusatory one.
Thank God
.

Johnny was watching her carefully. He frowned
at what he saw—at her trust in Mitch.

Putting the notebook back, Mitch gestured to
the table in the corner. “Let’s sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” Johnny said.

“What
do
you want, Johnny?” Cassie’s
voice was concerned. “You asked to see me at four o’clock. You’re
more than a half hour early,”

“I got called into work but I wanted to talk
to you.”

Mitch caught the uncertainty in Johnny’s
tone.
Teenagers have a right to guidance....

“Do you have something you want to tell us,
Johnny?” he asked. “Something about what happened at Pepper’s?”

Johnny’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
Then he looked at Cassie. “You set me up with him?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t know Mitch was
going to be here when you and I talked.” Then she turned to Mitch.
“What happened at Pepper’s?”

“Tell her, Johnny.”

Johnny glared at him and remained silent.

“Two nights ago, DeFazio met Johnny there,”
Mitch began. “He told Johnny the Blisters were responsible for
killing the young police officer, Gifford, last year.” Cassie
gasped. “Pepper overheard Johnny and DeFazio and came to me this
morning.” Mitch looked at Johnny. “Pepper didn’t come to see me
until today because he was afraid of the Blisters and didn’t want
to report it. He thought you might.”

Johnny’s gaze never left Mitch’s, but
Johnny’s heart felt like it had been stabbed with Zorro’s blade.
“You want me to help you get to them, don’t you?”

They gonna use you, man...to get at the
Blisters.

“I want to help
you
.”

“Yeah, sure.” He turned to Cassie. “You want
this, too?”

“I want what’s best for you, Johnny. I always
have.”

Mitch said, “We
both
want what’s
best for you.”

Johnny glanced at Mitch, then back to Cassie.
“You want what’s best for him.”

“No, Johnny, that’s not true,” Mitch
protested.

Needing to believe him, Johnny thought about
all the adults in his life. His mother, who drank throughout the
day. His father, who hit him. Teachers like Bosco. Had any of them
really wanted what was best for him? He looked hard at Cassie and
Mitch. After a lifetime of disappointments, believing in these two
was too great a risk to take. “Leave me alone. Both of you.”

“No, Johnny.” Cassie came up behind him and
touched his shoulder. Because he wanted her comfort so badly, he
shook her off violently. “Why are you so angry?” she asked.

Because anger’s easier. I know
anger.
And it was better to be mad than to feel the crushing
hurt that pushed at his insides—because Zorro had been right. They
were using him to get to the gang. He’d just witnessed the
proof.

Mitch came closer, too. “Get something
straight, Johnny. Cassie’s not at fault here. If you’re angry, take
it out on me.”

Push comes to shove, she’ll pick him over
you any day.

Johnny whirled on them. “I got things
straight, Captain. First you wanna know where DeFazio is. Now you
want help proving my friends killed somebody.”

Mitch angled his chin. “I want the Blisters
to get what they deserve. And yes, I’d like you to help me. I want
you to help DeFazio and all the other kids who could get sucked in
like he did. I’m not ashamed of wanting that. But—”

Johnny looked from the cop to his teacher.
“You agree with him, don’t you?”

Cassie said, “Johnny, I don’t know exactly
what’s going on here. But if you can help Mitch stop them, maybe
you should—”

Johnny turned his back on her again, shutting
out her words. Other voices sounded in her head.
I’m afraid
he’ll turn you against me... the cop and the teacher...no one will
ever care about you but me, Tonto.

Johnny took in a deep breath, unable to stop
the messages. He said, “I’m outta here.”

As he reached the door, Cassie bounded after
him. She latched onto the edge of his jacket in the hall. “Johnny,
please, don’t go. Talk to me.”

“Go talk to
him
.” Johnny shrugged
off her grip and raced down the hall and out the door.

EVERYONE HAD ALWAYS SAID how smart Johnny
Battaglia was. And they were right. He was so smart he knew exactly
how to get what he didn’t want. And he set about getting it
methodically.

First, he returned to school the morning
after his confrontation with the good captain. But he skipped
Cassie’s class. He wandered the halls until a corridor supervisor
caught him.

“Where are you supposed to be, young man?”
Johnny pivoted to look at the ugly face of Jerry Bosco. Just
perfect.

“Take a guess.”

Even Bosco’s balding head reddened. “I asked
you a question. Either answer it or you’re coming with me.”

“Screw you,” Johnny said, and turned his back
on the man.

Bosco made the mistake of grabbing his arm.
“Now, just hold on, kiddo.”

Johnny whirled on him. “Don’t touch me, you
bastard.” Johnny’s head began to swim with the hurt and rage that
had been boiling inside him since three o’clock yesterday
afternoon. Because of it, he edged Bosco back against a locker.
“Touch me again, creep, and you’ll be sorry.”

From behind, a hand clasped his shoulder.
“Johnny.”

Stepping back from Bosco, Johnny turned.

Mr. Taylor stood a foot away. Johnny had
always liked and respected the principal.

“Come with me, Johnny.”

“He’s nothing but a worthless punk,” Bosco
scoffed. “He should be taken out of here in handcuffs.”

Johnny whirled back around and lunged for
Bosco. Strong arms came around him from behind again. “You won’t
hit him, Johnny. There’ll be no fighting. Calm down.” Taylor kept
up the soothing refrain with his arms immobilizing Johnny until
some of Johnny’s anger abated.

He didn’t remember exactly how he got to the
principal’s office. But he was seated in front of Taylor ten
minutes later.

“I know what happened,” Mr. Taylor said.

“Bosco’s an asshole.”

“Not with Mr. Bosco. I know what happened
with Ms. Smith and Captain Lansing. But I can’t let you disrupt the
school like this because of your problems with them. I’m giving you
in-school suspension for a week and mandating counseling with Ms.
Sherman starting right now.” He reached for the phone to call the
school psychologist.

“No.”

The principal’s brow arched. “No?”

“I won’t go. To either.”

“Then I’ll have to suspend you.”

Johnny stood. “Don’t waste your time. I’m not
coming back, anyway.”

“Sit down, Johnny, we need to talk.”

“I’m done talking.” He bounded out of the
office before Taylor could circle his desk and try to stop him.

Four hours later, Johnny walked into the
Forty-Second Street clinic. He’d drunk half a bottle of bourbon and
smoked two joints in the intervening time. Unsteadily, he made his
way back to Kurt’s office.

Kurt looked up from his desk. “Johnny? It’s a
little early for you to be here, isn’t it?”

Johnny hadn’t noticed before how Kurt’s eyes
were the exact color of his brother’s. The reminder made this
easier. “Five weeks ago, I treated a gunshot wound on a friend in
this clinic.”

Kurt frowned and dropped his pen on the desk.
“Gunshot wounds have to be reported to the police.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this then?”

Geez, they were so alike. Playing so goddamn
altruistic. So phony. “I’m tellin’ you now.”

“All right. Why are you telling me now? You
know I’ll have to take some action.”

Johnny just stared at him.

Kurt came out from behind the desk. He
crossed to Johnny. “Johnny, I had faith in you. I was thinking
about offering you some kind of scholarship to college and med
school in return for your working here. Why are you doing
this?”

Johnny’s throat closed up. In that moment, he
saw all his dreams fade away.

What’s a punk like you doing with those
kinds of dreams, anyway?

“I don’t believe you. You’re no more
interested in me than your brother is.”

Before Kurt could respond, Johnny left the
office.

But he returned to the clinic at ten that
night when Mary Margaret got off work. Having drunk more bourbon
and smoked more dope by then, he was flying high. He intercepted
her as she walked out the front door.

“Oh, Johnny, thank God you’re here. I was so
worried.”

He put his arm around her and edged his nose
into her hair. Her clean scent filled him. “How worried, baby?”

She pulled away. “You smell like a
distillery.”

“Just had a little drink.”

“Are you driving?”

He looked at her. She was blurry, but he
could still see that her eyes were clouded with concern. “I got my
car. Come sit in it with me for a minute.”