Staten Island Noir (25 page)

"Right on, I'm bored stiff."

"Yeah, me too."

They sat for another hour or so, their shivers the only thing keeping them from drifting off to sleep. Suddenly, Totò snapped awake.

"Hey, Sunny, wake up, I see some headlights."

"Oh shit, you're right. It's one of the trucks. Start the fucking car. No, wait, don't start it. Wait until the truck goes by."

"Make up your mind, why don'cha?"

Totò turned the ignition key but kept the Camaro's lights off. The truck pulled out of the feeder road and onto Arthur Kill Road. Totò turned the lights on and drove off after the truck, which was headed toward the expressway.

"Don't get too close to them, okay, Totò?"

"Course not. Hey, check it out, they've got outta-state plates."

"Holy shit, you're right. So whatever they've been dumping, it ain't from around here."

"Jesus."

"Yeah, looks like we're not just the asshole of New York City. Looks like someone else is shitting on us too."

As Totò followed the truck up onto the narrow steel span of the Goethals Bridge, the industrial landscape of northeastern New Jersey rolled out before their eyes. A fairyland of glinting white lights sprang up in front of them as they sped toward the oil refineries and tank farms clustered along the shoreline of Elizabeth. Driving down the far side of the bridge, they could make out a forest of snaking pipes running for miles through the refineries, illuminated by twinkling lights strung along every inch of them, as if to demonstrate to the heavens how much energy they could pump out. Above it all hung many tongues of blue flame, burning off waste gases and belching fire and smoke into the atmosphere.

"Holy crap, looks like Christmas in hell," Sunny whispered.

"Amen, sister."

"I had no idea that we lived near all this shit."

"Me neither."

The truck barreled along the densely intertwined roads leading to the New Jersey Turnpike. Just before hitting the highway, it took a sharp right and drove down a small backstreet near the entrance to the sprawling port. The truck turned into a large lot surrounded by a high fence, to which were affixed neat white signs emblazoned with blue letters:
Refinement International
.

"Whadda we do now?" Totò asked as he pulled the car over down the block from the lot.

"I say we try to find out more about what they been dumping," Sunny replied.

"You crazy or what?"

"Well, you just wanna go home after we came all this way?"

"Okay, okay, but don't tell me I didn't warn ya."

They got out of the car and walked along the fence. It was impossible to see through the canvas that covered the wire mesh. There was a gate at the entrance through which the truck had driven; it was still open. There, on the other side of the lot, was the truck. Sunny and Totò looked around the yard but couldn't see anybody. After watching awhile, they decided that the driver must have gone into the office building, which stood on the opposite side of the yard.

After a quick whispered consultation, Sunny and Totò headed over to the truck. Totò went around to peek into the cab while Sunny looked into the back of it. They had just met up on the far side of the truck and were about to head back out of the lot when a loud voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Who the fuck are you and what're you doing here?"

Two men were moving fast toward them from the office building. The one who had spoken was big and burly, and was dressed in a suit.

"We ain't doing nothing, mister," Totò blurted out. "We was just looking for a place to be alone."

"
Just looking for a place to be alone
, huh? You planning on getting some action tonight, huh? Well, let's take a look at your girlfriend."

The two men were now standing right in front of them. The suit walked up to within a foot of Sunny while his partner, a short guy dressed in jeans and a nylon jacket, hung back.

"Oh man, she's pretty weird looking. What's with the spiky hair? You put your finger in an electric socket or something, sweetheart? And why're you dressed like a boy? Not very attractive, I must say, but I bet your pussy is still sweet. Say, my friend, I'm sure you wouldn't mind sharing some of that sweet poontang, now, would you? What you think, Joe, shall we sample this funky thing's merchandise?"

"Sure thing, boss," the short guy said, "even if she is kinda scrawny."

Totò lost it and made a run at the suit, who saw him coming and punched him hard in the stomach. Totò reeled backward, into the arms of the suit's partner, who grabbed him from behind, threw him onto the ground, and started delivering a series of thudding punches to his head.

"Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?" the suit said, as he advanced toward Sunny. "Oh yes, I was speaking admiringly of your pussy. I'm sure you don't want to disappoint my great expectations, do you now? So, let's get down to business, shall we?"

Sunny stood still, paralyzed by fear. But just as he reached her, she yelled "Stronzo!" with eardrum-popping volume and swung her steel-capped Dr. Marten–clad foot up into his kneecap. The suit screamed out in pain and toppled over. Sunny stepped back and delivered another carefully aimed kick to his stomach. The suit's high-pitch screeching turned into a deep groan.

Sunny wheeled around just in time to see Totò leap onto the back of the short guy, who had stopped punching him and was coming over to help his boss. Totò couldn't see much since his eyes were already swelling up from the punches, but he did momentarily distract the guy. Sunny cocked her leg back and delivered one more kick, this one straight to the man's groin. He howled and crumpled to the ground.

Sunny grabbed Totò by the hand and dragged him out of the yard and down the street. As they approached the Camaro, she grabbed the keys out of his pocket, pushed Totò into the passenger seat, climbed in, and gunned the car's engine. They took off back toward Staten Island in a screech of burning tires.

"Oh fuck, they sure kicked the shit outta me," Totò moaned as they flew back across the Goethals Bridge. "But I gotta hand it to you, you really saved my ass."

"Don't mention it. Those assholes really had it coming to 'em. They didn't even know what we was doing and they still wanted to fuck us up!"

"Fuck
you
up, more like it."

"Well, they won't be trying that stunt again anytime soon."

"Yeah, you were so cool! They really picked the wrong chick to fuck with. Watch out, muthafuckas: she's got DMs and she ain't afraid to use 'em. So cool! Oh shit, I'm bleeding all over my dad's car. He's gonna fuck me up even worse than those guys did."

"Don't sweat it, Totò. I'll explain to him. I have proof that we weren't just fuckin' around. Check this out!"

Sunny took a small plastic container out of her jacket.

"What the fuck's that? You gonna show him that you been eating yogurt for your diet or something?" Totò quipped, and groaned as his joke brought a painful smile to his face.

"No, dipshit, I scooped some of the liquid from the back of that truck into this yogurt container. This is all the evidence we need to bust those sons a bitches."

"Jesus! Nice move, Sunny, but get that shit away from me."

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Sunny was standing in the usual corner of the playground waiting for the morning assembly bell to ring. Today she was alone. She didn't feel like shooting the bull with the other kids. Debate about the merits of Patti Smith's collaboration with Springsteen on
Easter
or even about the death of Sid Vicious, so significant just a week ago, seemed pretty tame in comparison with what she'd been going through. Like a giant toxic whirlpool, Staten Island had sucked Sunny back in, but it left her even more alienated from everyone around her than before.

And Totò was still out of school. His dad had been pretty cool about the blood in his car when they explained what they'd found at the dump. Turned out he was actually pretty worried about Totò's cough, and angry at the authorities for not doing anything. Typical fucked-up way they treat people, he'd said. Then he started railing at the government for dropping Agent Orange on the Vietnamese and dumping heroin and other shit here in the States. Damn, he really is like the complete opposite of my dad, Sunny thought. But Enzo didn't have any good ideas about who to turn to. And Totò wouldn't be back in circulation for a week or so while the bruises on his face healed.

Sunny's fear that the suit from Jersey would track her down somehow was starting to fade, but she was still feeling really jumpy. She had all the evidence that she needed to bust Refinement International, or whoever was behind it, but she didn't have any way to figure out what was really in that yogurt container, which she'd been keeping at the back of the fridge, hoping none of her family would accidentally eat it. And even if she could figure out what that pungent black liquid was, who could she tell about it? Even if her dad wasn't involved in any way, Totò was probably right that the local authorities in the Department of Sanitation were on the take. Despite having come so far in such a short time, Sunny felt totally stuck.

The assembly bell rang and Sunny started toward the school auditorium for another day of mindless tedium. She hadn't gone more than a few steps, though, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and found a man in a dark suit and tie standing a few feet away from her. No, not the same suit, not the same guy, she thought. The man smiled at her.

"Hello, Annunziata. I'm a friend of your dad's. I and my associates would like you to talk to you about what you've been up to lately."

"Do I have any choice?"

"No, mi dispiace, cara, you don't."

Sunny walked slowly over toward the black car indicated by her dad's "friend."

The two got in and drove in silence for about fifteen minutes. Sunny tried to sit like a statue as her mind flipped backward and forward between white-hot rage and blind terror. Come what may, she wasn't going to let this asshole see what was going on inside her.

After the car pulled up outside a place called Joe and Pat's Pizzeria, the guy in the black suit took her into the joint and led her over to a table near the window, where another man, also wearing a suit, was sitting. He pulled out a chair for her and asked if she'd like something to eat or drink. Sunny declined and sat waiting to hear some sort of explanation. The driver strolled out of the store.

The man who'd been waiting for her in the pizzeria began: "Hello, Annunziata. My name's Rocco. I'm a friend of your dad's. You don't need to know anything more about me. But I want to know more about you. I hear you've been doing some investigations at the dump recently?"

"Did my dad tell you about this?" Sunny asked, her anger barely in check.

"No, but we have our ways of getting information about matters in the community."

"Okay," Sunny said, knowing that it wouldn't make much sense to lie about the basics, "I found out that a lot of people in my neighborhood were getting sick. I figured it might be related to Fresh Kills somehow, so I checked it out one night. What's it to you?"

"I'm askin' the questions for now, Annunziata. What did you find during your investigation?"

"I saw some trucks dumping stuff."

"That's all you know?"

"Yeah, that's all I know at the moment, Rocco. Why do you care?"

"Let's just say that it's a matter of territorial integrity, Annunziata."

"What?"

"My associates and I like to take care of the people who take care of us. We don't like anyone else comin' in an' messin' with La Cosa Nostra, with our people and our business, if you understand me. We got wind recently that someone has been dumpin' somethin' at Fresh Kills. Bad stuff. Really bad stuff. Cyanide, naphthalene, and all kinds of other very unhealthy chemicals. Now, we like to think of Fresh Kills as part of
our
garden, even if the rest of New York City believes it belongs to them. We admit, there's a lot of unpleasant material in that garden of ours. But there are limits. And we like to make sure those limits are properly observed, you get me?"

"Sure," Sunny replied, "I get you."

"So we want to know who's behind this dumpin'. We don't know yet, but we heard that you might know. Is that true, Annunziata?"

Sunny's heart leaped into her throat. How much did these guys really know? Were they wise to her trip to Elizabeth? She decided to gamble.

"Well, I saw that the trucks had outta-state license plates."

"And that's all you know?"

"Yeah, that's all I know."

"Okay, but just in case you learn anything else, let me leave you my number. Remember, Annunziata, we're only trying to protect you and the other good people of this island."

"Thanks, Rocco. I'll be in touch if I find out anything else."

"Va bene, Annunziata. Ma stai attenta, be careful. Garbage is a dangerous business."

"So I've heard."

Rocco got up and sauntered out of the pizzeria, leaving Sunny staring at the opposite wall. What the hell was she going to do? Had her dad ratted her out because of some kind of twisted desire to protect her? Should she confide in these genteel thugs? The idea of turning to them to save the neighborhood from the shit at Fresh Kills was ludicrous. After all, they were the ones who helped make sure the place stayed open all these years in the first place. But where else could she turn?

As her thoughts became increasingly agitated, her eyes slowly came to focus on a headline in a copy of the
New York Times
lying on a nearby table:
Love Canal Is Extra Tough on Children
. She walked over to the table, sat down, and began to read. The article told the story of a toxic waste dump in upstate New York. Local authorities had built a school on top of land sold to them by a chemical company, and now kids from the community were starting to get sick. Local women were having miscarriages and giving birth to kids with horrible defects. The article talked about a housewife, Lois Gibbs, who'd demanded that the government pay for people to be relocated from homes built near the dump. When she got no response, she started organizing the community. Gibbs, the article said, had held government officials hostage, feeding them milk and cookies for days and demanding that they release information about the waste buried in the community. She'd even formed an organization to push for what she called environmental justice. She was a real fighter.