Murder Takes Time

Chapter 8: The Oath

Chapter 8: The OathCHAPTER 8

THE OATH

Wilmington—21 Years Ago

My eleventh birthday was the best of my life. Pops took off from work and invited Tony and Frankie to see the Phillies play. We smoked a whole pack of cigarettes before noon, knowing we’d be dry the rest of the day. An hour later we piled into the car with Pops. It was August-hot, but despite that, and the fact that our team didn’t win, we had a great time. Not only did we get to go to the ball game, but we celebrated my birthday dinner the next night at Tony’s house. Mamma Rosa made my favorite meal of meatballs and spaghetti. Nothing fancy, just the most delicious damn meatballs in the world and homemade pasta. When I thought I’d died from pleasure, Rosa brought out a plate of sfogliatelle—shell-shaped pastries stuffed with ricotta cheese. The sfogliatelle took this from the best meal to one made in heaven. I stuffed until my stomach hurt. It was a great way to kick off August.

I was no longer just Nicky; I was “Nicky the Rat.” The name Doggs gave me stuck, much to my dismay. Names were like that; they either stuck, or they didn’t. Frankie was hanging out more at Tony’s house, swearing he couldn’t stand to be in the same block with his father. He never told us about the beatings, but we saw the marks on his back when we went swimming. We spent most nights in Tony’s basement playing pool. The table was nice, but the basement floor wasn’t level, front and back sloping toward a drain in the middle. And the steps were always in the way, forcing the use of a short cue that made us feel like dwarfs.

Tony was kicking Frankie’s ass at nine-ball, winning all his cigarettes. While he did that, I played with a spider that lived in the rafter supports just above the old oil tank, a 250-gallon metal behemoth that sat in the corner, covered in soot and stinking like a factory. The other guys teased me about the spider, but they knew better than to kill it. She was mine.

By early March we’d saved enough money to make a deal with old-man Burczinski to rent his garage down off Broom Street. There was a line of row-houses with a hill behind them and a string of detached garages below. Must have been thirty garages, all covered by a flat roof. We sealed the deal with Burczinski then collected junk furniture to put in our hangout.

A few weeks later, a kid named Tommy McDermott joined our group. He was what we called “Black Irish.” He looked more Italian than Irish, but that’s where it stopped. Tommy thought beef stew was the best meal in the world. If it was, he was the luckiest guy in the world, because that’s what the McDermotts served five days a week. The other two days were pot luck, but no matter what, potatoes accompanied the meal.

The McDermotts had nine kids: six boys and three girls, and the half that weren’t rail-thin were just plain skinny. Tommy’s dad was a fireman, probably because he couldn’t make it as a cop. There was an old joke in the neighborhood that held more truth than not—Mick kids grew up to be either priests or cops, and dagos grew up to be priests or gangsters. With a few exceptions, they weren’t far off.

Tommy came into the group almost by accident. I was stealing cigarettes from Johnny’s store and, as I ran out, Johnny hot on my heels, I passed Tommy. I shot him a glare, as if to say, “Don’t you dare rat us out.”

It took me ten blocks to ditch old Johnny. Probably because he got winded going up the steep part of the hill on Maryland Avenue. That son-of-a-b***h could run for an old f**k. After that, I took a roundabout way back to the hangout, careful when I entered in case the cops had gotten wind.

Frankie let me in, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Where you been, Nicky?”

“Nobody came?”

“No, why?”

“That McDermott kid saw me get the cigs. Johnny chased me for half a mile. Maybe more.” I looked around, peeked outside. “Thought the mick might have ratted us.”

Frankie took a long drag. “If he didn’t give you up, maybe he’s all right.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. If we go another week without a cop coming for us, I’ll be impressed.”

A week went by, then another. Finally I admitted that McDermott didn’t rat us out. I waited for him one day after school. “Hey, mick. Come here.”

Tommy McDermott looked at me with hard blue eyes, deep-water blue, like the color of the ocean. “You thought I’d rat you out?”

“You know better.”

“f**k you, dago. I’m not scared of you. I just don’t rat.”

I looked him over, stared him up and down. He was poised to fight. “All right. I’ll buy that.” I held out my hand. “You can hang with us if you want. But we got rules.”

“If any of those rules involve fuckin’ my sister, stand in line. Everybody wants her, and she ain’t giving it out.”

I laughed, then laughed harder. “Okay, you’ll fit right in. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the other guys.”

We walked to the garages, trading stories. I lit a smoke, handed one to Tommy, who bummed a light from me, then we slowly made our way down St. Elizabeth’s Street, across Broom Street and around to the garage. By the time we got there, the cigs were gone. I called in as we approached. “Yo, Frankie, comin’ in.”

The door opened, and we ducked in. “This is Tommy McDermott. Tommy, this is Frankie Donovan. We’ll find him a nickname soon.”

Tony flicked a cigarette butt at us from his perch on a worn old sofa.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, “And the one with the s**t-eating grin is Tony “The Brain” Sannullo. Hate to say it, but he’s the smartest guy I’ve ever seen.”

Frankie passed cigs around. “Guess we need to give you a name, unless you’re okay with Mick.”

“Name’s gotta fit, right. I am a mick.”

I roared. “Told you you’d like this guy.”

Frankie crashed on the sofa and pulled out the latest Playboy, compliments of Tony’s older brother. We drooled over it, discussed which girl had the biggest t**s and the best ass, then smoked some more.

“I gotta go eat dinner,” Frankie said. “See you back here later.”

“What’s going on later?” Tommy asked. All eyes went to him.

“Before we tell you, you better know this. Once you’re in, you’re in. Any ratting after that, and you’re dead. No excuses.”

“What am I in for?”

“Cigarettes—a whole shitload of them.”

“I’m in.”

“Be back here at 8:00.”

By 8:05, nerves were getting the better of us. “He ain’t showing,” Tony said. “I told you we shouldn’t trust him.”

“You didn’t say s**t, Tony, so shut the f**k up.”

“Probably scared shitless.”

“Not everybody gets scared,” I said.

Tony spat. “Yeah, and not everybody’s a freak like you, Nicky. Some people do get scared.”

I patted him on the back. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, little brother.”

Tony swung at me just as Frankie came through the door, out of breath and sweating. “He’s coming up the hill.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, he’s alone.”

When Mick arrived, I got everybody in a huddle. “All right, listen. Before we do this, Mick needs to swear the oath.”

“What oath?”

“The rules we got,” Frankie said.

Tommy looked at each one of us. “Spit it out.”

“Friendship and honor,” I said. “That’s it. Two rules.”

“Who thought this s**t up?”

Frankie pushed him. “Tony did.”

Here we were, eleven years old and nothing was more important than our friendship. Not family, not girls, not even cigarettes. Back then, we’d have died for each other. Or so I thought.

“Tony will explain it all,” I said.

Tony crushed his butt on the floor and stared at Tommy. “Friendship means we look out for each other. Nobody ever rats or betrays anyone else.” Tony waited for Mick to nod. “Honor means nobody f***s with one of us and not the others. We stick up for each other. And it means we don’t run, unless we all run. So, if there’s a fight and we’re gonna get our asses kicked, either we all run, or none of us run.”

“Good by me,” Mick said. “How do we do this oath? We cut ourselves or something?”

“We’re not dumb micks,” I said. “We swear to it, that’s all.”

“Swear on our mothers’ eyes,” Frankie said.

“So you’re not dumb micks, just dumb dagos.” Mick’s laughter got us all going. But after that, we swore on our mothers’ eyes, and everyone took it seriously. Since I didn’t have a mother, I swore on Mamma Rosa’s eyes. That was as serious as any oath got.