Read Online Hot Poppies by Reggie Nadelson - Free Book Online Page A

brown boots instead of the usual tasseled loafers. Who was it said a man’s vanity is invested in his clothes? Tolstoy? Dostoyevsky? No, it couldn’t be, Dostoyevsky was always too hung up on Christ and sin to think about his shoes. I read all that stuff a long time ago. I forgot most of it.
    â€œWhat is it I want, Sonny?”
    â€œYour job back.” He got up and put some money on the table. “I love you, Art. But you’re a fake. You say to me, I hate the life, Sonny. I want a change. I call up this professor I know at Columbia, I say, Mrs H, I got this cop. He graduated college, he speaks languages. Smart. He should go to law school. But you didn’t send the applications in, did you? So don’t kid yourself, toots. You need the life, it’s the air you breathe. That’s why you’re up to your ass in this Chinatown thing when you could have walked away.”
    Sonny put on his sheepskin coat and his leather gloves.
    â€œArt, babe, if you are in it, watch your back,” Sonny said as he got ready to leave. “Keep me posted how you go, OK, and follow the money.”
    â€œWhere to, Sonny?”
    â€œIn the end? I figure, in the end, it’s Hong Kong.”
    Hong Kong. What’s he talking about? I thought. I waited while Sonny buttoned up. Hong Kong was a dot on the rim of China a zillion miles away, another planet from this frozen city and the miserable murder of a local girl. It was the snow making him nuts.
    â€œMikey? How many inches?”
    â€œSixty, Artie. More coming.”
    It was the snow. People were talking bullshit. Sonny was at the door and he said, “So did I tell you I got a part in the new Pacino movie? Lines also.”
    â€œGood for you, Sonny. I hope you win an Oscar.”
    Seeing Sonny leave, Justine jumped off the stool and pulled at my hand. She was twelve, very pretty and completely self-possessed, and she said, “Come outside,” and pulled me into the street. She knew I’d do anything for her.
    â€œPut on your jacket,” Mike yelled.
    â€œYou any good at math, Artie?”
    â€œI stink at math, you know that. What’s going on?”
    Opening her mouth, she collected snow on her pink tongue, stalling.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSo, OK, like I don’t want to make my pop nuts, you know, but I saw this thing on TV about a kid that was snatched from a bus stop.”
    The second day of the storm, the street was nearly empty. The few people who skidded by barely noticed us, a guy and a little girl, backs against the coffee-shop window, mouths open, eating snow.
    â€œArtie?”
    â€œWhere did it happen that the kid got snatched?”
    â€œBed Stuy,” she said.
    â€œSo, look, you don’t live in Bed Stuy, do you? There’s always stuff, you know that.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œAlso, you know I’m always there for you. You know anyone comes near you, they’re toast. Right? And I’m right there. Across the street. Look. Your own personal bodyguard.”
    â€œLike Whitney Houston.”
    â€œExactly. So, if you want, you could come over again soon. Watch some tapes with me and Lily. And I’ll make pizza again. Home made,” I said. “Come on, kiddo, it’s cold.”
    Inside, Justine curled up in the booth and, in the warm air, fell asleep. I drank some coffee and thought about Sonny’s visit. He was right. It wasn’t my turf. I could get cut up. I looked at Justine. I was a lot more scared than I let on.
    â€œSo what’s happening, Mikey?”
    Mike looked anxious. I moved to the counter where he was pouring ketchup out of gallon jars into squeeze bottles. He works like a dog, he runs a one-man neighborhood watch, taking packages for everyone on the block, looking out for the kids, he lets me use the place as an office when I want. Mike was Ricky Tae’s friend before I moved to the block. He’s a good guy, but his wife is always on his