Squid and Tony

Headed for Dorchester, and not far from the Walpole prison, its roof siren screaming in the background, Michael “Squid” D’Agostino was breathing hard and shimmying out of his pumpkin orange jumpsuit in the backseat of Tony “Paddywhack” Zanetti’s Lincoln Continental, when Tony, now negotiating a turn, the power steering squealing, said, “Hard to believe this is good-bye, Mikey. I’m really gonna miss ya.”

Squid laughed to himself—Tony was the only one left who called him by his real name, that’s how far back they went. And that’s sayin something, ‘cause he’d been Squid for nearly forever. Fall River Fats had hung it on him the day before his nineteenth birthday in the card room in the back of Apollo Billiards in Revere, right after Joey Stink Eye, who was always tryin to sound smart, had mentioned that the Giant Squid was one of nature’s most elusive animals. Elusive animal, Fats had roared, mucking on the flop, that describes Mikey to a T. But how exactly Tony had been stuck with Paddywhack, Squid wasn’t as sure. He just knew it’d come from that song about the old man rolling home and giving the dog a bone, ‘cause Tony was always collecting stuff, only cheap stuff—knick knacks—and that song had 'knick knack, paddywhack' in it. Man, he laughed to himself again, Tony had collected more freakin snow globes than had everyone else in Massachusetts put together, maybe all of New England. And don’t get him started on his shot glass collection. He’d built a shrine to the thing next to the bar in his basement, took up an entire wall.

“I’m sure as hell gonna miss you, too,” Squid said, kicking the jumpsuit off of his leg and pulling a dress shirt out from under his wallet and off the top of the pile of clothes that Tony had brought for him, and then putting his arms through the shirt's sleeves.

Tony turned his head a few inches. “After all we been through, I mean, Mikey.”

Buttoning his shirt, Squid replied, “Right, after all we been through, Tony—we been through a lot, you and me.” Like the time in what musta been about the fourth grade when they’d broken into Sammy Delmonico’s ice cream truck. They both musta had a hundred bucks worth of fudgsicles and rainbow pops in their arms when they’d heard Sammy shut the door and fire the thing up. Forty minutes and seven miles later, near the arboretum in Jamaica Plain, you shoulda seen the look on Sammy’s face when he opened the back of the truck and the two of them came rushing out.

Shirt buttoned, Squid jerked his head over his shoulder and looked out the back window—no cops behind them. Turning back, he began wiggling into a pair of pants, and said, “I appreciate you coming to get me, Tony. Really means a lot to me—especially after what I done to your cousin.”

Tony’s eyes were in the rearview mirror and entirely relaxed when he replied, “Don’t mention it, Mikey—all water under the bridge now, had it coming to him. What do the teenyboppers say? BFF, right? Best friends forever.”

Yes, water under the bridge—you got that right, Tony. And even if it wasn’t, it was gonna be.

Just then, Tony let out a big lion yawn.

“What?” Squid asked, securing his pants. “Didn’t you sleep good last night?”

“I slept okay, I guess,” Tony said. “It’s just that Eddie had me to pay a visit to Jimmy the Jeweler down in Brooklyn yesterday, so I stayed the night in the City. Let’s just say that by the time me and Jimmy drained the last of the Johnny Walker Blue, it was later than I thought.” He laughed. “Had to get up at the crack of ass this morning to pick yours up. You know? It’s a kill two birds kinda trip for me.”

Latching his belt, Squid returned Tony's laugh with one of his own, and said, “Yeah, Eddie said you’d be coming from Jimmy’s, that he had a bag of treats for ya.” Then, Squid asked, “Hey, do me a favor before you take me to Eddie’s, will ya?”

“Anything for you, pal. Whacha need?”

“Stop at the packie up here, the one at the end of Vine,” Squid said, poking his index finger toward the windshield, “and pick us up a coupla forties. You know, for old time’s sake?"

Tony was quick to reply. “Aw, I don’t know, Mikey. I got strict orders from Eddie to bring you right to his place. You know how mad he gets. I get you there even a minute late and he’ll fix my keister for Easter. Do to me like he did to Hambone that one time, I’m sure.”

Squid moved closer to Tony and rested his arm atop the front passenger’s seat. “Tony, listen to me,” he said, slowly, now noticing the butt of Tony’s Glock 9 mm sticking out from inside his sport coat. “We both know I’m going away for a long time—forever in fact. We’ve known each other what? Forty-five years, thirty of them working together for Eddie? Known you since the first day of first grade, you threw up that awful smellin cheese ‘cause you were crappin your drawers ‘cause Miss Brennan the butterball made you stand up in front of the class and say a few words about yourself.”

“I remember that,” Tony said, laughing. “Like it was yesterday. That damn ricotta in the red and white container my mother was always makin me eat.”

Squid let out a good chuckle, too. “So whaddya say, Ton—for old time sake? Mean a lot to me.”

Tony hesitated, before saying, "Sure thing, why not."

Not long after, he swung the Continental into the packie’s lot—Chandler’s Package Store, a rusty sign on the front said—put the thing in park, and turned to Squid. “What kind you want, Mikey?”

“It don’t matter, surprise me,” Squid said. “Budweiser if you can’t decide.”

Tony smiled. “You got it. I’ll get you the coldest one they got.”

While Tony was on his way back to the car, he raised a small brown paper bag next to his head and flashed his teeth at Squid through the windshield, and then, as Tony was climbing back into the driver’s seat, Squid said, “The covered bridge is just up ahead. Remember when we were kids and we used to jump off of that thing? Coupla daredevils, nothing to lose?”

Tony laughed, closing the car’s door and setting the bag on the seat next to him. “I sure do. Kissed Wanda Miller up there—she was my first.”

“That’s right!” Squid replied. “And then she slapped you across the face and pushed you off—I think ‘cause she found out you’d been making time with Darci Dekker.” He started howling. “You shoulda seen your expression!”

“She sure did—she got me good,” Tony said, shaking his head and snorting, and then turning the key. “It was worth it, though. Darci Dekker—” He whistled. “Man, she was something, wasn’t she?”

“Sure was,” Squid said. “Wonder what happened to ol’ Darci—”

Tony pulled out of the lot and onto the road. “She married Larry Newcomb right outta high school. He owned a brick and mortar store, selling computers—sold it for a mint right before the internet boom, I heard. Got out just in time. Think they had a coupla kids, one of them not right in the head. The other was a real good athlete. Made it to A ball—with the Phillies organization, I think—but no further.”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Squid said, sighing. “Figures a guy like that would end up with a girl like her.”

Tony just nodding again, Squid then said, “Hey Tony, I was thinkin—why don’t we take our forties to the riverside, under the bridge, and enjoy em there?”

“Again Mikey, I don’t know—”

“We won’t stay long, and besides, that way we won’t risk getting stopped by the police, open container,” Squid said. “You know Eddie as well as I do. His fat ass is probably sound asleep in his pool anyway, all burnt to a crisp.”

“Man, Mikey, I don’t—”

“Do it for me, Tony—forever’s a long time, you know?”

Tony looked like he was thinking. Then, nodding, he said, “We have to make it quick.”

Approaching the bridge, Tony pulled to the side of the road—next to an embankment leading to the river—and shut the engine off, and then Squid picked his prison jumpsuit up from the floor and said, “Why don’t you pop the trunk—I wanna hide this here monkey uniform in case a cop or some do-gooder out walking his Pomeranian strolls by the car.”

Tony reached down and pulled the latch to the trunk. “That’s a good idea, Mikey. Don’t wancha going back to the hoosegow. You were in there long enough as it is.”

When they were outside the car, Tony clutching the brown bag, Squid said, “Why don’t you go ahead and take the beers to the riverside? I’ll be right down.” He gave the jumpsuit a jiggle. “Just wanna set this in the back and take a second to enjoy the view from up here—one last time by myself, you know?”

After some hesitation, Tony said, “Yeah sure, but come right down, Mikey, okay? I hate to keep Eddie waiting,” and then he turned and started down the embankment.

Squid waited until he could no longer see the top of Tony’s head, and then threw the jumpsuit into the trunk and shuffled around several items—a lawn chair, a blanket, some jumper cables, among other things—until he found what he was looking for: a small shaving kit. The kind you’d take on an overnight trip, maybe two nights, but not a long one, like to say Hawaii or someplace.

After giving the outside of the kit a quick inspection, Squid slid it under the blanket, shut the trunk, and headed for the embankment.

When Tony, who was already at the river’s edge, saw him approaching, he removed a Bud forty from the paper bag and said, “You’re lucky, Mikey, you know that? Got a horseshoe up your ass or something.”

“Why you say that?”

Tony twisted the cap off the beer and handed it to Squid. “You’re lucky that Eddie’s giving you a chance to get out of town forever and not doin nothin else,” he said. “Way you screwed him?” He shook his head. “He’s made others pay more for doin less.”

“You know that me and Eddie, we go way back—I’d expect nothin else from him. Same as you, he's like a brother to me.” Squid then took a swig from his bottle, and added, “Me leaving here once and for all, and him never seeing my face and never hearing my name again—that works for the both of us, believe me.”

“And he’s paying for your trip?” Tony asked, now opening his beer.

“Says he is. Class guy, that Eddie.”

Squid took a seat on a rock right next to the river, and then Tony took one of his own on another, and after downing a long gulp, asked, “So where you going, Mikey?”

Squid flicked his beer’s cap into the river, and replied, “Aw, I’m not at liberty to tell ya Tony, you know that.”

Tony lowered his eyes. “I know. I just figured with us being such good friends and all—”

Looking out across the water, Squid said, “Let’s just say it starts with an airplane and ends with me in beach chair, sipping a margarita, and, with any luck, one of the local hotties by my side.” He laughed, and then added, “Two if God happens to really feel like smiling down on me.”

Squid looked around for a place to set his beer, before selecting a rock, maybe the size of a basketball, and with a top flat enough to do the job. He then picked up a handful of stones, and every-so-often he’d skim one across the water as they shot the breeze, with many laughs and even a few full-blown guffaws filling the air as they did.

Then, as they were nearing the end of their bottles, Tony said, “I think Eddie’s gonna be really mad if he don’t see your face soon.”

“You’re right, Tony,” Squid replied, before sucking down the last inch of his beer and grabbing the paper bag. “Maybe I should be getting a move on.”

The two of them now standing, Squid slid his empty back into the bag and handed it to Tony and said, “Oh, before we go, Tony—take a look at the bridge. Remember what you used to say right before you used to jump off that high part. You know? Way up at the top?”

Tony shook his head. “That was a long time ago, Mikey. I can’t remember.”

“Yes you do. Think about it.”

For a few seconds, Tony looked like he was giving it some thought, and then finally he said, “I really don’t remember. Why don’t you just tell me?”

Squid pointed toward the bridge, and said, “Take a good, hard look at the top and picture yourself up there, your scrawny, lily white ass up there shiverin’ and getting ready to jump off that thing like it was no big deal, like you were jumping off a sofa or something, and tell me what you used to say—”

Tony turned back to the bridge, and then Squid bent down and lifted the flat-topped rock from the ground, before returning upright and hoisting the thing above his head. “Give ya a hint,” he said, taking a step toward Tony. “It’s what your Italian grandmother, may she rest in peace, used to say to ya whenever we was leaving your house.”

Tony was silent for a beat, staring up at the top of the bridge, and then finally he cried out, “Ciao! Bambino!” just as he was spinning around to face Squid, who, using all of his might, slammed the rock on the crown of Tony’s head.

As Tony lay twitching, blood leaking from his ears, along the river’s edge, Squid took the keys to the Continental from his sport coat, filled every one of Tony’s pockets with stones, and then jammed a tennis ball-sized rock into his mouth, breaking some of his teeth in the process, and pushed him into the water, where he floated for a short time before disappearing below the surface.

“Ciao! Bambino!” Squid then said, before heading for the embankment.

* * *

Logan Airport was thirty minutes away, but Squid made it in twenty, which was a good thing because, after he'd stopped to pay for his ticket and rushed to his gate—carrying with him only his wallet and Tony’s shaving kit—the airline’s ticket checker all but slammed his foot in the runway door behind him as he dashed the final few steps to the plane.

After his flight, the cab ride from the airport in Miami to the Hyatt in Key West was uneventful, but Squid had had his head on a swivel the whole way anyhow. In fact, it wasn’t until after he’d entered Room 319, tossed his wallet and the shaving kit onto its bed, and was looking out its window—past the rippling swimming pool, over the tops of the swaying palm trees, and at the white-capped teal blue ocean—that he finally felt at ease. Whaddya say, kid? There certainly were worse places to lay low while he planned his next move.

Then, stepping away from the window, he made his way back to the bed, where he unzipped the shaving kit and dumped its contents out onto the comforter, his eyes immediately growing wide. Tony, he thought, now grinning, had sure come a long way from collecting only knick knacks.