5: Keep It Together
No matter what any other idiot tried to say, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't.
Harold had never meant to try to outsmart Big Gino. Why on earth would he do that? He couldn't! No, he had had the best of intentions when he had first gotten caught up in this whole thing. All he wanted was an easy way to earn a little pocket change - some extra cash, that was all. There was a new horror movie Patty had been wanting to see, something gory and filled with blood-sucking demons, which sounded awesome to him. And it wasn't that he liked her or anything like that - not as more than a friend - but her sixteenth birthday was going to be coming up soon and all, and none of the other jerks at school were going to do anything nice for her, were they? He just thought it'd be kinda fun to treat her to tickets. Maybe even dinner. They could watch the horror flick and suck down some cheeseburgers and milkshakes, and maybe he could even get some of those waiters at Bigal's Cafe to come out and sing happy birthday to her and bring them cake and stuff. It would sure beat hanging out by himself.
Problem was, he didn't have any money. There was the possibility of trying to get a job somewhere - but that was never gonna happen, especially not within a week. He'd remembered something Sid had said to him once, awhile back. Something about how to make a little quick cash when you needed it. Big Gino was the name that stuck in his mind.
The deal the underground mobster offered to Harold seemed pretty good: sell a portion of the weed in the lair to some new customers. Be creative, Gino had said. Try out some of the customas at the butcha. Sees if you can get some of them meat eatas to buy it. Try the playground at PS 118. Find us a new market, and you get ta pocket a cut of the money.
It was gonna be easy, Harold had thought that day, chuckling and rubbing his hands together as he made his way out of the garage. There were kids and teenagers all over the place just dying for some of this stuff, right? He had the plastic bags stashed carefully in his backpack. He went home that night, tossed the pile into the corner of his room, and took a long, relaxing shower after his dinner of steak and mashed potatoes.
There was just one thing he hadn't been counting on: his mother.
He heard the bloodcurdling scream even through the rushing water in the bathroom. "Harold Berman, what is the meaning of this!"
Stumbling out in a towel, unable to even see his reflection in the steam-covered mirrors, he went speeding back to his bedroom.
"Mommy! I can explain!"
But it was too late. She had the plastic bags in one outstretched hand, clenching them like a T-Rex clawing its prey. Tears were coursing down her face, smearing mascara tracks across her cheeks.
"He's an addict, Jerry!" she bawled, racing out of Harold's room. Harold followed her helplessly into the hallway; suds dripped from his skin and bled down into the floor. His mother collapsed against his father's chest, flinging her arms around his neck and sobbing harder still.
"Calm down, please," his father said faintly. "Marilyn, you're getting hysterical."
"My sweet baby! My little boy! Addicted to this... this... illicit substance!"
"I'm not addicted to anything, Mom!" Harold whined. "I wasn't gonna smoke it myself. I was just gonna sell it, that's all. Maybe to some kids on the playground or somethin like that."
His mother's sobs grew more wretched than ever before.
"Harold!" his father exclaimed in surprise. "Have some common sense!"
"I got lots of common sense!" Harold told them defensively. "I was trying to make some money, that's all! No one around here even gives me an allowance anymore!"
"So you were going to sell this to kids?"
"Not little kids!" Harold stumbled over his words. "Just... you know... fifth graders, maybe! Or sixth graders! They're old enough, but less careful with their money than other people!"
"You!" Marilyn Berman wept, lifting her head from her husband's chest and wagging the bags in her son's face. "You will never sell this to anyone, do you understand? This is mine now, and you are grounded for all eternity!"
"Aw, man!" Harold moaned. "All eternity?!"
"All eternity!"
He looked to his dad for help - but none came. He'd dug himself into a hole this time, alright.
As Harold made his way down the sidewalk on Monday evening, the sun flamed in orange and hot pink streaks over the horizon. He'd accepted that life as he knew it was over. He just prayed that the price he'd be forced to pay would leave him with all his limbs in tact.
Hold your head high, Harold told himself, rapping anxiously on the door to the garage. Be bold. Be brave. Be confident.
The beady eye of one of Gino's minions appeared in the peephole, and then the door swung open.
"Harold Berman," came the haunting voice as the two large teenage assistants clamped down on his wrists. "Step into my office."
"Like I have a choice," Harold found himself grumbling under his breath. "Madame Fortress Mommy."
"What was that, Berman?"
"Oh, I, uh - nothing, sir."
"Berman," Gino continued from behind his mahogany executive desk. "You failed, didn't you?"
Harold couldn't hold it in any longer. His legs buckled like gelatin molds underneath him; he would have fallen down if not for the teenagers at his side who wouldn't let go of him. He could feel tears burning in his eyes. "I didn't mean to, Gino, I swear I didn't mean to! C'mon, I'm a good guy! You hafta go easy on me!"
"Let me tell you somethin, you useless hunk of excess calories. You make me sick. You have size, but not strength. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a guy with size and no strength."
"I - I'm not - useless! Please, Gino, please, go easy on me!" Harold sobbed relentlessly.
"Quit ya blubberin and stand up like a man."
Still weeping, Harold tried to do as he was told. "I - I'll do anything! I'll repay you! I don't have the money yet, but I'm gonna do it soon! I swear!"
"I don't want ya money."
"You..." Harold blinked. "What do you mean, you don't want my money?"
"I said I don't want ya money, undastand?"
Harold could feel the weight in his chest beginning to lighten. Was it too good to be true? "Oh, thank you, sir, thank you, thank you!"
"Don't thank me," Gino thundered. "You're not repayin me in cash. You're gonna be doin a favuh for me. A big favuh."
Harold's heart imploded again. "A favor?" he repeated in a small voice. "What kind of favor?"
Gino snapped his fingers; his assistants dropped Harold's forearms. Gino snaked out from behind his post until he was close enough for Harold to smell the pepperoni pizza on his breath.
"I'm gonna tell you somethin, Harold Berman. I'm gonna tell you somethin as if you was a real man. And you're gonna do ya best to act like one. Undastand?"
Harold nodded vehemently. "Yeah, Big Gino, I understand, alright."
"There's a woman, Berman," Gino said, now pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back. "A woman I've fallen madly in love with."
"Wow, sounds great," Harold replied, still nodding forcefully up and down.
"See, I could compare her to a summa's day."
"Yeah. That's wonderful, sir."
"Rough winds do shake the darlin buds of May. And summa's lease hath all too short a date. But her eternal summa - it shall not fade, Berman."
"Gee, she sounds, uh - she sounds real pretty."
"Long as men can breathe, or eyes can see. Long lives this, and this gives life to thee."
Gino's minions broke into applause. Harold quickly followed suit.
"Shakespeare, my good fellas," Gino told them rapturously.
"So... what do you want me to do?" Harold blurted out.
"Ya see, Berman, it's very simple," Gino said, pausing with his eyes bearing into Harold's. "I want you to help me show the woman I'm gonna marry who I am."
"Who you are?" Harold said in a high voice. He felt slightly squeamish, like he might vomit up the six-foot subway sandwich he'd had for lunch. "But... everyone in Hillwood knows who you are!"
"They knows my reputation, Berman. They knows I can kill em at the drop of a hat. They knows where the power in this city lies, like they should. But they don't knows my heart."
"Well, sir, maybe that's true, sir, but-"
"I got lettas here," Gino interrupted him. He went back to his desk and fumbled through one of the drawers. When he lifted his hands again, he was holding envelope upon envelope, stack upon stack of papers. "I got lettas, and I got poems. And I want you to deliver em to the girl of my dreams. You got that?"
Harold found himself blinking again. "That's the job you want me to do?"
"That," Gino agreed definitively, closing the desk drawer with a snap, "Is the job I want you to do."
"But - that - I mean - what's the point? Why me? I mean, you gotta couple of muscle heads right here who could do that, easy!" He motioned helplessly towards the assistants, who looked just as lost as he did.
"Harold, Harold, Harold," Gino shook his head. "Your stupidity shines through again, my friend. Do you know what people would say if they saw one of these two tryin to slip secret notes to my honey pie?"
"Well, I..."
"They all knows my businessmen, and they'd knows my businessmen was doin it for me! And I can't have that, Berman. Kind of woman she is - her type don't want me around, undastand? They'd tell her to keep away. Watch out for me. They'd tell her 'Gino is dangerous, Gino is tryin to hurt yous.' And then what would happen? She'd neva even give me a chance."
Harold bit down hard on his lip. "Wow, I... I guess I never thought about that."
"It's hard work bein powerful. It ain't all roses. But now you knows," Gino told him importantly. "And now, it's your job to help me. Unless," he added, "You'd ratha pay with ya blood and flesh."
"I wouldn't!" Harold said hastily. "I mean, I like my job just how it is, Big Gino."
"I'm glad ta hear that, Harold Berman."
"But if... if your... woman... sees me giving her the notes, won't she...?"
"Be creative," Gino demanded. "Be smart. If she sees you, you tell hers, 'These here notes are from an anonymous benefactuh.' Whateva ya crazy brain thinks up, don't blow my cova."
"Just tell me her name," Harold promised, straightening his back a little to try to match up to the significance of the mission he'd been given.
"Her name," Gino sighed, shivering slightly, as though the thought alone made him quiver. "Is Lila Sawya."