I lifted my head and cast another glance his way. Yeah, I was still hurt and a bit angry, but I had a growing feeling that something was just so wrong here. This wasn't Sonny. I mean, it was him of course, but at the same time, it wasn't. It was like someone else had taken over his mind and body. The man who grabbed me on the sidewalk earlier- screaming at me, slapping me, accusing me of doing something I'd never do, calling me a liar- that wasn't Sonny. Not the Sonny I knew, anyway.

The man who confronted my friends and I tonight? Well, okay, he seemed like Sonny, but a really pissed off version.

I thought about it some more. He was furious from the moment he started banging on the window. Why?

To me his anger seemed out of place and quite over the top. He could've just opened the door and asked me to come out and take a ride with him. And even after what just happened a short time before, I probably would have gone. And not just because I wanted out of the car anyway, either.

And that attack on Slick? What was he thinking?

Yeah, okay, Slick may be a moron jerkoff, but still, with the amount of force he used, he could've easily cracked Slick's head open and killed him, and for what? Slick presented no danger, and in his own moronic way was only trying to reason with him.

If Sonny had really been himself, would he have reacted as violently as he did? I wasn't so sure about that.

And now here he was, sitting next to me, saying hurtful things and doing his best to imitate a corpse. What's going on here? What's really on your mind, Sonny? I wondered to myself.

I tried to remember when I last saw him acting normal. It was earlier tonight, when I returned his car. It was me who'd been out of sorts then, thinking about the fight with Jane and her brother, wishing like hell that I could take back the things I'd said to them.

Sonny asked me why I was back so early. He tried to get me to talk to him, but I really didn't feel like discussing it. I knew tomorrow I'd feel differently. I'd tell him everything then, and hopefully he would come up with the right answer on how to fix it. He almost always did. But at that moment, I just wanted to go home and be alone.

He, Jimmy and Danny were on their way to the track, and he invited me to come along. I politely declined and walked away.

"C'mon guys, we'll take my car." I heard him say as I walked up the stoop and entered my building.

That was the last time I saw 'normal' Sonny. The next time I seen him wasn't even an hour later, when he grabbed me from the sidewalk and threw me against the wall.

Of course, I knew what had happened. He told me at some point between calling me a liar and threatening me. Right after I left them, the car didn't start. They opened the hood to check why, and found something attached to the engine.

Someone had placed a bomb there. Inside Sonny's car. It was meant to go off when he turned the key to start it.

For the first time tonight, I let that actually sink in.

A chill ran through my body.

Despite whatever Sonny may have thought, I was absolutely sure it hadn't been put there while I had his car. It was impossible. I never left his car even for a moment.

Now if things had gone according to plan tonight, Jane and I were supposed to go to the movies and the car would've been left unattended for a few hours. Then maybe…

But because her brother lied to her, we had that argument and didn't go, so the car never left my sight.

That meant the bomb really was in the car when I picked it up!

This hit me like a hard punch to the gut. Only God knows why it didn't go off, but another shiver ran through me as I realized how close I came to being blown to bits in a sudden explosion, right there in front of the bar. And I would never even have known what happened.

But we both know who that bomb was really meant for, don't we, Sonny? I thought to myself, my eyes still on him. And that's what has you in this state right now, isn't it?

I tried to put myself in his place. He doesn't know who's responsible, this is obvious- he even accused me. He's probably just trying to work backwards through the timeline. This would be the logical thing to do: where he had his car, for how long, who may have had access to it, etc..

I tried to figure out what I knew.

Sonny had arrived around noon and parked his car directly in front of the bar. As far as I noticed, his car remained there the entire time until I picked up the keys from him at about 5:30pm.

The car started right up for me without hesitation and certainly without blowing up. I took the car and returned a little less than an hour later, much earlier than he expected. When he tried to ask me what happened, why I was back - how had I seemed, from his point of view? Distant. Upset. I didn't want to speak to him. I didn't want to hang out with him. I just wanted to get away from him.

Wow. Now that I thought about it, I guess that really did look bad.

Maybe now I could see what made him accuse me. Logically, it made sense, and if I were him, I may have suspected me at first too, but only for a moment. His brain may have given him a logical possibility, but his heart should have known better. Mine would have.

So, did somebody plant it while the car was sitting in front of the bar?

It was highly unlikely. The car was easily accessible, sitting on a public street. The top was down, and anyone could have approached it at any time. But with all the guys coming and going at the bar, not to mention some just hanging around outside, Sonny had too many sets of eyes out there. If someone had even let their gaze linger on his car for a little too long, let alone actually touched it, they would have said something.

Okay, so it was probably already in the car before Sonny arrived. That means he got as lucky as I did.

From there, only Sonny knew where his car was and who may have had access to it. All I knew was that he never lent his car out to anyone. That's why I was so surprised when he offered it to me to pick Jane up for our movie date.

Yeah, did you forget that Sonny, when you accused me of planning this? That it was actually you who offered me the car. I didn't ask for it, or even hint about it.

He said he wanted me to make a good impression, and just the thought of that, along with feeling honored that he trusted me with something he trusted almost no one else with, had me accepting his offer without even a second thought.

The choices we make. Right?

What if I'd just turned down the offer? Just told him 'Thanks Sonny, I appreciate it, but me and Jane like walking together.'

Well, that wouldn't have had any effect on what happened with Jane. That was caused by the poor choice I made a few days before. But at least I wouldn't be on bad terms with Sonny right now, or my father either, for that matter.

My mind traveled back to that argument.

I returned Sonny's car, and after declining the offer to go to the track, I went straight home, still sulking about what happened with Jane. I wasn't mad at her, but I was angry with her brother for lying, telling her I was the one who beat him up when all I tried to do was help him.

But I think I was even more angry at myself. I can't believe what I said, what I called him. Why did I do that? Where did that even come from? I didn't feel that way at all.

I entered the apartment, went straight into my room and shut the door. On my way there, I saw my father sitting in the living room, but I just rushed by. I didn't want to speak with him any more than I wanted to speak with Sonny. In fact, I probably wanted to speak with my father even less, already knowing his opinions of people dating outside 'their own'.

But as soon as I plopped myself onto the bed, my door opened and there he was. Right away, I could tell by the look on his face that there was going to be an argument. But about what? He knew nothing about Jane, and he had no idea where I went tonight or why. So, what did I do to deserve this look he was giving me?

I didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"What were you doing driving Sonny's car?"

It was a question, but also very much an accusation. My heart skipped a beat. Did he know about Jane, after all?

"What are you talking about Dad?"

"What do you mean, 'what am I talking about'?" he shot back. "I just saw you driving Sonny's car. I don't want you driving his car around, I don't like that."

"Dad, listen" -

I was going to tell him I'd had a bad night and just wanted to be left alone. That we'd discuss everything in the morning (by then I may have a good cover story, as well), but I didn't get the chance. He cut me right off.

"No, you listen to me!" He walked over, pointing his finger at me, "I don't want you driving his car. I don't want you in his car. I don't want you anywhere near his car. You got that?"

The only thing I got was that I didn't need this. I had enough problems to occupy my thoughts without dealing with this nonsense. Why the sudden interest in whether or not I was in Sonny's car? He never mentioned it before. Over the years, he more than often told me to stay away from Sonny. To stay away from the bar. Now, suddenly, it was stay away from his car as well?

What was his problem?

To me, his irrational hatred towards Sonny made no sense. Well, no sense at the time, but the circumstances around Sonny's car had since changed. Turned out my father was right, and I really wished I'd just turned down Sonny's offer to take it. That I'd just stayed away from his car. I couldn't believe the coincidence. Son of a bitch, it's almost like he knew that there was a...

He knew.

It felt like I'd been jolted. I don't think anything detectable happened on the outside, but inside I jumped.

No.

What the hell was I thinking? My father may have hated Sonny, and would like nothing more than to see him disappear; but no. He knew nothing about cars, having never owned one himself, and knew even less about explosives. Besides, he was a good man. Despite how he felt about Sonny, he'd never wish to be responsible for his death. This I knew.

But a small voice of doubt raised an objection. He'd never be directly responsible for such, but what about indirectly?

A scene began to play in my imagination.

What if, one day, a couple of men got on his bus? What if, as he was driving down 187th they asked him if he knew Sonny?

He'd probably politely answer 'Yes', and then clam right up. Sonny wasn't one of his favorite topics for discussion. But then what if they showed him a C-note, and asked him to just point out Sonny's car? Would he do it?
In my mind I watched, horrified, as my father silently took the money and pocketed it while he pointed to the red Cadillac convertible with the top down, parked in front of the bar. The men smiled at each other before another 100-dollar bill appeared.

"And maybe you know what days and times it's usually parked here?"

My father pocketed this as well, and began speaking, barely above a whisper.

I winced and the scene suddenly stopped, as if it was a film that snapped in the projector, and I was back, sitting in the rear of Jimmy's car with Sonny.

No. That couldn't happen, I told myself. My father would never do that.

Are you sure? the voice of doubt asked. He could just tell himself he really didn't know why they were asking, and that he did nothing wrong by just answering a few simple questions. Besides, whatever was going on between those men and Sonny was none of his business anyway.

Shut up.

It was my heart that answered.

My dad isn't stupid at all. He would've known as soon as they asked about the car that those men were up to no good. He would've waved the money away and told them to take a seat or get off the bus.

I remembered how my father had a chance to get rid of Sonny almost nine years ago, and do it with a completely clean conscience. All he had to do was give me a single nod of approval, and I probably would have ratted Sonny out to the police for killing that man. But I didn't get his nod. In fact, everything he said and did indicated that he didn't want me to say anything at all.

But as I stood there that day, looking at Sonny in the lineup, the detective's hand resting protectively on my right shoulder and my father by my side holding my left hand- something happened.

He held my hand the entire time as the detective led me down the line, asking me about each man. But when we stopped in front of Sonny, and the detective asked "Was it him?" there was a communication between my dad and me that the detective never noticed. It was a type of communication that only a father and son with a close relationship, as we had, could understand.

I squeezed his hand, not only to let him know it was Sonny who did it, but also to ask what should I say? Yes or No? Then I glanced away from Sonny and up to my father to make sure he got the message. And he had.

He looked at Sonny, who returned his gaze. I had only the vaguest idea that they were communicating with each other on some level with their eyes. My father turned back to me and gave my hand a firm squeeze back. I looked up at him and I knew just then what he wanted me to say.

"No sir, it wasn't him."

Because my father is a good man. He may not have agreed with what Sonny did, but he didn't want it to go any further. And I know, deep down, as much as he hated Sonny, he wished him no harm and wouldn't even consider for a moment helping anyone who did.

I had no idea who was involved in planting the bomb or why, but my father had absolutely nothing to do with it. I know this because I know him. And I love and trust him.

The voice of doubt disappeared, knowing as I did that my heart, as usual, was right. I felt ashamed for thinking such a thing, even if it was only for a brief moment.

I looked over at Sonny, the only other man that I loved and trusted as much as my father.

Is that why I'm here? I wondered. Is that what you're thinking, Sonny? That it took you a little longer than me to check your heart for advice, but once you finally did, you knew I was telling the truth? And you feel bad about the way you treated me, but you just don't know how to say it?'

He was still staring ahead, lost in his own thoughts. That would have been nice, but I knew it wasn't true. I had asked him flat out if he trusted me. If he trusted anybody. He gave his answer.

No.

If his heart was telling him something, he still wasn't listening. Like me with my father. How many times did my father tell me the right thing, but I just wouldn't listen? Then I suddenly realized it happened again earlier tonight, didn't it?

It was during that argument that we had over Sonny's car. At some point, he said something about Sonny that caused me to angrily retort "Dad, you're wrong. You just don't know Sonny."

He came right back at me. "I don't have to know him! I know how he thinks and if you fuck up, he'll hurt you, just like anyone else!"

"You're wrong!" I repeated. "Sonny trusts me!"

Did I really say this? Yes, I did. A few hours ago, I actually believed it.

"No, you're wrong!" My father gripped my shoulder and gave me a quick shake, as if to wake me up. "Don't you understand? That man doesn't trust anybody. He can't. The sooner you know this, the better. How many times have I told you? People don't respect him, they fear him. There's a big difference!"

I didn't wake up, right then. I didn't hear his words. But I was awake now, and listening. I knew my father was right.

How could Sonny trust anybody? Especially now? Somebody out there seriously wanted him dead. And there was a good chance that one or more people close to him played a part in it. How do you figure out who? How do you even deal with something like that?

You take a step back, and look at the people around you, as if you're seeing them for the first time from the outside. No one is above suspicion. You watch them very carefully and scrutinize everything they say, everything they do. You tell your heart to shut up, because emotions, sentiment and trust are luxuries that you just can't afford, no matter how much money you have. The price is much too high.

I realized right then that I was no longer angry. Or hurt. I just felt sad. Not for me, but for Sonny.

I spoke to him, telling him how I honestly felt. "That's a horrible way to live."

He still wouldn't look my way, but he replied, his voice still low and soft, "For me, it's the only way."

I really don't know why I did what I did next. I'd certainly never done anything like this before with him. Maybe it was because I was just thinking about that day many years ago with the police and Sonny in the lineup. I can't really say.

But I reached out my hand to find his dangling from the edge of the fold-down armrest between us. I cupped my hand over the top of his, and as I gave it a gentle squeeze, I told him "I know."

This time there was no question communicated in this action. I simply wanted to assure him that I really did understand and that all was forgiven. And I believed that on some level, he needed to know this as well.

His fingers contracted, clasping my own for a brief second. I knew then, that he had received the message and appreciated it.

I pulled my hand back, glancing at the two men in the front seat. Jimmy and Danny hadn't seen or noticed this exchange, which was fine. As I said before, it was a type of communication that only those with a close relationship, as we had, could understand.

I leaned back into the plush seating and let him know the truth, "But not for me."

He finally turned to face me, giving me a familiar, small, tight lipped smile, and my heart jumped because right there, even if just for that moment, I saw the Sonny that I knew. My friend.

"That's fucking right." His hand formed his trademark three finger gesture as he pointed at me, "And don't you forget it."