Sugar Pop Moon Read Free Page B

And I’ve never stopped smiling my pink ass off whenever I cross paths with a cop.
    Tonight the Hy-Hat is as busy as ever and I’m in the back booth. The kids keep this table open for me because it doesn’t have a reading lamp. My eyes are grateful.
    I lean against the wooden backrest, which rises two feet above my shoulders. The table is littered with pretzel salt and I make a mental note to tell Old Man Santiago to be sure the kids wipe the place down after closing time. I suck some pop and wait for Santi to answer me.
    â€œWhat’s my move in Philly?” I ask him again. I don’t want to drag him into my mess, but a chess champ has got to be better than I’d be at planning this out. “I figure I’ll make a ruckus. If I can rile him up, maybe he’ll start looking for me.”
    Santi nods in agreement. “You don’t have many other options.”
    â€œI also don’t have time. Jimmy’s back on Wednesday.”
    â€œThat gives us six days,” Santi says.
    â€œIt gives me six days,” I say. I feel like Santi’s older brother; I’m not about to let him catch a beating in Philly. “You have to watch the Pour House.”
    â€œLet Diego run it,” he says. “You’ll need me down there. The minute somebody needles you, you’ll lose your sanity.”
    â€œI’ll be fine,” I say, even though he’s got a point. I fly off the handle at albino wisecracks, and it’s a safe bet I won’t make it out of there without somebody taking a potshot at me. “I’ll come home the second I settle up with Gazzara.”
    â€œThat might not be so easy,” Santi says. “I suppose there’s a shot you could negotiate some kind of mutual reciprocity. But if Gazzara’s half as mean as Jimmy, he’ll cut your nuts off.”
    â€œHe can’t be as bad as Jimmy. Nobody is.”
    â€œTrue,” Santi says.
    The way he looks at me reminds me of how he used to say he wanted to be like me when he grew up. I’ll always love the kid for that, probably because he’s the only one who ever said it.
    â€œYou’re going down there without any backup at all?” Santi asks.
    â€œI can handle Gazzara alone,” I say. And I almost believe it.
    But I hate to go without the kid. If I were to leave him here, I’d be dumping the only ally I’ve got left. Pearl is already gone. When I went to kiss her last week, she backed off and scrunched her face. “We’re friends, Jersey,” she said. “That’s it.”
    I didn’t know what to say, because she’d gotten awfully friendly the night Old Man Santiago left us alone to close the Hy-Hat. We spent an hour in the kitchen, necking. “You don’t taste albino,” she’d said, which, if I hadn’t been so deeply in love, would have really gotten my goat.
    When she pulled away from me, I felt like screaming and vomiting at the same time. I wanted to drive my fist through my own face and watch myself in the mirror as the blood poured out of my unpigmented skin. Ever since I was a kid in Hoboken, I’ve known that no woman would have me if she thought our kids might turn out like me. I’m not saying that’s what flashed through Pearl’s mind, but I’d have sure felt better if I’d been able to offer her a full set of genes.
    I shoved her out the door, but as I pushed I was hoping she’d cry out that she couldn’t live without me. She didn’t. I watched her walk down 122nd Street and almost begged her to take me with her, just so I wouldn’t have to be alone again.
    Santi is staring at me, hoping I’ll change my mind.
    â€œI’ve got nothing to lose, Santi,” I say. “But you do.”
    Again, we don’t say anything. We sip our sodas.
    Santi puts his glass on the table. “I’ll lay low,” he says. “And I’ll only stay until you find