It was around eight-thirty at night. Taylor was in his black Dodge Ram van, driving down a decent street in Brooklyn Heights. He wore a leather jacket (nearly identical to the one he'd gotten shot in by Teddy in Montana), his Star of David necklace and a couple rings with the same symbol etched into them.
He pulled up to the sidewalk, just in front of a nice brick apartment building with a white stoop, and parked.
He was home.
He shut the van off and got out, stepping up the stairs and passing through the door. He went through the hall and up to the second floor; his floor. Once standing before the door, he reached out, turned the knob (the door was unlocked) and pushed it open.
He stepped into the living room. In the middle of the room was a black, leather couch and coffee table with a 46" widescreen TV in front of it. To the right, just beside the door, was a matching leather chair and another table; a smaller one. On top of it was a black candle, a black ashtray with a cigar in it, and a telephone. A college diploma was framed and hung up on the wall behind the chair, and beside it was a black and white, signed photo of Thurman Munson.
To the left of the door was a bedroom; you could see a bed with tan sheets and pillows as you passed by. Then behind the TV to the right, was the bathroom. And behind the TV, to the left, was a hallway which lead to another bedroom, an exercise room, and the kitchen. The walls were beige with some fancy white molding, the floors were all wooden except for in the bathroom and kitchen, where there were tiles.
At that moment, the 46" flat screen television was on the sports channel, which could only mean one thing.
What an inning for the Yanks! could be heard on the TV as Taylor shut the door behind him. With the thud of the closing door, the TV was muted. A black-haired man stood up from the couch and turned around.
Matty Lamberti (formerly known as Matty Demaret). He smiled from ear to ear, revealing his bright white teeth. The corners of his gray-blue eyes creased as he looked at Taylor and walked over to him. He wore a black sweater and blue jeans with nothing on his feet.
"Taylorrr!" Matty said, holding his arms out. His excitement at seeing Taylor was obvious and it brought a smile to Taylor's face. Matty stepped close and playfully jabbed at the air with mock body punches, then wrapped his arms around Taylor in a hug. His friend was clearly in a good mood. Taylor hugged him back.
"Missed you," Matty said, his voice soft, and there was a feeling in Taylor's chest that was so unlike what he was used to that he almost became uncomfortable. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to hold on tighter or flee.
He awkwardly asked:
"Yeah?" before adding "How was your first day?"
They parted and Matty put a hand in his pocket, using the other expressively as he talked.
"You know, workin' at Modell's... it's not so bad. I mean, I never run outta things to talk to the customers about. And it's kinda nice, you know... People lookin' at me like I'm a regular guy. Either way, it's temporary, just like I told ya. A few years from now, those Sports' Agencies will have forgotten all about me. Right? I mean, who's gonna remember one interview? Even if one of 'em does remember, it's onto the next, till I find one who doesn't. I'm tellin' you, changing my last name, takin' Gianda's off the resume... it was the best thing I coulda done. I shoulda done it a long time ago," Matty said.
"Now you can put that shit behind you for good," Taylor responded.
"Yeah," Matty said. "So, you hungry?"
"Fuckin' starvin'," Taylor answered.
Matty laughed, bowing his head.
"Alright, then. Let's get ready and get the fuck outta here."
A black 1999 Mercedes-Benz SL600 (the car Matty bought to replace the Cadillac) pulled up to the curb, just in front of "Queen", an Italian restaurant on Court Street in Brooklyn. On the radio was the song "Barrel of a Gun" by Depeche Mode. Taylor didn't care much for it, but he didn't hate it either.
Whatever I've done, I've been starin' down the barrel of a gun, were the lyrics that could be heard before Matty shut the car off. He got out of the drivers' side while Taylor got out of the passengers'. Matty wore a black trench coat, black slacks, and a burgundy-colored button-down while Taylor wore a black coat, a royal blue button-down, and black jeans. Taylor waited beside the car for Matty as the slender man walked past the front of the car and over to the sidewalk. Once side by side, the two walked together towards the restaurant's entrance. Taylor held the door open for Matty, who patted his back as a 'thanks' on the way in.
Queen was a very comfortable yet fancy restaurant. Piano music filled the room as well as soft chatter. The room glowed warmly from the dim lighting. Matty and Taylor sat at one of the circular tables in the far corner of the main room. Matty ate minestrone while Taylor had lasagna. Both had a glass of Chianti set beside their plates.
Matty was talking in between eating. Taylor often didn't say much as he ate but fortunately for him, Matty spoke enough that he didn't have to respond right away.
"Me and Pauly, my boss, we got to talkin' about Thurman Munson. The guy knows nearly as much as I do. I told him about my signed picture, ya know, the one in the living room? I don't think he believed me!" Matty said, hands out by his sides and a smile on his face. "If I'd a told him that I was a Demaret, he wouldna bat an eye."
Matty took the glass of wine in his hand and looked down at it, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief.
"It's different, I'll tell ya that much," Matty said, taking a sip. Taylor swallowed and took his glass in his hand.
"Different, but better," he replied, watching as Matty leaned back in his seat. "You made the right choice, Matty. Movin' on," he added.
Matty blinked rapidly and nodded, clenching his jaw.
"Yeah. Yeah, you too," he said, softly. It was quiet for a moment and Taylor had the feeling that Matty was remembering that day; the morning he'd told his father, Benny Chains, that he wanted nothing to do with the mob. When both had decided to start over.
The two sipped their wine simultaneously before Matty continued.
"So what about you? How was work?" he asked, looking Taylor up and down with curiosity. Matty knew Taylor worked at 7-Eleven and had been less than pleased when he found out Taylor was being mistreated. He had told Taylor not to worry about it, to quit; that he'd take care of him, but Taylor refused. While Taylor appreciated Matty's generosity, the idea of his friend taking care of him was also far from appealing, and Matty understood that.
Taylor frowned and put his glass down, taking his fork back into his hand. He looked down at his plate just so he wouldn't have to meet Matty's gaze.
"Gotta find somethin' else," Taylor said; saying but not saying that he'd lost it. "But I'm not expectin' much."
"Hey, whatever happens, I've got you," Matty reminded.
"Shit, you know," he continued, and there was a look on his face that said he'd just had an idea. "They're lookin' for a cashier at Modell's. Mornings. I could put in a good word for you if you're havin' a tough time finding somethin'."
Taylor imagined working at Modell's; he thought of some big-mouthed customer coming in, acting like he owned the place. He thought of this guy trash-talking him, or worse, trash-talking Matty. He pictured pummeling this nameless man to the floor, leaving his face a bloody mess.
It wasn't too far off from what had happened at the 7-Eleven earlier that day. He just couldn't stand for it. He couldn't stand people in general, aside from a select few. Fewer now that Marbles and Scarpa had been killed, and even they had gotten on Taylor's nerves more often than not. The only person he could really, truly tolerate, and enjoyed being around, was Matty (and his mother, occasionally, but she was a nagger and stressed Taylor out with her constant questioning).
Being around people all day, working in customer care, was just about the last thing Taylor wanted to do. Not just that, but he was sure that someone would set him off, and that once they did, once he lashed out at whoever it was, not only would he lose the job, but so would Matty. He didn't want to take Matty down with him. Matty had a good thing going now and he didn't want to ruin that.
That was if this Pauly guy would even be willing to let him in in the first place, which was unlikely.
"I know, I know what you're thinkin', but hear me out," Matty said, pulling Taylor out of his thoughts. "I could get you in, Taylor. Pauly likes me, it'd be no problem. You wouldn't have to worry about gettin' fucked over, either. Not to mention it's the easiest job in the world."
Taylor shrugged. He wanted to tell him, 'it's not gonna work', but couldn't bring himself to disappoint his friend. He was quiet as he thought of the words to say.
"Just sayin'," Matty said before he was able. "It's worth a shot. Think about it."
Taylor pressed his lips together and let go of his fork. He was done eating, anyway. He picked up his Chianti instead.
"I'll think about it," Taylor said, taking a sip.
