Romeo of the Streets (16 page)

He held out his hand and, not knowing what else to do, I reached out to shake with him. He held my palm for a moment too long, looking up at me with his darkly intense eyes, smiling dangerously. “My name’s Salvatore,” he said, “but you can call me Sal—everybody else does. I guess we’re classmates now, we should get to know each other.”

I had no idea what this guy was talking about. Classmates? He was at least ten years older than anybody else in the place and he looked more like a lounge-singer than an academician or student.

“Sal and the guys have enrolled,” Lou said, “they go to CCU now.”

I turned back to give him the most critical, burning look of reprobation I could muster, but before I could, he’d already looked away again, suddenly focusing intensely down at his lunch on the table beneath him. Yes, Lou definitely knew how much he’d screwed up this time. At the very least, that much was clear.

“Lou told me how much fun you guys were having up here,” Sal said, “so I thought screw it, why don’t I sign up for a class myself and see what all the fuss is about? Now I can keep a closer eye on my buddy Lou here and I might even make some new friends—like you guys. Boy, I can’t wait to be classmates with a couple of pretty young things like you.”

“Well, I don’t think youse are actually classmates boss,” the Eyeball one said, smiling strangely over at me, “Lou said you do economics and stuff, right Sandra? We’re enrolled in this introductory program—nice and easy, like. I doubt we’ll have the same classes.”

“What’s the difference?” Sal shrugged, “we’re all one big happy campus, right? Hey, I bet you girls get up to all sorts of mischief now that you’re out here in college, am I right?”

“Ugh,” I said, turning my nose up at him and then addressing my friend alone. “Lisa, I just remembered we had to hand in that overdue assignment to Professor Breslin…”

“Right,” Lisa said, “that’s right. Lou—maybe I’ll see you around.”

Lisa stood up and gathered her things and the Sal guy said:

“Hey don’t go ladies, we was only getting to know you. Tell you what, why don’t me and the boys go have a little talk with this Breslin guy, see if he can’t be persuaded to give you an extension?”

“Thanks, but no,” I said, turning to disappear. I was so mad at Lou I couldn’t even look at him, let alone say goodbye.

“Fair enough,” Sal continued. “We’ll just see you girls later then. Ok fellas, let’s get back to business. Lou—you talk to that old man, yet? That Gino Morelli?”

I froze on the spot. Gino? Just why exactly were these vile animals asking Lou about Gino?

When Lou spoke his voice was quiet and meek and I knew immediately that something very bad was being discussed here, I just wasn’t sure exactly what yet.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, “it’s cool Sal.”

“So he can get that money for you after all? Well that’s very good Lou, because I was thinking we might have to send the boys here after him again, give him another one of those little accidents.”

My mouth fell open, my blood ran cold. Oh. My. God. Surely he didn’t mean an accident like the one that had landed Gino in hospital? Because that would mean that it had never actually been an accident at all and I didn’t know if I could even get my head around that idea…

I looked back at Lou and he stared over at me, wide-eyed and pale. “Sandy…” he said.

I turned and ran across the canteen, as behind me I heard the gurgling, ignorant laughter of Lou’s “friends” ring out through the otherwise silent and uneasy lunch-room.

They said it was a library, but it didn’t look like any library Sal had ever heard of. Sure, it wasn’t like he’d had much experience (in fact this was probably the first library he’d ever actually set foot in), but weren’t libraries supposed to be big old dusty gothic-looking buildings, like ancient church rectories or some shit? With its gleaming white architecture and glass walls, this place seemed more like some kind of fashionable modern hospital or clinic, the kind of place where you’d bring your
goomar
to get another couple of inches added to her cup-size. And yeah, there
were
rows and rows of bookcases on every floor but still, he felt uneasily uncertain about the whole place…

“Excuse me sweetheart,” he said, walking over to the young women on reception, “this is the library, ain’t it?”

“She looked up at him, grim-faced, and studied him for a moment. “Is that a joke?”

“No,” Sal said, narrowing his eyes. “Three Jews walk into a bar, that’s a joke. I’m looking for the library, what’s the matter with you?”

“I’m very busy today sir.”

“Yeah, you and me both.”

The young woman turned back to her computer and resumed her typing and Sal stared at her for a moment, before shaking his head to himself. No need to be a bitch about it…

Tommy Goldberg, the main teacher in his program—and the one who was aware of the special arrangement that had allowed for him and his crew to join the class halfway through the year—had informed Sal that he’d need a certain book from the library that day and Sal, eager to at least appear to be taking part this early in the scam, had come here in search of it. Problem was, now that he was here he couldn’t remember the name of the damn thing or even who was supposed to have written it.

Muttering to himself under his breath, he swung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped into the brightly-lit maze of stairways and bookcases. Somewhere in all this his book had to be waiting.

“Hey. You!”

The kid—a skinny four-eyed little pussy—stood back from the photocopier and glanced meekly over his shoulder.

“Yeah!” Sal shouted, when their eyes met, “You!”

Lifting one skinny arm from the machine the kid turned to Sal and pointed at his own chest.
Me?

“YES!” Sal nodded, “you. Come over here!”

Glancing around one last time to make sure there was nobody else and it really was him alone who Sal’s attentions demanded, the kid picked up his book bag and ambled over towards him.

“Um, yes?” he said.

“You look like you know your way around this place, correct?”

“Well… sure, it’s the main library. You kind of have to.”

“Yes,” Sal nodded, “yes exactly. You’d have to, right? But this place is like a fucking maze…”

The kid said nothing. His eyes glanced shiftily away from Sal and quickly back again, almost as if afraid to stray too far in case of repercussion.

“You know Goldberg?”

“Goldberg?”

“Goldberg,” Sal repeated, “Tommy Goldberg, the teacher.”

“No,” the kid said, “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell are you sorry for? I didn’t ask you for nothing yet.”

The kid shrugged. “Sorry,” he repeated.

Sal sighed. “Listen kid. I’m looking for this math book—it’s for introductory class or some shit—but I can’t find it anywhere.”

The kid’s face relaxed a bit. “Oh,” he nodded, “the math section’s on the third floor, you’ll probably find it down there.”

“No,” Sal said, shaking his head. “No I won’t. Because I already looked down there and I didn’t find it, there’s just too many of them. You have to find it for me.”

“I’m kind of busy at the moment,” the kid said, “did you ask reception?”

Sal gritted his teeth together—this little mook was really starting to piss him off. “
I ain’t asking reception, I’m asking
you!”

Yeah, the little pissant knew he meant serious business now at least, Sal could tell by that glassy, fearful look in his eye. Why did everybody always have to push his buttons like this?

“Ok, I’ll help you find it,” the kid said, “Jesus, just take it easy. What’s the name of the book?”

“Well that’s the thing,” Sal said, “I don’t know.”

The kid stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly. “There must be two hundred books down there!” he said finally, “how am I supposed to know which one is yours? That’s impossible!”

Sal considered him long and hard, a grim heat darkening his brow. All he wanted was to find the book so he could at least appear to be making some kind of effort for his classes. He’d had to pull a lot of strings to get himself and his two soldiers enrolled in the university so that he could keep a closer eye on the goings on of their increasingly-profitable CCU operation and if he was going to forgo the classes completely it would take even more effort to work everything out and make sure he could stick around campus as a bona fide student of higher learning. People would have to be paid off, intimidated. Hell, he’d even kind of enjoyed the novelty of going to class, sitting at his desk with his pencils and pens and all, but this… this was too much.

“You can beat me up if you want,” the kid said, his voice quavering as he took a step back, “but there’s still no way I’d be able to find your book down there, not without knowing what it’s called.”

Sal exhaled slowly and then smiled. The kid was probably right, if Sal hadn’t been able to find the book then how the hell would this little retard? “Forget it, kid,” he said, “I’m just jonesing with you. We’re all in this together—classmates.”

“Maybe you should ask your teacher for the name before coming back.”

“Nah,” Sal shrugged, “fuck it, this is all pointless anyway.” He peered at the contents of one of the outer pockets of the kid’s book bag. “Hey, is that an apple?” he said, “Give it to me.”

Chomping on his piece of fruit, Sal stepped back out of the library. A trashcan caught his eye and he unslung the backpack from his shoulder and unceremoniously deposited it with the other waste. Screw it, he’d tried his best. He would deserve at least a pass for that. Goldberg would understand—and if not, then they’d
make
him understand.

On a picnic table across the frosty lawn, he spied two sexy little co-eds sipping coffee and quizzing each other out of a text-book. He reached up to slick back his hair and then began strutting towards them.

“Hey,” he waved, “what you gals studying?”

They glanced up at him with frozen, stunned expressions, waiting a number of uncomfortable seconds before answering.

“Law,” one of them, a minxy brunette, said. She looked like she had a nice pair of tits underneath the purple and yellow ski-jacket she was wearing. It was only a shame about the attitude.

“Hey, you guys know Goldberg?” Sal asked, “He told me to get a math book here but the asshole didn’t even tell me what it was called, you believe that? 200 books in the math section and he expects me to find it there. Crazy bastard—we’re going to have words, me and him.”

Neither of the girls answered and Sal sat down at the table beside them. “You believe that shit?”

“Look,” the other girl said in a quiet, unsteady voice, “we’re just trying to study for a test here...”

Ignoring her, Sal appraised them both with slow and careful consideration. Yes, they were both little hotties, of the very highest order. “I run a dance club across town,” he said, “this college thing is just a hobby for me. Now I ain’t promising anything, but if you two was ever looking for a little extra pocket money—I could probably help you out with that. If you was interested, that is…”

“We have to go,” the first girl said, “we have class in a few minutes.”

Together they rose from the table, gathered their things and stepped away from their benches. In a matter of seconds they were gone, and Sal, continuing to chew lazily on his stolen apple, savored the sight of their tight little asses as they went.

“Just remember,” he called after them, “if you change your mind then don’t hesitate to come over if you see me around. I’m a friendly guy…”

Christ, he thought as he watched them hurry away across the campus, he’d always imagined college life would be a lot more carefree and friendly than these guys acted like. It was no wonder you had to study so hard to get in—probably only boring bastards would be able to stand it.

He was fiddling with his phone, tapping out a joint message for Ferret and Eyeball, when a strong, firm voice called out: “Sir!”

Sal’s street instincts had been honed from years of hustle and he recognized the humorless bark of a lower level mutt of the police enforcement variety the second he heard it. Smiling, he slowly and calmly turned on the bench. “Yeah, buddy?” he said, “What’s the problem?”

The guy was a young, ramrod-looking piece of shit, blonde hair buzzed down almost to the skin and his uniform ironed so perfectly that his ma must have done it for him. “Can I see some ID,” the cop said, in a way that made it clear that it wasn’t a question.

“What’s this all about?”

“We’ve had some reports of a man bothering students around here, matching your description. Can you explain to me what you’re doing in this area sir?”

“Bothering students?” Sal said thoughtfully, “well I
am
a student—but if I see your perpetrator I’ll be sure to let you know.” He reached into his pocket and produced his student ID, freshly cut that very morning, and held it out for inspection.

The cop stepped towards him, leaning forward to examine it. He looked from the ID to Sal and back again before returning the laminated card to its owner. “Ok,” he said, “sorry for the disturbance.”