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Manhattan
Fall 1949
It's been five years. I'm watchin' Utivich real close, makin' sure he don't do anything too stupid.
Which, of course, is stupid itself. I mean, I'm in his home, why should I have to watch him? Maybe it's 'cause I still have this need to protect the kid, he's the only survivor who was under my command. He's not even thirty, he's still just a tyke.
He's fidgetin' is what he's doin'. Uncomfortable with me here, probably. He's sittin' in a real big chair that makes him look even smaller than he already is. Or he's nervous his pa will find us here- I haven't met the mangy shit yet, an' I don't plan on it either. I take a gulp of my whiskey, waitin' for him to talk.
"Aldo, just take the damn thing. I don't deserve it, you and I both know that." he says insistently. He's twenty-nine, but damn, he looks older. He's got dark rings under his eyes an' there's a tremor in his hand.
I snort into my whiskey. "What are you talkin' about? Me? He didn't wan' me to have it in the first place, why take it after five years?" Utivich doesn't move. Seems almost like he's sinkin' into his chair. "Little fucker never cared." I continue. "He didn't care the way I did."
Utivich still hasn't said nothin'- it's safe to assume that Aldo the Apache has yet again won an argument.
"This is gonna sound real sappy," Utivich takes a deep breath, "but shit, he loved you. I could tell, even Stiglitz could tell. What happened that night-"
"Actions speak louder than words, kid, haven't ya heard that sayin' before?"
Utivich sighs and scratches his ear. "You think war makes us different, Aldo? If you saw Donny, I don't know, playing baseball with his friends somewhere in Boston, would you have even looked at him?"
It's a random question, and I sure don't like it. "Sure," I answer uneasily. "But I guarantee it wasn't- wouldn't be the same way around."
"Yes, it would have," Utivich argues. "What happened the night before Kino doesn't matter. No matter what you like to think, Aldo, Donny would still-"
"Ya fuck he would!" I laugh bitterly. "We hated each other, Utivich, before any a'you guys came along. We hated each other- no, he hated me after that night."
"Can't say I blame him," Utivich says darkly.
There's a halt in our conversation before he continues. "You're like my father. You'll accuse Donny of everything and anything you can think of, especially with him dead and unable to defend himself. You wouldn't care about his side of the story, whether he was dead or alive, because you're so damn set in your ways."
I'm like his father? Well, shit, that's a high offense. Even a rich-ass snob like Robert Utivich can treat his kid like shit and spit on his wife's grave. I'm no Bobby Utivich, and I'm not gonna let the kid call the shots in this argument.
"Donny left it in my care, yes," Donny continues, "But it was out of anger, and can you blame him? What would you have done, Aldo?"
I wish I had more whiskey. Damn it, Aldo, why did you recruit this kid? Utivich hands me a little picture of Donny. "His mom gave this to me when I visited Boston. I guess they were moving out and..well, just gave it to me. A thank-you for telling them and stuff, I guess."
It was taken right before Donny left- I can tell because his hair looks freshly cut and everything. I chuckle and wonder if he did it himself. His lips are straight and he looks stern with his back so rigid and all. But I can still see a grin lurkin' somewhere in that face of his. I linger over the picture for another second before looking back up at the kid.