“I can’t go like this!” Joe said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.
“Let’s call your uncle,” Nate said with a honeyed voice. “We’ll be here a while anyway.”
“Well, if we have time, can we look for a store?” Joe asked.
“A store?”
“To get me new pants!”
“Joe,” Nate said, “there’s a blackout. Anyway, it’s the middle of the night. No stores are open.”
“We saw places,” Robbie said, speaking for the first time in a while. He had seemed despondent since they got there, pushing his grape soda around like it was a booby prize. His hair was long in front and hung over his eyes. “Stores with glass broken, where you could just take stuff. We’re not trying to cash in, just get a cheap pair of shorts.”
“That’s really dangerous,” Nate said. “I know it sounds easy, but—”
“My brother needs a pair of shorts,” Robbie said, his voice deeper. His chest swelled. “We can find some. There’s a whole city right out there. Someone will sell us some, if they’re watching their own store.”
“There’s a guy on Ninth,” Ricky said, raising his voice on the last word, as if noting an option. “He’s got athletic wear—shoes and stuff. He might be watching his place. Maybe if you offer him a buck or a two, he’ll give you some gym shorts.”
“Ninth and what?” Robbie asked.
“Forty-Four, right there. East side of the street. Carmelo’s.”
“Let’s go,” Robbie said, as if the next move was obvious.
“Wait,” Nate said. “We need to call your—”
“My what?” Robbie said, standing up. “My uncle Mike?” He put a whiny stress on the words. “We barely even know him!”
“Robbie, please,” Nate said. “I’m responsible for you.”
“No, you’re not! Who are you?! Some guy! Some fucking guy in the fucking dark! We don’t know you! We don’t have to be here!” With that, he swatted the bottle off the table, shattering it on the tile floor. “Joe, come on!” Joe sat paralyzed in his chair for a few seconds, then flashed an apologetic look toward Ricky.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Is there a mop or something?”
“I’ll get it,” Ricky said with a shrug. “S’okay.”
“Joe!” Robbie called from outside.
“Can you come with us?” Joe asked Nate, his lower lip trembling. He knew the request was impossible, stupid even. There was no way this guy would do anything for them after Robbie had acted like that. Nate was sitting with his hands between his knees in a sweat-stained white polo shirt. He stared down at the leather sandals on his feet. After a moment, he looked up and nodded.
“I’ll go with you,” he said. “I can’t control your brother, and you know what? He’s right; I shouldn’t be able to.”
“He’ll calm down. Maybe we just go to that one store around the corner. If there’s nothing there, we come back.” Joe moved his eyes to Ricky. “Robbie will say he’s sorry. I think he’s just . . . like . . .”
“He’s under a lotta pressure,” Ricky said. He stretched his arms forward, his thick fingers clasped, and cracked his knuckles. “It’s cool.”
“We’ve got to call your uncle,” Nate said. “I’d much rather do that when I have you both here for him to talk to.”
“I know, but I don’t want to lose Robbie, like if he wanders. Please. We’ll call as soon as we get back.”
“Gimme the number, and I’ll call him,” Ricky said. He hefted his bulk out of the chair and reached for an order pad on the counter. Nate wrote it out for him. He knows it by heart, Joe thought. He wondered how this city guy would know his uncle’s phone number in Staten Island.
“What will you tell him?” Nate asked.
“La verdad—you went around the corner, and you’ll be back in a minute. Go ahead.”
Nate frowned and said, “I can only go as far as that one corner. I want to help you both, Joe, but that’s as far as I can go. One way or the other, I have to let your uncle know what’s going on.”
“I know you want to help,” Joe said, his heart pounding. “So please come with us.”
CHAPTER 65
Monday, September 4, 2017
East Seventh Street
Manhattan
4:30 a.m.