Banion poured him a Scotch.

"Ach, it ain't worth moanin' about." He accepted the drink from Banion with a nod. "That night was the last time I ever cried. I felt like that kid just sucked up all the hurt and heartache I was ever gonna let myself feel. The doctor said we should have another baby right away. I just said no day, no way. No more hurt. The next year Stony was born. I said to myself, 'I'll love my brother's kid, I'll treat him like I would've Louie, I'll play with him, I'll be the best goddamn uncle a nephew could have.' Uncle, not father, nephew, not son. And that's the way I want it. I got no room for nothin' else." Then Chubby added as a postscript, "You know, one thing I remember from that night just like it was yesterday, an' I don't know why this should stick in my head of all the fuckin' shit from that night, but I remember the sports headlines on one of the papers that I wrapped Louie in. 'Mays Grand-Slams Spahn, 4-3,' New York Mirror, April tenth, nineteen fifty-six." Chubby hunched over the bar, cradling his drink in both hands. "You know, I always was a Giants fan, even when they moved to San Francisco, but I never did like that black bastard."

***

"Albert, eat your string beans." Marie glared at him.

Albert hastily jammed two forkfuls in his mouth.

Stony lunged across the table in Marie's direction. Marie gasped, almost tipping her chair backward. Stony grabbed the salt by her plate and fell back into his seat, lightly salting his roast beef.

The blood drained from Marie's face. Stony busied himself with his food.

Tommy frowned. "What the hell's goin' on here?"

"Whatta you mean?" Stony looked at his father, fighting down a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

***

"Hey, Stones?" Tommy popped his head into Stony's bedroom after dinner. Stony was doing James Brown splits in front of the closet door mirror. He jumped when he heard his father's voice.

"Yeah?" He quickly picked up a comb and, blushing, started doing his hair. Tommy sat on Stony's bed, squinting, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"I got some good news, babe, I swung it so you can work up in Riverdale with me."

Stony sighed, pocketed his comb and swung the closet door closed.

"Hey, don't go droolin' all over me with gratitude. A simple thanks is enough, you know?" Tommy leaned his elbows on his knees.

Stony balanced against his desk, arms folded across his chest. He stared at his father's shoes. "Hey, Pop? I thought we went through this deal awready. I don' wanna do construction this summer."

"So whattaya gonna do, drive around Harlem in a Good Humor truck again?" Tommy walked over to the window and flicked the butt into a spin fifteen stories to the street.

"It was Carvel," Stony said.

"Oh, excuse me." Tommy returned to the bed, lying back on the pillow.