gotta teach the boy about life.” Tio sipped his coffee. “Teach him a skill. Keep his ass in school as long as it takes.”
“You should talk to Junior.”
“Boy’s earning, Teacher Man,” Tio said. “Junior doesn’t need what Boo needs. His moms set him on the right path young. College doesn’t come into that picture, so Junior and a high school diploma don’t necessarily need to be on a first-name basis.” I must have had a look on my face, because Tio added, “I say something charming?”
I shook my head. “Just trying to figure you out, Tio.” I took the last bite of my toast as I chose my next words carefully. “You’re obviously a smart, articulate guy. You switch back and forth between English and Street, but you’ve been schooled.”
“I got my GED. So what?”
“And yet here you are…” I stopped, searching for the right word.
“A gang leader?” he filled in for me, with the serious tone of a bad newscaster.
“Yeah,” I said. “You don’t fit the type.”
Tio smiled again, took one more bite of his omelet, and pushed his plate away. It was a good half-minute before he spoke.
“I grew up ’round here. Coupla blocks away. My dad did the restaurant thing in Manhattan and my mom was part-time home health care. I was ten when they split. Legally separated . Just like the white folks do it in the burbs. No big deal. Lived with Mom during the week and Dad on the weekends, but ’cause he worked as a cook, I didn’t see him too much. Weekend was my time to be a street kid, hang out late, run around with the wannabe bangers, know what I mean?”
I nodded. “Until your mom figured it out.”
“Got that right. No more Saturdays bouncing ’round The Burg, no more Monday mornings always being late and dragging my tired ass to school. Got me back on track, she did. But not before I saw the need.” He pointed toward the front door of the pizza place. “Kids out there that shouldn’t be, y’know? Running nowhere fast, my moms would say. Soon’s I could, I dropped out, got my GED, and started making some real moves of my own to earn some green.”
“Restaurant gigs?” I guessed out loud.
“Dishwasher, busboy, line cook. You name it. Always worked the daytime shift. Made sure I kept my nights free, though, so I could fill the need I saw.” He sat back. “Ever read Dickens?”
I leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
“Charlie Dickens, Teacher Man. Great Expectations ? Oliver Twist ?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve read him.”
“Last book I checked out before droppin’ out. Thought it’d be cool to be like Fagin, y’know? Buncha kids following me around, doing my shit, learning from me.”
“Stealing and dealing?”
Tio spread his hands out. “I ain’t saying. But I tell my kids to get their asses home by ten and stay in school and respect the folks you got putting food on your table.”
“What does your mom think of all this … Dickens stuff?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes locked on mine. “She died four years ago. Got stuck by a needle shouldn’ta been where it was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Is what it is.”
I finished up the last of my coffee and piled fork, knife, and napkin on top of the plate. As if on cue, Boo came out and cleared the table. He didn’t ask if I wanted more coffee, and I took that as a cue it might be time to leave.
“So,” I said. “Dougie Lee?”
Tio stroked his mustache again. “Name don’t ring a bell.”
“Any idea why someone would want to point the cops in your direction?”
“A couple,” he said. “But that’s Family business.”
“And you don’t discuss Family business outside the Family.”
“Man’s nothing without some rules.”
“I understand,” I said, feeling like a bit player in The Godfather . I grabbed the newspaper and slid out of the booth. Tio didn’t move to get up, so I stuck out my hand. “Again, I appreciate the meet, Tio. I know you didn’t have to agree to this.”
“We all
“You should talk to Junior.”
“Boy’s earning, Teacher Man,” Tio said. “Junior doesn’t need what Boo needs. His moms set him on the right path young. College doesn’t come into that picture, so Junior and a high school diploma don’t necessarily need to be on a first-name basis.” I must have had a look on my face, because Tio added, “I say something charming?”
I shook my head. “Just trying to figure you out, Tio.” I took the last bite of my toast as I chose my next words carefully. “You’re obviously a smart, articulate guy. You switch back and forth between English and Street, but you’ve been schooled.”
“I got my GED. So what?”
“And yet here you are…” I stopped, searching for the right word.
“A gang leader?” he filled in for me, with the serious tone of a bad newscaster.
“Yeah,” I said. “You don’t fit the type.”
Tio smiled again, took one more bite of his omelet, and pushed his plate away. It was a good half-minute before he spoke.
“I grew up ’round here. Coupla blocks away. My dad did the restaurant thing in Manhattan and my mom was part-time home health care. I was ten when they split. Legally separated . Just like the white folks do it in the burbs. No big deal. Lived with Mom during the week and Dad on the weekends, but ’cause he worked as a cook, I didn’t see him too much. Weekend was my time to be a street kid, hang out late, run around with the wannabe bangers, know what I mean?”
I nodded. “Until your mom figured it out.”
“Got that right. No more Saturdays bouncing ’round The Burg, no more Monday mornings always being late and dragging my tired ass to school. Got me back on track, she did. But not before I saw the need.” He pointed toward the front door of the pizza place. “Kids out there that shouldn’t be, y’know? Running nowhere fast, my moms would say. Soon’s I could, I dropped out, got my GED, and started making some real moves of my own to earn some green.”
“Restaurant gigs?” I guessed out loud.
“Dishwasher, busboy, line cook. You name it. Always worked the daytime shift. Made sure I kept my nights free, though, so I could fill the need I saw.” He sat back. “Ever read Dickens?”
I leaned forward. “Excuse me?”
“Charlie Dickens, Teacher Man. Great Expectations ? Oliver Twist ?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve read him.”
“Last book I checked out before droppin’ out. Thought it’d be cool to be like Fagin, y’know? Buncha kids following me around, doing my shit, learning from me.”
“Stealing and dealing?”
Tio spread his hands out. “I ain’t saying. But I tell my kids to get their asses home by ten and stay in school and respect the folks you got putting food on your table.”
“What does your mom think of all this … Dickens stuff?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes locked on mine. “She died four years ago. Got stuck by a needle shouldn’ta been where it was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Is what it is.”
I finished up the last of my coffee and piled fork, knife, and napkin on top of the plate. As if on cue, Boo came out and cleared the table. He didn’t ask if I wanted more coffee, and I took that as a cue it might be time to leave.
“So,” I said. “Dougie Lee?”
Tio stroked his mustache again. “Name don’t ring a bell.”
“Any idea why someone would want to point the cops in your direction?”
“A couple,” he said. “But that’s Family business.”
“And you don’t discuss Family business outside the Family.”
“Man’s nothing without some rules.”
“I understand,” I said, feeling like a bit player in The Godfather . I grabbed the newspaper and slid out of the booth. Tio didn’t move to get up, so I stuck out my hand. “Again, I appreciate the meet, Tio. I know you didn’t have to agree to this.”
“We all
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