Behind him, a guy, dressed in yellow from head to toe, tried to intervene in defense of the idiot. “C'mon, leave him alone. Can't you see there's something wrong with him?”
The bully didn't appreciate Mr. Yellow's intrusion and decided to show him who was boss. “Who are you? Now get outta here, go back to the discotheque… canary!”
Some words have the destructive potential of a firebomb released in an atomic nuclear reactor, but the gratuitous insult that triggered the inevitable fight was, unexpectedly: “canary”.
“Excuse me? What did you call me? A canary?” He blew a loud whistle that would have been lost in the music if it weren't combined with long arms reaching out to his friends. Four guys, all dressed similarly to the “canary” moved in threateningly close to the weightlifter. They looked like some kind of gang.
From Ben's shoulders, Susan watched the group closing in and in a panic, started hitting and prodding him with her heels, spurring him on before catastrophe hit. “Oh my God! It's the Yellow Brothers! Hurry up, let's get out of here fast!”
Her frantic movements caused Ben to lose his already precarious balance, staggering until the inevitable and abrupt fall, generating a disastrous domino effect.
Susan yelled as she fell on top of the weightlifter, who, desperately trying to get a handhold, violently catapulted himself into the canary's chest, causing him to windmill blows onto the two guys standing on the sidelines while he fell backward, in turn, forcing them into a flailing kind of moonwalk, while landing more blows to the back of the heads of other spectators. In just a few seconds, a tsunami of total destruction broke out, like a saloon brawl from Hell's 7th circle.
Pushing and shoving their way through, Ben and Susan found themselves completely blocked in front of the stage. The musicians had stopped playing by then and just stood there looking around at the chaos of the nightclub, aware of the fact that the concert was ruined… or was possibly their best and most successful gig ever.
An announcement was made that the show was over and the emergency exits were now open, while security was doing their best to maintain a semblance of peace and order.
Miraculously, they surfed through the crush of people and, once outside, could hear police sirens, announcing the arrival of the authorities.
Shocked but safe, they started walking home, ruminating about the events of the evening.
“Why is it that our exits always have to end up in a bar fight?” asked Susan.
“As a matter of fact, it is pretty wild. It's almost as if you and I attract trouble. I'm sorry you didn't get to see the whole concert.”
She smiled at his kindness.
“I only wish I had told you what kind of concert we were going to see. I just assumed you would like them, too.”
He tried not to make her feel bad, telling her a little white lie. “No, don't worry about it. It was… fun. Too bad it ended the way it did. Actually, I was enjoying myself. The rhythm of the music was starting to get in my blood.” He added a little jig, but Susan wasn't falling for it and gave him a sideways look.
“Liar. I could tell from a mile away, that you couldn't wait to get out of there. But I appreciate your efforts. Let's do this: the next time we go to a movie or a concert, you get to choose.”
That meant that they had another chance to go out, which made Ben's face light up. “Fantastic! A new science fiction movie just came out…”
Susan threw up her hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No, no! Please, no science fiction.”
Back pedaling, Ben tried to change the description, “It's not exactly science fiction, it's more of a thriller-horror.” But she kept shaking her head, no.
“For heaven's sake, only a thriller or horror could be worse than science fiction!”
So he started listing kinds of movies at random, “Musical? Comedy?”
“No and no,” she said.
He finally decided to give up and throw in the towel. “Sorry, but what's left?”
“I'd love a romantic comedy.”
He agreed, even if the concept of “you get to choose” eluded him.
By the time they reached Susan's house, there was a moment of embarrassed glimpses. In Ben's mind, he had hoped to be invited up to her place, and decided to put her on the spot.
“Even though tonight was a little lively, it was fun. Gosh, it isn't even very late. I think when I get home, I'll read for awhile till I fall asleep.”
She appeared amused and intrigued. “What a great idea. What are you reading?”
Ben wasn't really very interested in books, so he had to think fast on his feet to sound intellectual. So he mentioned a book that he had already read about twenty years ago. “A really compelling story… Treasure Island.”
“Treasure Island? Isn't that a children's book?”
“Yes, of course. But I like to go back and reread it sometimes to revisit my adolescence,” said Ben, trying not to sound pathetic. He made a gesture sliding his right hand over his left like a plane taking off into the wild blue yonder, and left it at that. Susan didn't seem to grasp the concept of his gesture, but accepted his explanation.
“All right then, seeing as you already have plans for the evening, I won't invite you up for a drink.”
Ben almost fainted right there on the spot and had to force the lump in his throat not to explode into a hacking cough. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind something to drink. As long as it wouldn't be any trouble.”
He tried to regroup and pull himself together with a mix of prayer and curses merging in his brain, while Susan blessed him with brilliant smile.
Bursting with energy, he felt like a toy bouncing up the stairs to her apartment.
Just before he was about to walk into her house, he heard a very familiar voice calling his name from faraway. “Ben! Hey Ben!”
He turned around and saw Esposito's big, red face, even more heated than usual from running.
“Esposito? What happened?”
He leaned on the railing, wheezing and gasping for air while trying not to fall on the ground. Ben carefully helped him sit down on one of the steps, waiting for him to catch his breath enough to speak.
When he was finally able to talk, Esposito had some worrisome news. “Your uncle … is sick.”
“What happened? Which uncle?”
As strange as it seemed, the question was legitimate, given that he worked for Carmine D'Abbate, as well as Joe Santini.
Chapter 5
“Uncle Joe… a heart attack…” More or less what would have happened to Esposito if he had run another ten yards. Ben recalled all the times he had told him to eat better and smoke less, if not just give up the cigarettes entirely. And now he found himself distressed for his poor uncle.
“Where is he now? In the hospital?” asked Ben.
Gulping air, Esposito flapped his hands to reassure him. “He's out of danger. Luckily, Doctor Vick was a guest at dinner and gave him some medicine. But you know how your uncle is. He's lying on the bed and absolutely refuses to go to the hospital. Maybe you could convince him.”
“Stubborn old man!” Ben ran his hands through his hair, trying to figure a way out of the situation: with his uncle in bed, seriously ill on one hand and Susan more or less available on the other, he had no choice, given the severity of the situation. With a sorry look, he half-smiled at Susan, shrugged his shoulders and took his leave. “Susan, my Uncle Joe is like a father to me. I'm sorry…”
“Are