Blindsight

Tony gave Frankie a shove that sent the boy stumbling forward. The click of the lightswitch echoed in the cavernous warehouse as Angelo threw the switch activating the mercury vapor lights. At first the lights merely glowed, but as they walked out the pier dragging a reluctant Frankie, they became progressively brighter. Soon it was enough to illuminate the huge stacks of green bananas that filled the warehouse.

“Please!” Frankie moaned, but Angelo and Tony ignored him. They walked to the very end, unlocking a paneled door. Angelo found the lightswitch that activated a single bulb suspended by a bare wire. The room contained an old metal desk missing its drawers, a few chairs, and a large hole in the floor. Below the hole the water of the East River looked more like oil than water as it swirled around the pier’s piling, flowing with the tide.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Frankie wailed. “It was all Manso. I was forced to go along. I don’t know anything else.”

“Sure, Frankie,” Angelo said. Turning to Tony he added, “Tie him to one of the chairs.”

Tony put Doc Travino’s bag on the desk and unsnapped it open. From within he pulled out a length of clothesline. Then, with a depraved smile, he told Frankie to sit in one of the wooden side chairs. Frankie did as he was told. While Tony tied him up, Angelo lit himself a cigarette.

Tony gave the rope a couple of yanks to test his knots. Satisfied, he stood up and nodded to Angelo.

“Once more, Frankie,” Angelo said. “Who else was involved with the acid trick? Who besides you and Manso?”

“Nobody,” Frankie sobbed. “I’m telling the truth.”

Angelo derisively blew smoke in Frankie’s face. Glancing at Tony, he said, “Time for the truth serum.”

Tony pulled a small glass bottle and an eye dropper from Doc Travino’s bag. He handed both to Angelo. Angelo unscrewed the cap and gingerly sniffed the contents. When he got a whiff, he pulled his head back quickly. “Geez, powerful stuff.” He blinked a few times and wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Any chance you want to change your story?” Angelo asked calmly after walking over to Frankie.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Frankie persisted.

Angelo looked at Tony. “Hold his head back.”

Tony grabbed a handful of the boy’s hair just above the forehead and yanked Frankie’s head back.

“Tell me, Frankie,” Angelo said as he bent over the boy’s upturned face. “Have you ever heard the expression “an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth’?”

Only then did Frankie realize what was happening. But despite his attempts at clamping his eyes shut, Angelo managed to empty the eye dropper into Frankie’s lower right lid.

A slight spattering noise like water hitting a hot skillet preceded an ear-piercing shriek as the sulfuric acid ate into his delicate eye tissues. Angelo glanced at Tony and noticed that Tony’s smile had swelled to a grin. Angelo wondered what the world was coming to with this new generation. This kid Tony was having a ball. For Angelo, this was not entertainment, it was business. Nothing more, nothing less.

Angelo set the sulfuric acid bottle on the desk and took a couple more puffs on his cigarette. When Frankie’s screams had abated to choking sobs, Angelo leaned toward him and calmly asked if Frankie wanted to change his story.

“Talk to me!” Angelo commanded when it seemed that Frankie was ignoring him.

“I’m telling the truth,” Frankie managed.

“Chrissake!” Angelo muttered as he went back for the acid. Over his shoulder, he called to Tony, “Hold his head back again.”

“Wait!” Frankie croaked. “Don’t hurt me anymore. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Angelo put the acid back on the desk and returned to Frankie. He looked at the tears streaming out of the kid’s shut eyes, especially the one where he’d put the acid. “OK, Frankie,” Angelo began. “Who was involved?”

“You have to get me something for my eye,” Frankie whined. “It’s killing me.”

“We’ll take care of it as soon as you tell us what we want to know,” Angelo said. “Come on, Frankie. I’m losing my patience.”

“Bruno Marchese and Jimmy Lanso,” Frankie muttered.

Angelo looked at Tony.

Tony nodded. “I’ve heard of Bruno,” he said. “He’s a local kid.”

“Where can we find these guys if we want to talk to them?” Angelo asked.

“ Thirty-eight twenty-two Fifty-fifth Street, apartment one,” Frankie said. “Just off Northern Boulevard.”

Angelo took out a piece of paper and wrote the address down. “Whose idea was it?” he asked.

“It was Manso’s,” Frankie sobbed. “I was telling the truth about that. It was his idea that if we did it, we’d all become Lucia soldiers, part of the inner circle. But I didn’t want to do it. They made me go along.”

“Why couldn’t you have told us this in the car, Frankie?” Angelo asked. “You would have saved us a lot of trouble and yourself some grief.”

“I was afraid the others would kill me if they found out I’d talked,” Frankie said.