Fresh Kills Read Online Free PDF

mouth shut and put my hand on Billy’s arm.
    â€œWe can get ice cream somewhere else.”
    â€œI feel so bad that I can’t find it, Artie.”
    â€œYou mean the ice cream place?”
    â€œAnything,” Billy said. “I can’t find things. I don’t remember. I can’t tell if they’re gone, or if it’s me.”
    â€œWhat things?”
    â€œPlaces. A place I got sneakers once. Like that. The knish stand.”
    The car was still there.
    â€œLet’s just go.” I got out my cell phone, which had started ringing.
    It was Sonny Lippert. He told me to meet him at Peter Luger’s, where he was eating dinner. I told him I couldn’t. He said he needed me.
    â€œI would have talked to you at Coney Island, but it wasn’t the time or place, man,” said Sonny.
    â€œI’ll call you later.”
    Billy pulled the sleeve of my jacket. “If you have to go, I’m OK, I’m not going to be an asshole about an ice cream cone. I want to go to my house anyway and check on my fish, and get my things. I’ll meet you after. I have the keys. I kept my set of keys. You trust me, right?”
    â€œI’ll go with you.”
    â€œCan’t you trust me? I’m fourteen, Artie. Please? Otherwise it’s just like being locked up.”
    â€œThen stop for a minute. Talk to me.”
    Billy stopped and leaned against the wall of a bank.
    â€œI just need to go home,” he said.
    We walked towards my car silently, me pretending to look in shop windows where all I really saw was Billy’s reflection. His head was down, eyes on the pavement. He had given up on the ice cream. When he looked up at me, his face was sad.
    After a while he said, “So can we really go fishing?”
    â€œYeah. You pick a place, we’ll go.”
    â€œLike I said, any place would be fine.”
    â€œYou’re really cool, you know that? I mean I’m so impressed the way you deal with stuff.”
    â€œYou are?” Billy flushed with embarrassment or because he was happy, or both. “I learned,” he said. “I think this is me, Artie, I think this is how I am, and something bad happened, like you read people get brain tumors and it makes them weird, I think something like that. Maybe I got a brain tumor, or that cerebral hemorrhage thing, and it went away, or there was this one nice doctor, he was really really good, and I think he cured me. You know? So I need to go to my house,” he said. “I need to see my fish.”
    â€œCome on,” I said when we got to my car. “Let’s go.”
    â€œDid you see that car that was following us?” said Billy. “Big ugly car, sort of purple? I saw you watching. I saw you and I figured it was following us for some reason.”
    â€œYeah, but I don’t think so. I don’t think it was anything.”
    â€œWhere are we going?”
    â€œYour house.”
    I drove the mile or so to Manhattan Beach where the Farones lived. It was dark now. Lights were on in the suburban houses, which were always freshly painted, lawns trim as wall-to-wall carpet, with plaster statues of nymphs and goddesses. The tidyblocks ran up to the beaches, which were private around here. In the rear-view mirrors I looked for the maroon car but it was gone. Just paranoia, I told myself. I was nervous for Billy. Wanted him safe.
    My old red Caddy made me easy to spot. I knew I should trade it in for something else, but I loved the car, and anyhow Maxine always said, “I didn’t marry you so I could drive around in a beige minivan. You’re my access to glamor, honey, keep the car, no matter how often it has to go into the shop.” I looked at my watch to check the date. July 5. Tuesday. Maxine would be home Sunday and I was glad. I missed her.
    In front of the Farone house, I pulled up. Billy pushed open the car door, jumped out, ran up the walk, and spun around twice and waved like