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raindrop-on-a-spiderweb · 5 years

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On The Street Where You Live, Part 1

My laptop finally arrived! It got lost in the mail. Once I get electricity I can finally work on Ragnatela again. So this--and its next part--might be the last bonus chapters for a while.

I always thought that if Patience and Salvatore were younger--and met of their own accord--it would be quite different. Hell, extend that to Leonardo too.

***

Patience Winslow took the same route home every day, trudging down the gray street with her books in her arms, passing a cracked fire hydrant, an abandoned warehouse, a park with rusted and creaking equipment. The stream ran with green scum and sludge alongside the road in a drain.

She had no idea why her parents had decided to move from Greenhaven to stinking Garland City. She hated everything about it. She hated the school and the rude, rowdy city girls. She hated her bored, apathetic teachers. She hated the way she knew nobody. In Greenhaven, everyone had known her and her parents by name.

And most of all, she hated her slum of a neighborhood. There were union meetings next door. A drunk with dogs that never stopped barking on the other side. There were gunshots in the night and people speaking different languages and gangs of youths that loitered the street.

One particular gang she hated with a passion. They were always standing outside of a butcher shop she passed, talking and smoking cigarettes. They always were dressed sloppily, with their shirts untucked. She suspected they were dagos, but she thought one sandy-headed boy might have been Polish or Irish.

The head boy, a black-haired youth, always yelled something dirty out to her. And always her. One day when she was crossing the street behind a group of other girls he had called out to her specifically, and the other girls had giggled and looked behind them at her.

Patience was approaching them now. Sure enough, there they were, one leaning against the wall, another holding a cigarette, and the head one spotted her.

She walked faster.

"--skirt! Come over and give me a kiss," he yelled, and she bowed her head, flushing in shame. An old woman was across the street, surveying them closely with her lips pursed in disapproval. She was so focused on where she was going that she didn't notice when she tripped over the curb. Her knee erupted in pain.

The quietness of the street, and the loudness of his voice, stressed her and humiliated her. She struggled up and began walking again, and the shouts rang in her ears, and she covered her face with her hands and began running, tears bursting from her eyes.

"Oh, look at that! You made her cry!"

"You're a son-of-a-bitch, Sal."

She heard rapid pounds of footsteps, and someone grabbed her shoulder. She turned around to face the dark-haired boy, trying desperately to hide her face.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry." His voice was regretful and a little embarrassed.

"Go to hell," she said, trying not to tear up, but he took the back of her head and cleaned her tears with his sleeve. Close-up, he was very handsome, with thick black hair in a widow's peak and sharp, angular features.

The rest of his gang were around her now. "C'mon, tell the girl you're sorry," said the heavy one.

"I..." he looked discontented. "I always looked at you walking back from school and-- hey, you all! Get lost!" He barked at his friends.

"I kinda like you," he said under his breath once they were gone. "And I guess--I didn't know that you'd. Uh, react this way--but I really do like you."

Patience studied him through her tears. His big dark eyes and stark eyebrows and thin lips and that gangly frame halfway to becoming a man. She still felt like crying but the thought of someone liking her flattered her. "Do you go to William Weston High school? I think you're a few grades ahead of me."

"Yes'm. My name's Salvatore Mallozzi." He offered her his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

His hand was warm as she shook hers.

***

After that, he began giving her little tokens every time she walked by, instead of harassing her. He had pennies and handkerchiefs and even an ice cream cone sometimes. And she knew she should hate him--she still did, a little--and stay away from him, because he was the sort of boy you should stay away from, but she was impressed and flattered and fascinated by the attention the older boy heaped on her.

Patience arrived home one day, and Mommy was yelling at Daddy. His assignment wasn't ending soon enough, and Mommy wanted to go back to Greenhaven. Patience hated it when her parents yelled like that. She didn't go home, but ran off, her schoolbag thumping against her side.

When she came to the corner, the boys were still there, and she approached shyly. Black-haired Sal was holding a cigarette, and he smiled and motioned. "Come on, join the crowd."

Patience took one inhale, coughed, and resolved to never do it again. She passed the cigarette to the sandy-haired boy. "I don't think I ever got your name," said Sal.

"Patience. Patty."

"This is Thurston and Luca and Tony and Jacko." He indicated each member in turn.

"Is this your... like, headquarters?"

"No. My dad owns this shop so he lets us hang around."

Standing by them, their casual conversation horrified and fascinated her. Robbing trucks. Making another rival member 'pay'. Her attraction couldn't compete with her disgust, and she eventually walked home.

But her home still wasn't empty.

A strange black car was parked in the driveway, and unfamiliar voices filtered from the living room.

She poked her head in. Daddy was sitting on the couch, face pale. Opposite him she saw a hulking beast of a man, shoulders broad, and beside him a slimmer figure with golden hair.

"Patience, honey. Go play outside," said Daddy, his voice having a note of urgency that made her hackles rise.

The hulking man turned to fix his eyes on her, and her body paralyzed with fear. They were dead as the eyes of an animal, like eyes painted on a wall, completely blank. They made her freeze in place like a deer in the headlights.

He said something in a deep voice to the golden-haired boy, and the boy stood up. "Go on, go," said Daddy.

Patience was happy enough to leave the room, and the cold-eyed man. The blond boy tagged along, smiling congenially.

"What is your name?" He asked her as she sat on the stoop. "Mine is Leonardo. My father knows your father well."

He spoke with a heavy Italian accent she could tell he was trying desperately to shed. "Patience," she said.

"Pazienza. What a lovely name. Patience is a virtue."

"Yeah. It's a family name. One of my great-aunts or something was named Patience."

"Are you from around here?"

"No, Massachusetts. What about you?"

"Sicily. Scafapani. It's a beautiful little village near the coast, tucked away in the mountains. But I was born in Rome, the capital of Italy."

"That's pretty cool." Patience didn't really want to talk with him, but she kept getting drawn back. He was a very handsome boy, with thick, curling golden hair and red lips. His eyes were so blue, and with such long lashes, that she desperately envied him.

She heard a crash from inside, and leaped up. He caught her shoulder and forced her down. "You have very pretty eyes," he said, staring at her intently. "Green as the sea."

Leonardo really was very handsome. And well-dressed, in a waistcoat and a tie. The family was obviously well-off. His hand was warm, and he stroked her leg through her tights. "Thank you," she said, wanting to move her leg but feeling frozen.

The door swung open, and the dark-haired man exited, his heavy boots clomping on the ground. He sharply spoke a word in a different language to his son.

Leonardo stood up. "I will meet you again, Pazienza."

He followed his father to the car, and Patience watched them leave before she entered the house again.

The sitting room was a wreck. The coffee table was overturned, and papers were everywhere. Her father was dabbing his bleeding nose with his handkerchief.

"Daddy! What happened?"

"Nothing, honey." He turned to her sharply. "Listen. If you're here alone, and someone knocks at the door, never answer it. Understood?"

She nodded blankly.

"Go tell your mom it's time to start dinner."

***

Patience studied her shopping list. Milk. Red beans. Flour. Beef. The deli had bene closed that day, so that was the one thing she couldn't find. Her mom was going to give her an earful--she wanted to make her famous meat pie for guests that were coming over, three of her dad's police coworkers.

As she walked home in the waning Saturday sun, she kept an eye out for when Salvatore and his gang loitered in front of that butcher shop, but they weren't there. They never were on weekends. An idea sparked in her mind. Hell, if she knew the guy, why didn't she just get her meat from his shop? For some reason her father and his friends never went there, preferring to go to the shop that was 2 miles away. It never made much sense to her. I mean, the paint was peeling and there were always shifty-looking people in and out of there, but that didn't mean they had bad meat.

Patience was a naturally inquisitive girl, so she stepped inside. It was warm and well-lit, with a large glass counter under which various sliced meats sat glistening. The menu was written in chalk on a blackboard nailed to the wall.

The benches and tables were all occupied by older, balding men in ratty-looking overcoats, who all looked over at her suspiciously.

A stocky man with a jowly face was shaving slices off a hamhock behind the counter. He looked up indifferently. "Hi," Patience said. "Can I, uh--"

At the sound of her voice, a familiar person stuck his head out of the door.

"Patience, is that you?" He said.

"Yeah! Hi, Sal."

He was dressed in a blood-smeared butcher's apron and his hair was in disarray. He self-consciously smoothed it back, but that did nothing but make his hair sticky with blood. "What are you doing here?"

Patience smiled inwardly. She'd surprised him at his workplace and he was all embarrassed. "Well, the deli on Fashion Square was closed, so I decided to stop here instead. Guess you don't get too many girls here, huh?"

He laughed nervously. "Well, I guess, I mean, not too much. You look, uh, great."

Patience was wearing a plaid skirt, white knee-high socks and a blouse. "Thanks. I wish I could say the same about you."

"So, what are you looking for?"

"One pound of corned beef." As he began her order, she rested her elbows on the counter amd stared at him. "Hey, Sal? Do you know anyone called Leonardo? Blond, with curly hair?"

His face turned puce, and he cut into the slab of beef with more force than neccessary. "That little fuck. His daddy pays for him to go to St. Joseph's, that private Catholic school that costs an arm and a leg to get in. Tries to pretend his whole family ain't from the ass-end of Sicily. But people love him 'cause he's a good talker and has a nice manner. I hate that smarmy little douchebag." He stopped cutting for a moment. "Why? Do you know him?"

"Yeah, I met him." Patience studied him carefully. "He's real cute, you know."

"The Borghese boy?" said one of the men at the tables. "I always thought he was a fag."

Salvatore looked mortally offended. "He probably fuckin' is. You stay away from him, Patty. He's a two-faced little snake and always has been. Don't let him take advantage of you." He finished weighing her beef and wrapped it up. "Here you go."

Patience took out the rest of the money her mother had given here, but he pressed his hand over hers, closing her fist with the money inside. "Don't bother. This one's on the house." He smiled at her, that billion-dollar smile that made her heart thump. "Save it, get yourself a treat. Maybe at that Dairy Queen on the corner of 5th and 9th. How about I meet you there after school on Monday?"

She smiled back. "Sure. Sounds good. See you then."

As she left, a man walking in held the door for her. He was tall and handsome with slicked-back hair and dark glasses. "Thank you, sir," said Patience.

"Anytime, sweetie." He let the door swing shut behind him. As soon as Sal spotted the man, he stood ramrod straight. "Boss Malone!"

"Heeey, Sal. Thought I'd drop by to see how our 'project' was doing. Got yourself a girl now, haven't you?" He ruffled Sal's hair and grabbed him in a half-hug with his arm around his neck. The younger boy guffawed bashfully.

"Son, do you know who that girl is?" Malone's voice became serious.

"Patience, right? She lives just around the corner."

"That's Patience Winslow, I've seen her around before. She's the daughter of Richard Winslow."

Realization dawned on Salvatore's face. "THAT Richard Winslow?"

"Yeah. Him. So be careful, okay? I know you're just kids fooling around. But don't let yourself get... carried away or nothin'."

"I won't, boss."

Malone nodded to the door that led to the back of the butcher shop. "So. Let's see how our 'project' is goin, yeah?"

In a back room, among slabs of frozen pork and sausage, was a man tied to a chair. His ears, nose, and eyes were cut out, crystallized trickles of blood frozen down his face and neck.

"Cocksucker still ain't tellin us anything, is he?"

"I've been working on him all day, Bats. Nothin." Salvatore crossed his arms, blood-stained cleaver in hand.

Malone took the cleaver from him, threw it up in the air and caught it by the handle. "Let this be a learning experience, Sal. Watch closely..."

***

The date had gone well, and Salvatore had been nice enough to walk her home after the fact. She had bid him goodbye on the street beyond where she lived so her mom and dad didn't have to see him. He wasn't the sort of boy her Daddy would have been enthused to see her bring home.

Her heart was in her throat as she walked up to her door. She was noticing all sorts of things about him now, the sharp widow's peak on his forehead, how big and black his eyes were, how tall he was, so tall he had to stoop down to kiss her.

Her mind was so focused on the kissing that she didn't notice they had company until she saw the figure sitting in the living room.

"Ciao, Pazienza." Leonardo put down his teacup delicately.

"Whatcha doin' here, Leonardo?"

"He wants to talk with your daddy. Richard should be getting back in half an hour." Marilyn was red in the face, and her skirt was untucked. Patience collapsed on the floral print sofa next to Leonardo and tool her shoes off. "Did you just make these, Mommy?"

"Leonardo brought them by. He's a very good cook."

She bit into one. Peanut butter. They were indeed surprisingly good. "Where'd you learn to cook like this? Do you have home ec at your school?"

Leonardo chuckled. "Not at St. Joseph's, though I'd love to take home ec. I do all the cooking for my father, always have."

"That's weird." The thought of doing all her cooking for her dad was bizarre.

"You should stay, Leo. Help us make dinner," said Mommy.

"Alas. I'm afraid I am expected home just after I talk with Mr. Winslow."

The door swung open, and she heard her father's footsteps. As soon as he entered the living room and saw Leonardo his face froze. "Both of you, get out."

Patience left, her quarrelling mother close behind. She was peeling potatoes on the table when Leonardo finally emerged, and he paused next to her on his way out the door. "You should come over to my house for dinner sometime," he said softly. "I'll show you how good my cooking is."

She smiled. "I might take you up on that sometime."

He put his hand on her shoulder and let it slide off slowly, fingers trailing over her skin, then left like a breeze through the front door.

"He's very nice, isn't he?" Sighed Marilyn, dunking the potatoes in a pot of hot water. "He doesn't look like a dago at all. In fact, he looks very white."

"Italians can look like anything, Mom. They were Romans and stuff, remember? I learned it in World History."

"I suppose so. I don't know what the Borgheses and Richard have against each other. I wish the boy would come and visit more often."

***

"Junior Prom is comin' up."

Patience stirred her sundae, watching the caramel and ice cream swirl together. "Is it? Are you going?"

"Well, I never went to prom before. Thought it was kinda gay, you know. But... uh, I was wondering if... maybe this year, you'd like to go with me."

She stopped stirring and looked up at him, stars in her eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah." He smiled. "And maybe, if everything works out... we can go next year, as well."

Patience tossed her arms around his narrow shoulders and kissed him passionately. His lips parted under hers, and she tasted cigarettes.

"I'd love to! Oh, Salvatore! Oh my gosh! I have to get a dress..."

***

Salvatore walked her home as he usually did, arm in arm, and since it was getting dark, they took a shortcut down an alley she didn't recognize.

They emerged onto a dimly lit street with weeds growing through the cracks of the sidewalk. Some of the houses were boarded up.

The street was empty but for a kid wearing a leather jacket leaning against the wall of a building. Smoke spiralled from the cigarette he held in his hand. When he saw the two of them, he threw his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. "What the fuck are you doing here, greaser?" He snarled. "This is Bulldogs territory."

Sal eyed him coldly. "Calm the fuck down, Sam. I'm just escorting my girlfriend home."

"Well, escort her home some other way. Your kind isn't allowed around here."

"I will go wherever the fuck I want, you mick asshole."

"What did you call me? You ain't so tough without your little gang, you guinea cocksucker. Come over here!"

Salvatore's arm was tense in hers. "I ain't gonna cause a scene in front of my girl, otherwise I woulda beaten your red head in until it looked like a fucking pile of meat. Back off."

"Maybe you should leave your girl here so I can take her home." Sam leered at her, and her hackles rose. "Leave me alone!"

Salvatore let go of her arm and threw a punch so rapid that the boy barely had time to blink before his fist crunched into his face.

Sam stumbled back, hands going up to cover his face. Blood burst through his fingers.

Salvatore caught him with a right hook, but he was ready with a left hook.

The thuds of muscle and bone were the only sound on that quiet street. Patient stood there, frozen, wanting to flee, wanting to scream, but able to do nothing but watch them. Salvatore twisted a an arm around his enemy and threw him to the ground.

His nose was bleeding and his eyes were as black as coal. And he grabbed the boy's arm and dragged him over to the curb, and threw his head on top of the concrete edge.

And Sal kicked him so hard that the crack echoed through the night. Patience was screaming by then, frightened and shrill, and when she couldn't take it anymore she ran back through the alleyway she came in.

Sal ran to catch up, grabbing her shoulder. "What the fuck are you doing? You won't get home if you take this route! Come on--"

Patience yanked her shoulder out of his grip. "What is wrong with you?" She screamed. "Is that boy going to be okay?"

"Who cares?" He looked confused. "He's just some Irish prick. He started it."

She turned and tried to walk away, but his grip on her arm was iron.

"Listen." He gripped her face between his hands. "If anyone hits on my girl, I'll make them suffer. Doesn't matter who they are. You're mine, Patience. And you better remember it."

The harsh tone of his voice made her heart thud, and she pulled out of his grip and headed into the darkness. She knew he was standing there, watching her even if he didn't follow, and his gaze haunted her the whole way back, through her mother's screams and curses and her father's admonishments.

#bonus chapter

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