Earthquake I.D. (37 page)

Barb was nodding, getting it. She even believed she understood why the liaison had thrown in the tall tale about Romy getting violent:
she went right upside his head
.

“I knew the man, for sure. But I never expected trouble at the museum.”

Neither the gypsy nor anyone else had cracked Umberto's head, before the Lieutenant Major went down. But Silky must've had it in mind to smack his flunky a good one. Umberto would need a wound to match the story told by his boss. Being boss mattered a lot to the Lieutenant Major, Barbara could see that now. So the liaison must've intended first to put a bullet or two in JJ's girlfriend—or five or ten. Then to top off his afternoon, and to make a point for his colleagues in the Camorra, he'd have given Umberto a pistol-whipping. The NATO man might also have thrown in a bit of groping, a bit of grinding, letting the so-called museum guide know what an American officer kept beneath his Palm Beach whites. He would've enjoyed that.

The charade became transparent to Barbara, like a Christmas crèche in which the terra cotta melted away to reveal frames of barbed wire. Meanwhile the fruitiness of Whitman's shampoo grew stronger, and the girl onscreen, recalling that morning at the Nazionale, looked ever more frightened. The lone stabilizing influence was John Junior, running his set like a pro. Like an adult, leaving the choice of time and place to Romy (the gypsy knew the good hiding places), but meantime taking charge of the larger project. The password, the purpose of the interview—that must've been all JJ. And every time you heard Barb's oldest, through the speakers mounted on the walls, you heard genuine caring, but also restraint. A good deal less histrionic than his mother, lately. JJ's sweet sanity might in fact make as much of a difference for the former cripple, over time, as his younger brother's healing hands. Before the picture onscreen jumped again, Romy had broken into a more open smile.

Then JJ went to a whole-body shot, and you could see that the girl had toned down her look. Her jeans fit more loosely, and she toyed with what looked like a childish prop, a thin, smooth length of wood. Was it a sawed-off broomstick? Where had she found that?

She flipped the stick from hand to hand, her tone of voice playful. “I have to show you this. Pinocchio.”

The boy's off-screen murmur remained unsexy.

“No, get this,” the girl said. “Like, the
real
Pinocchio.”

She slipped the abbreviated pole between her legs. Like that the mood changed, the girl's pose appeared obscene, and Romy threw in an orgasmic gasp or two besides. She held the stick so the end just poked from her crotch.

“Pinocchio says,” Romy said, “I got no diseases.”

The wood grew longer, emerging from the vee of her jeans.

“Pinocchio says I love you, always I love you. Since Christ was a carpenter!” The gypsy worked still more of the stick's length out before her.

“And always I will love you!” Now she needed both hands in front, to hold its full length. “I will be a good
father
!”

The soundtrack turned to laughter, and the stick fell from Romy's hands while she wobbled down into a crouch. Or was that the camera wobbling, in JJ's hands? So much for any sexy mood. Whitman too chuckled over his keyboard, hitting Pause. The filmmaker, the way he laughed, sounded thoughtful; he sounded as though he wanted to work the bit into his next feature. And Barbara remained quiet, though she was grinning, not wanting to make her editor self-conscious. A joke like that could only make her wonder again about this girl and John Junior, how much had gone on between them. When Whitman restarted the video, the mother was glad to see Romy jump-cut back to seriousness. The gypsy was in close-up once more, and frowning.

ROMY: I used to believe in the power of the street, the greatest power. No one can beat (
nodding, in rhythm
) the power of the street, (
starts to smile, stops
) I used to believe this, it was history. What does Chris always say about history?

OFFSCREEN: History moves to the left.

ROMY: To the left, yes, like, which means to the street. You know? I used to scrabble around living for no money and, at the same time, I live for this. I believe that, in history, maybe next year or maybe the year after, I will have the power. I believe, old Babylon and the cops, and the suits, they will fall, (
shakes index finger
) I believe will come a better day, and the suits will sell their blood for money. For sure. We take the sticks from the police and… (
throws a punch; hair comes loose from ponytail
).

We will make them stand and smile while we run our disgusting hands all over—

(
inaudible word, o.s.; jump-cut, ROMY with hair off her face
)

Revolution from the streets, this I live for. I am, I was, a soldier, a revolution woman. I am never scared of the officer Kahlberg. (
lowers head; touches scarf
) But I think, better I been scared. I knew the man, another dealer. But better I knew more.

(
chin comes up; small smile
)

Paul, your brother, he shows me first, a different power in the streets. Paul breaks through the like, the stones surrounding me. He shows me, I never understand. Never understood. For sure, I never even dreamed about it, a life like—like your brother shows me. He has the revolution in his hands, the better life in the streets, for all the punks and thieves, the revolution and the life. All the soldiers, we're in his hand.

(
Looks away
) I been in the life ever since I left the camps, since Lapusului, and your little brother like, one touch and in that touch…(
faces camera
) it's all my life, and it's new forever, it will never drop into the dark again, never again beneath the stones. Your Paul picks me up, he has me in his fingers, all my life, and all the other soldiers too. It's another power, in the streets. It's so strong, your brother, in his fingers, it picks up the rich neighborhoods too. He even picks up Babylon.

(
nodding in rhythm
) Old Baby-Ion, your po-wer's gone, (
smiles
) He picks up the cops too, all the cops, no matter what their uniform.

(
frowns, starts to speak, frowns again. CUT to three-quarter profile
.)

Lieutenant-Major Kahlberg, I knew him, but—better if I knew more. He moves between NATO and the street, very smooth. Better if I understand, if I understood, he has, he had people. Kahlberg had like, some of the same people I did. At the Nazionale, the Museum, if your brother isn't there…(
touches scarf
) your Paul saved my life again. I am so sure. Paul is, he was there, he was at the museum back door, and because of him these two strangers jump up off the street. Your brother is the revolution, the noise forever in the streets. He calls two soldiers up off the street. There is the old story, you know, the old fairytale, the stones turned to soldiers.

(
CUT to waist-up shot
) I was saved by two men with—like in masks. Over their mouths, over their faces, half their faces (
waves hands before her
), a bandanna? Give me a break, my J-Bud, how can I, how did I see their faces? Like, I was paying attention? The clothes, okay. The clothes, the same as on the punks all over the world. I mean like, jeans. Shirts, t-shirts, maybe a blue shirt, or maybe a blue bandanna. One man is maybe a little, he has something tight and sexy in the clothes, you know? A little gay, kind of, one of these men, maybe. Femme, maybe. J-Bud, I thought I was going to die!

O.S.: Height or weight? Race?

ROMY: Height, okay. Taller than me, but not much. Not much weight either, for sure. I know what they been eating. And the race, to me, I don't, I don't think twice. Like, what's my race? (
frowns
) What, JJ—white, am I white? In the States, am I?

O.S: Ro. It's just evidence.

ROMY: Maybe one was more white and the other more black.

O.S.: Then there's the timing. Hey. Majorly convenient timing.

ROMY (
closer, angrier
)
:
But that's what I'm saying! We have power too, we soldiers, the punks like me, like these two. (
shakes head
) I mean, your brother—I learned some things, because of your brother. I learned better, the love, the better life, so definitely better. But I'm saying, these two, the ones who shot Kahlberg, Paul pulled them off the street—but they weren't like, it wasn't magic!

(
rakes hair off face
) It wasn't Disney. They had a gun, does that sound like magic? They are buying a gun in the street. These two, they love your brother. For sure, like I love your brother. But they also know the word in the street. They pay attention, the talk, there was some scary talk, that morning. And I'm saying, better if I paid attention. Better if I really listen, that morning. Because that's how they knew, that's how they wind up hanging around.

(
murmur O.S.; CUT to close-up
)

ROMY: The two men who shot Lieutenant-Major Kahlberg were shouting at him. They were saying, and this is as they are shooting “Don't touch him! Don't hurt him!” It was all about Paul, for sure. They were hanging around for Paul.

O.S.: They'd heard rumors there might be trouble, and they came to protect him.

ROMY (
tucks hair behind ear
)
:
In this city, there was always the internet…

O.S.: My Ro. I think we have enough

ROMY: What, my J-Bud? No way we have enough. I'm thinking—the two shooters came out of nowhere and then disappeared? That's majorly convenient.

O.S.: We've got enough for now. The principle facts of the case.

ROMY: But we don't know when we can do this again. JJ, one thing I know, the police are stupid once, but not twice.

O.S.: Tell me about it. I'm the one saying we should keep our clothes on.

ROMY: (
smiles
) We keep our clothes on. When we kiss is the hottest thing in Europe, is Vesuvius. But we keep our clothes on.

(
O.S., inaudible
)

ROMY: Okay, this—we are needing this, for the case. The thing about the Earthquake I.D., the counterfeits, the question is, where did Kahlberg get the paper?

O.S.: The paper? What's the big deal with that?

(
ROMY frowns
)

O.S: I mean, Silky was in the NATO shop. He had high-level access—

ROMY: No, my J-bud. Listen to yourself, how you are talking, just another American, you don't know the street. Another American who thinks the Sixth Fleet has some kind of super magic machines. You think only NATO has the access. JJ, for sure, I could go downtown right now, and I could buy a printing machine.

(
shrugs
) They come in every day. They come from Japan, and they go to the trucks. You think we can't get into those trucks? You think we can't like, do the printing in a basement somewhere? (
shades eyes, squints past camera
)

O.S.: Okay, okay. You're saying what Silky had, that no one else had, was the paper stock. So maybe if he left any of the counterfeits behind, if we find those—

ROMY: How long has that
clandestino
been up there? (
points away, but looks into camera
) Honey, why can't you be more like your brother?

(
CUT
)

As her driver ferried her back through the city, Barbara was thinking about love and romance. About men and women, keeping their clothes on and otherwise—she had time. She was picking up Jay at DiPio's clinic, and she'd made sure to have the older boys stay out of the apartment, out where they wouldn't open their laptop and doctor the evidence. She'd arranged it with a single call to the security who'd gone out with the older boys today; she set up a meeting down in the Vomero piazza. At the
gelateria
, Barbara had said. She'd asked that Aurora join them, as well, if anyone knew where to find the old playgirl. The whole family would gather at the tables clustered alongside the piazza, where Chris and JJ wouldn't dare to get into their film files.

What was on those files was no small accomplishment, the mother had to admit. Just getting around the security team had taken some doing. Barbara especially respected the older boy, keeping his Vesuvius in his pants. But things had reached a point that called to mind the message Romy had posted, ten days ago, on the family site: too, too, too. Barbara wasn't going to waste time with her bodyguard, either, though she found him sitting over pictures of half-clad women. Out in the studio's front room, the plump young security man had found a set of promotional 8xl0's, glossies of Italian starlets. The mother didn't say a word, holding out a hand for his phone. As for Whitman, he got twice the extra payment they'd agreed to, and Barbara counted off the bills slowly, making sure the sailor-suited blade didn't miss her look. He was an artist; he knew how to keep his mouth shut. She left the production company feeling as if her hilltop surprise would come off She began thinking about love and romance.

This might be the subject about which Barb had learned the most, during the afternoon's private screening. The mother had no more than half a notion of just what she would say to her seventeen-year-old, once she got him back into the apartment, but she understood, through and through, the dynamics between him and Romy. She saw how the crush suffered strains beyond the obvious, the skin color and the socio-economico what-have-you. Also Barbara's big American wasn't so stupid after all. He hadn't failed to notice the way the gypsy's hands were forever double-checking something or other, compulsively, and he hadn't failed to make the connection to his youngest brother. The manhandling that Romy had suffered must've saddled her with the same sort of unease, and JJ had been smart enough to realize coming too close might leave him likewise bruised. Then there was the girl's end of the dynamics: she'd never had a John like John Junior. She'd never had to deal tender for tender. The gypsy too, Barbara would bet, had gotten skittish whenever the hugging and kissing went on too long.