Wild Card

Vinny didn’t like the look in Nucky’s face. Nucky had a reputation of being dependable; maybe getting old had sapped his resolve. Or maybe his nutty daughter had turned him soft in the head. Whatever the case, he wasn’t cooperating.

“Let’s go outside,” Vinny said. “I want to show you something.”

Nucky got Vinny’s coat from the closet and the two men went outside. As they approached the Cadillac parked in the driveway, Vinny pointed to the back seat. Nucky stuck his hands into his pockets and peered through the window. His old friend Dominic Valentine lay across the back, his face a bloody mess.

“Is that who I think it is?” Nucky asked.

“Sure is. I hear he once saved your life,” Vinny said.

Nucky pulled away from the window. “Guy came after me with a shovel. Dom threw himself in front of me. Why did you beat him up?”

“I was pumping him about his son. You know, does he like little girls, is he into drugs? Something I could use to get to him. The old guy got belligerent, so I kicked him around.”

“You shouldn’t a done that,” Nucky said.

“Says who?”

“Me.”

Vinny jabbed him in the chest. “Fuck you.”

Nucky punched Vinny in the stomach. Vinny took the blow with a smile on his face, then groaned and crumpled to the ground. As he fell, Nucky kneed him in the face.

“That’s for Dominic,” Nucky said.

Vinny lay motionless on the gravel driveway. His lieutenant climbed out of the front seat of the Cadillac, and came around the car.

“What’s your name?” Nucky asked.

The lieutenant stared at the tarnished brass knuckles on Nucky’s hand.

“BB,” the lieutenant said.

“As in BB gun?”

“Big Balls,” he said.

Nucky pointed at Vinny. “You need help with him?”

“I think I can manage,” BB said.

“I’ll take the old guy, if you don’t mind.”

“Be my guest.”

Nucky pulled Dominic out of the back, and they did a three-legged walk to the house. He hated to see Dominic all bashed up. His life had been tough enough.

“Where am I,” Dominic whispered.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Nucky said.

“That you, Nuck?”

“Yeah, Dom. You’re at my place. You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m always okay with you, Nuck.”

Reaching the front stoop, Nucky looked up, and saw Zelda standing at her bedroom window on the second floor. She was dressed like a teeny bopper, her long hair in pig tails. Normally, he tried to protect her from seeing things like this, but sometimes it wasn’t possible. Opening the bedroom window, she stuck her head out.

“Way to go, daddy-o!” she hollered.

Chapter 40

Bernard’s grandfather had chosen to die at home. He lay on a hospital bed in the apartment’s living room with a TV propped on a stand in front of him. The living room was tiny, and the bed and TV stand took up most of the floor space. A bag of morphine hung behind the bed, and dripped the precious fluid into his arm. He appeared comfortable, and his voice was sharp.

“How are you feeling?” Valentine asked.

“I’m managing,” Sampson said.

Valentine sat on a folding chair. Bernard’s mother had left within moments of his arrival, and seemed uncomfortable around him. Worse, she was dressed like a prostitute. “She working the street?” Valentine asked the old man.

“Is that what they call it these days?”

“Tell me she’s not bringing them back here.”

“Only when they can’t afford a motel room. How about some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Valentine went to the kitchen, and fixed a fresh pot. The pantry wall was scuffed where Sampson had kicked it before he’d become paralyzed. He called it his kicking wall. Valentine gave the wall a good kick himself. Then he poured two steaming mugs and took them back to the living room.

“She has the decency to put a towel against the door sill, if that helps soften the image,” Sampson said, sipping from the mug Valentine held to his lips.

“Is she on drugs?”

Sampson frowned. “I thought this was a social visit, Tony.”

“I didn’t stop being a policeman when I stepped through your front door. If I think Bernard’s health is in jeopardy — either by his mother or because of something his mother is doing — I’ll take him out of here.”

Sampson acted wounded by his comments. “But you care for the boy,” he said.

“Of course I care for him.”

“Then how can you suggest putting him in an orphanage, or some rotten foster care situation? His mother loves him. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Valentine realized his hand was trembling. Fearful of spilling the hot drink, he took the mug away, and placed it on the floor. Sitting on the folding chair, he put his hands on the metal arm of the bed, and looked Sampson square in the eye. “If your daughter keeps whoring and doing drugs, Bernard will end up a criminal, maybe worse.”

“What’s worse than being a criminal?”

“Plenty of things.”

“Name one.”

“A drug addict, or a sociopath.”

“And you’re saying people like that come from environments like this?”

“They sure do.”

Sampson looked out the window, his jaw tightening. “The boy needs love. Take his mother away from him, and he loses that.”

“Can’t she straighten up?”

“I doubt it.”