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My body already is cold so I can’t say a chill has run up my spine. And since I don’t breathe, it wouldn’t make much sense to say that the air’s been knocked out of me.
I can only imagine the emotions on the other side of the doorway. “I knew it, but still, I can’t believe it.” The world he knew; all the laws of logic, reality and proper order have just been flipped over like a table on the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Across the doorway from Dominic is the brother-in-law that mysteriously disappeared more than two-and-a-half decades ago. “You—you look the same. It’s...” How do I respond? What could possibly come out of my mouth that would make any sense to him?
“Demonio!”
“DOMINIC, NO!” The large pewter crucifix knocks me back into my apartment, sending me crawling back towards the living room. “Put that away!”
“Stay down!”
There’s little chance of him listening as he follows with the crucifix in one hand and his NYPD service Glock in the other.
“Dominic, stop!”
“Cayate, Diablo!”
“Dominic, it’s me, Nicky!”
“Bullshit! You’re not Nicky. You’re the thing that killed him. That’s why you can’t even face the cross.”
“Dominic, stop! You’re family. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Embustero.”
Cowering into the fetal position, I hold up my hand defensively, facing away from the cross. I don’t know how much less of a threat I can be. “Dominic, I’m telling you the truth.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Please put the crucifix away.”
“The Nicky I knew loved God.”
“Oh bullshit, Dominic, you know I hated going to Church.” Mami might have instilled into me the fear of God, but Church still bored the shit out of me.
Dominic lowers his gun, but keeps the crucifix in sight. “You sure talk like he did.” I might have struck a chord of recognition.
“That’s because I am him, fuckhead.” I can’t turn to face him while he holds up that cross but I can still get up.
The only shadow on the floor is Dominic’s. It shows him raising the gun up again. “Slowly.” Poor bastard, this isn’t the easiest shit to try and wrap your mind around. Believe me, I know. Holding his pistol pointed at me, Dominic scouts the area. Considering the high-end apartment building I live in, my personal space can be called humble at best “You live here?”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d use the word live. How about we just say I reside here?”
Dominic marches angrily towards me, talking into my ear like the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket. “You think this funny? Do you know what your family’s been through?”
I’m trying to be patient but my prick brother-in-law is really pushing it. “Hey, you fat fuck, what about me? What about what I’ve been through?” I turn to face him but have to turn back. Again, that cross!
I can’t see him but I imagine he’s shaking his head. “Jesus Cristo, you sound just like him.”
“Dammit, Dominic, I am him! Now put that damn crucifix away. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Okay, turn around slowly. I want to look at you.”
“Did you put it away?”
“Yes, I put it away. Now turn around.” He did put it away but he’s still pointing his gun at me. “I’m holding on to this.”
“Dominic, you know that can’t hurt me.”
I shouldn’t have said that.
The crack of a gunshot can sound especially explosive inside a small apartment. I didn’t really get the full resonance of the shot from Roberto back in New York because, by the time the sound travelled to my ears, the bullet was already dancing around in my brain, which made his follow up shots barely audible as well. Not so with Dominic’s shot, which bored through my chest and knocked me on my ass.
“Dominic, what the fuck, man?”
He shakes his head at the bullet hole in my shirt as he watches me rise. “I guess I just had to see for myself.”
“Dammit, man! I have neighbors!” Not to mention that I’m tired of being target practice. His eyes are glazing; he looks like might throw up. “Dominic, go sit on the couch, man. You look sick.”
I reach out to help but he pulls away. “Don’t touch me.”
Dominic takes a seat on the couch and places his head between his knees.
I take a seat beside him. “How’d you find me?”
Dominic raises his head. “Are you kidding me? That whole scene in Queens, the brother of a cop wanted for assault and battery, this freak in the news fighting the local gangs, terrorizing the neighborhood, beheading the cop’s brother.”
“It was those smartphone videos, wasn’t it?”
“¡Que, ní smartphones, ní smartphones! Those videos were useless. I just followed the trail which led to a case of battery in Newark where a woman was left barely alive. It turns out she has another boyfriend. He’s a co-worker and his name is Jorge Sangría. In his employee folder at personnel I see this picture.” My Atlantic Indemnity picture from the eighties! Not being photographable, I hypnotized the woman at Human Resources into using that old picture for the hospital files. That explains the unfortunate haircut. “I’m a detective,” exhales Dominic. “I get paid to detect.” He tucks his gun in the shoulder holster inside his jacket.
No use beating around the bush, I’ll just come out with it. “Dominic, what’s going on with you and Teresa Gunder?”
He nods. “So what, you’ve been spying on me all this time?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it spying. You know, I miss all of you. And it’s hard to stay away. But obviously I can’t be there all of the time, so there’s plenty that I don’t know. So while we’re on the topic of things that I don’t know, tell me, Dominic, please. What’s wrong with Stefanie?”
His face sinks. His eyes moisten. “So that you don’t know?”
I’m afraid of the answer, but I have to insist. “Dominic, what is it?” Los Ruidos make an uninvited entrance. They huddle to eavesdrop in on the conversation.
Dominic closes his eyes. A tear squeezes out. “She’s... she’s got a tumor. It’s inoperable...”
No! No! Not Stefanie!
“... and it’s terminal.”
What?
I did help myself to a serving of plasma when I left the hospital the other night so I should be able to hold on. The last thing I need right now is to freak Dominic out with my death face. “How... how long does she have?”
Dominic’s tears are now falling liberally from his eyes. “The doctors told her she had about nine months.” “That was a year-and-a-half ago.