Curby (3 page)

“It’s okay, baby pumpkin, you make poopy in the pants?”

Nick grinned. “See, you’re already getting attached to him.”

Sandy said, “I’ll change his diaper. Could you set up that bassinet, like you said you were going to do?”

“I have to wash it down first.”

“Why, you just bought it?”

“Yes, but it’s used. What if there’s a roach in there…or legions disease or something?”

He opened the door to the bathroom and put the bassinet in the shower. Hearing the water turn on, Sandy raised her voice above the rainy sound of it. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning this thing, like I said I was going to do.”

“In the shower?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll wipe it down. Where’s the Lysol?”

“Under the sink.”

“Geez, look at all the dirt coming out. Ya never know where these things were. Coulda been laying in the street. Who knows what kind of bugs were on this thing?”

He returned with it, wiping it down. He stuck his finger into the cotton fabric of the towel and poked inside the corners, re-wiped the outside and…

“That’s good enough, you’re going to wear away the finish,” said Sandy.

“I could probably eat off of this bassinet right now.”

“Put it in the bedroom.”

“That’s where I intended on putting it, thank you.”

She smirked. “You might as well wash the mattress, too.”

“Of course!” he replied, from inside the bedroom.

The mattress was washed the same way, dried and placed in the bassinet. Nick hummed “Rock-a-bye baby” while folding the colorful sheet around the corners; yellow kittens chasing fat, blue sparrows across a grassy rolling hill covered with smiling daisies. He tucked the blue blanket in at the bottom, folding the upper end over, along with the end of the top sheet.

He washed the mobile, the rattle and foam football. The mobile he tied off and left hanging above the bassinet. He left the football next to the pillow, moved it to the other side, turned it this way and that, took a sideways glance at it and moved it back.

It’s never too early to form an impression,
he thought.

Outside, in a park, Prospect Park, a running little boy laughed while reaching high into the air for a football.

“Nice try, Curby. Now pick it up and throw it back to Daddy.”

The little tot lifted the football over his head and threw it with all of his might. It landed two feet in front of him, took a short hop and rolled slowly to the side.

“Good arm, son.”

“The bed’s ready!” he loudly called out to Sandy.

“Look at this little angel, Nick,” she said, carrying the baby into the bedroom. “He’s fast asleep.”

“Let me hold him?” Nick cradled the baby, barely the length of his fore arm. He combed back the silky, sandy blond hair that kept sticking up in the back and gently kissed him.

Watching her tall, big boned, Marlboro Man as she fondly liked to call him, holding the tiny infant, made Sandy see him in an entirely different light, and she liked that.

He lowered the baby onto the sheet and covered him up, kissed him again and looked on while Sandy did the same. Holding hands, they tiptoed out of the room with Nick looking back the whole time.

“Oh, Nick. I don’t want to ever let him go.” She left the door slightly ajar.

He answered in a whisper. “We don’t have to. Let’s play this by ear. It’s in God’s hands. If he wants us to have him, then that’s what will happen.”

Although the baby cried during that first night, Nick and Sandy were attentive to his every need. Even when drawn out of a deep sleep, Nick had jumped out of bed to check on Curby.

During the whole day behind the wheel, Nick found himself checking for cardboard boxes. Not that he expected another abandoned baby, it’s just that he couldn’t get the events of the previous day out of his mind. He stopped at the apartment on his first break, his lunch time, and then again on the last break of the day. The baby was doing well with a good appetite.

When he entered the apartment after work, Sandy looked up from where she was sitting, by the window with Curby, awake and drinking from a bottle.

“Let me do that?” he said.

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but you had him all day. Let me give you a break.”

“I know you better than that. You just want to hold him.”

“So?”

“Let’s sit on the couch for a minute. I want to talk to you.”

“Sandy, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing serious. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I want to talk about your future and the baby.”

“Oh? Why only my future?”

The baby looked up at him with almond shaped blue eyes while making sucking noises and satisfied grunts.

She said, “What’s going to happen when I’m gone? If the doctors are right, Curby is going to be about three years old by the time I’m…well...you know. You’ll be alone.”

“Do we have to talk about that now? Can’t we be happy for the moment? I’ll deal with that when the time comes, if it comes at all.”

“I know, but I’m worried for you.”

Nick pet her hair. “Maybe nothing will happen. Doctors have been wrong before, haven’t they?”

“You saw the x-rays. I have terminal cancer. I’m just lucky that it’s the slow kind. It could have been worse and I sure wouldn’t want to go at this time now that you found Curby. You’re going to need me.”

“Let’s take this a day at a time, Sandy.”

“I’m trying to. My worry is not about me. I already did my own crying. I’m okay with it. Just promise me one thing?”

“Anything, just ask.”

“If you’re really going to do this…this thing about keeping the baby, then let’s not report anything. Let me have this one simple pleasure. I need this.”

“Curby?”

“Yes! Let me be the mother I never had the chance to be. It’s all that I have left before leaving this earth.”

Nick looked kindly at her, his eyes wet and tearing. They both reached for one another, all three in one heartfelt embrace.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“
Who is it?”

“Detective Guevara!”

“Detective? Uh…just a minute.”

Nick looked away from the door and whispered into Sandy’s ear. “Bring the baby inside.”

Sandy took Curby, snatched the bottle and the blanket and left for the bedroom.

“Yeah…okay…I’ll be right there, officer. Damn it!” The last two words, he said low and under his breath.

As soon as the door to the bedroom closed, he opened the one to the hall a crack, looked out and then opened it all the way. On the other side, two detectives, wearing dark suits and flashing badges, stood with stern expressions.

“I’m detective Vic Guevara and this is Detective Sal Rinaldi. May we come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’re…Santinelli?” Guevara took a quick look at the paper he was holding. “Sorry! Nickolas Santinelli?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Okay if I call you Nick?”

“Sure, please do.”

Nick shook inside, as much as a kid taking his first ride on the Coney Island Cyclone. “Uh…y-yes, that’s fine. That’s what everyone calls me. Oh, sorry…have a seat on the couch. Please!”

Guevara’s face looked like that of a career boxer’s, his black curly hair, combed back with a part in the middle. Below what appeared to be a broken nose, he grew a thick Poncho Villa style mustache, long and hanging over the sides of thick lips.

His partner was more of a business type, short cropped hairstyle, Esquire magazine good looks and wearing a pair of gold, wire-framed eyeglasses.

Detective Guevara noted Nick’s uniform shirt. “I see that you work for the city, also?”

“Yes, I drive a street sweeper. Right here in the neighborhood, in fact.”

The detective looked down briefly and then back at Nick while toying with his mustache. “Uh, huh! That’s why we’re here.”

“Oh?”

“We’re looking for a kid.”

“A kid?”

“Yes! Dark blond, thinish hair, blue eyes. We thought you may have seen him in the street.”

(A pause)

With a look that was a combination of surprise, anticipation and downright fear, Nick carefully replied, “Dirty blonde hair?”

“That’s right.”

To Nick, the cop’s demeanor seemed all knowing, as if he was beating around the bush--toying with him, and by now, he was starting to hope that he would just get the whole damn thing over with.

“We have information he’s in one of these buildings.”

“Here?”

“Possibly!”

Detective Guevara studied Nick’s facial expression before continuing. “In a box…”

“In a box?”

“Let me finish, Mr. Santinelli. Trust me, I’ll let you speak after I’m finished. In a boxed in area. We cordoned off all of the streets from 61st to 65
^th
and from 5
^th
Avenue to 9
^th
. So far we turned up nothing…which leads us to this building.”

Nick looked back from the bedroom door. “So, what are you trying to say?”

“No! No! No! It’s not what I’m trying to say. It’s what I am saying. I want to know whether or not he’s here, because if he is, and you’re hiding him, you’ll go down for a felony.”

“A felony?”

(Silence)

Guevara glanced at his partner who returned the same glance. Both next turned their probing gazes in Nick’s direction.

“Well?” Detective Rinaldi prompted.

Nick motioned toward the bedroom. “He’s in there.”

A pleased grin glowed on Guevara’s face.

The detectives followed Nick to the bedroom door. Nick slowly opened it with a lump the size of a grape in his throat--a very hard grape he had a hard time swallowing.

“Move aside,” said, Guevara. He scanned the room and noticed Sandy, sitting by the bassinet and holding the baby in her lap. “Cute! So where is he?”

“He? He, who?” Nick asked.

“The kid!”

“Right there!”

“Very funny, except that I’m not laughing. Now where is he?”

Nick stared at Sandy, who was speechlessly staring back at him.

“Never mind! Sal…take the other side of the bed. You two, leave the room!”

Nick, along with Sandy carrying the baby, left quickly and waited in the kitchen.

The cops drew their pistols and leaned toward the floor. Detective Guevara lifted the bed spread, peeled it back, bent over and checked underneath the bed.

Seeing no one there, he jerked his head, motioning toward the closet. Rinaldi stood at the side with his pistol level while Guevara held the silver colored door knob.

Did you see anything outside the window?” Guevara asked him, before opening the closet door.

“Like what?”

Guevara glared at his partner as if he lost his mind. “A kid on a fire escape?”

“They don’t have a fire escape,” Rinaldi retorted.

Guevara abruptly opened the door. He reached in and spread the rack of clothes apart, kicked underneath it and then felt around inside.

“There’s nobody in here!”

The detectives returned to the kitchen.

Guevara leered at Nick. “I thought you said he was in the bedroom.”

“Who?” Nick answered, perplexed.

“You know damn well who. The teenager!”

“Teenager? There’s no teenager in there.”

“I thought, when we were in the kitchen, you said he was in there, meaning the bedroom?”

It all finally made sense. They were looking for someone else, Nick realized. He had to think fast. “No, I said he ain’t here.”

“Wait a second. I distinctly heard you say, in there.”

“That might have been what I said, but what I meant was he ain’t here. I’m really sorry officer. It’s not like the cops come calling every night. Look, how about a soda? Can I get you guys anything?”

“Guevara sullenly looked downward and holstered his gun. Sorry about the mix-up. I thought for sure he was hiding out in your apartment, since we cased the surrounding blocks and the rest of this building. You seeming nervous and all, it made me a little suspicious.”

“So, who is it that you’re looking for?”

“A boy, sixteen, about my height, dark blond hair…”

“But…what did he do?”

“Some old guy got stabbed in front of his house around seven months ago. We finally got an ID on the two kids that ran away. One of them is in custody. When we got him to the station he ratted out his friend, Van der Hoss. Tommy Van der Hoss. Know him?”

“No, not really.”

“How about you, ma’am?”

Sandy shook her head, no, while continuing to rock the baby.

“Eyes in the street say he’s been around this area where he used to live. We’ll find him, sooner or later. Well, then, that’s it. If you hear anything, be sure to give me or Detective Rinaldi here a call. Take this card. It’s the number for the precinct.”

As soon as Nick closed the door behind the detectives, he and Sandy sighed with relief.

“I thought that was it for sure,” he said.

“Me, too! That was close. I hope they catch that guy. What a coward.”

Nick smiled at the baby. “I think he might be getting hungry. He’s making pucker lips again.”

“You want to do it?”

“Of course. Can you warm up the bottle?”

CHAPTER TWO