Killing
A Novel By Victor Fortezza -- Contributing Author

WARNING: Killing takes place in a very real world where people are flawed and may contain material of a harsh nature. While the Cynic Online Magazine does not feel that the novel promotes racism, the novel acknowledges that racism exists in the real world and therefore acknowlegedges the possibility in its characters. If you are offended by content of this nature, please navigate to another feature within the magazine.

13

Junior took a job stocking shelves in a supermarket a short walk from the house. Although Dante was not pleased, he said nothing. He hoped the work was temporary.

"Think any 'bout what we tawked about?" he said one night as his son was about to go out.

Junior made a face and shook his head. "No way, Da. Every day now deah's somethin' in the paypa against 'em. Dey blow some dirtbeahg away, an' awl the know-it-awls come atta the woodwork on cue, cryin'. Everything's racial. Who needs dat?"

"If dey did the right thing, dey got nothin' to worry about."

"Hah's anybody know who's right? It awways comes down to the cop's word against deahs. Ya gotta trust the cop or yi'll roon the morale'a the whole fawce."

"It's good dey investigate. Cops gotta stay in line too. Powah gets to some guys' heads. I seen it in 'nam."

"Hah could ya kimpeahr it to dat?"

"Look at the Rodney King thing. Dey got caught in the act."

"We gotta feel sahry fuh drunks who go a hundred miles an owa now? Please."

"Maybe I should be glad ya don' want it. Yi'd be too much of a cowboy. Go easy on the cah."

Junior caught the keys above his head. "I'm gettin' a Hahley soon as I get the money up."

Dante's shoulders slumped. "Great. Like I ain't got enough to worry about." The only positive he saw in it was that it would surely get a rise out of his wife. Then again, she would probably blame him.

"Wheah ya goin'?"

"I got a date wit' a keahshier."

"A diff'rent one?"

Junior nodded. "It's like a candy staw out deah."

"Ya musta used up dat box I put in ya draw' awready. I hope ya got sense enough to buy maw. Ya don' know wheah dese girls been. De'ah prob'bly clean, but it's crazy to take a cheahnse. It could kill ya."

"I know, Da," said Junior impatiently. "I read the paypiz."

"Ya treat 'em wit' respec', at leas'? Ya betta. Ya betta not be braggin' about what ya did in the waw to get 'im to go down. Dat's an infamia."

Annoyed now, Junior withheld response.

"Awright, get atta heah."

He envied his son's energy, if nothing else. He regretted having placed the condoms in the dresser. What had at first seemed wisdom now seemed advocacy of license. He wondered if he would ever again make a correct decision.

Despite a ten-hour workshift, Junior was out late every night. Home at six, video cassette in one hand, fast-food dinner in the other, he would plop down in the living room and view the film, which would be, invariably, action-oriented. Dante had lost interest in cinema. He was appalled by the obscenities, the casualness of the violence, the graphic depiction of bloodletting and mutilation, the nudity, all of which fascinated his son. Junior's favorite was "Platoon," of which he'd purchased a copy and viewed time and again. He urged his father to watch it.

"I wanna know if dat's what it was reahly like," he said urgently.

To his frustration, his father refused. Dante had never viewed any film on Vietnam, nor had he any desire to. It seemed pointless. What would he learn? He'd seen it up close. He wanted to move further and further from it, not revisit it.

"I neva saw a wah movie dat came close to bein' what it's reahly like," he told Junior. "Maybe if dey put snypiz behin' the screen an' bombs unda the seats. To the people who wa neva deah it's just a show. I hate dat. I heah the guys at work tawkin' about hah much dey love dis one, hah dey love the ackshin, an' it pisses me awf - but I don' say nothin'. It ain't deah fawlt."

"But the guy who made it was deah."

"See if ya kin get a job wit' him."

Miffed, Junior smirked.

"Full Metal Jacket" was another of his favorites. He knew the drill sergeant's opening speech by heart and for weeks was reciting parts of it. Dante actually found it amusing and struggled to disguise it from his son. He resisted the temptation to view the scene, although it had nothing to do with the war itself. In his mind, patronizing such films would be a sort of violation of a code of honor.

To his chagrin, his son had not been at all humbled by the war in the desert, which had been brief and one-sided. In fact, Junior was cockier than ever and, apparently, grossly unfulfilled. Even multiple sexual partners failed to appease him. Several had been loud. Jo Jo, studying in her room, had stamped her foot in protest. Dante was torn between laughter and outrage. Deanna did not leave her room.

Junior had done several bungee jumps and was now planning a skydiving excursion. And soon he would be riding a motorcycle. Dante found it fascinating, odd, that his son was behaving similarly to how he himself had behaved upon his return from combat. After all, the war in Vietnam had been unpopular and, apparently, at the time, unfruitful. The war in the Gulf, however, had been both popular and immediately successful. Shouldn't its veterans have reacted entirely different? Dante wondered if the difference were that defeat had aged his soul to the point where he'd found maturity and responsibility relatively quickly. He worried that Junior, who seemed to feel cheated, would not lose his demons before he maimed or killed himself in some misadventure. He also worried that his son would be an even worse person than his grandfather.

Seated at the kitchen table one morning, eating cold cereal, he was surprised by the emergence of his wife from her room. He hadn't seen her at breakfast in months. She was immaculately dressed. Her hair was now touching her shoulders.

"Ya found a job?" he blurted, unable to restrain himself.

"I have an interview," she said flatly, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Great."

Cigarette dangling from her lips, hardened look on her face, she lowered her head to a burner, holding her hair back lest it catch fire. Dante was filled with disgust. The action seemed low class, so out of character, that he suspected she'd done it just to sting him. He almost wished her hair would burst into flames and begin a melting, a reshaping of her. Who would hire such an ogre? He did not know her. He feared the last of his love for her was leaving him. He was barely able to control his trembling.

"My unemployment insurance is running out," she said, her back to him.

He stared, lips parted slightly. "Yaw collectin'?" he said, pained. "So dat's hah ya bought groc'ries when ya firs' got fyyid. I thought ya wa takin' money atta the bank."

She turned to him. "Why would I do that? I'm not stupid."

"Yi'd ratha take a hand out?" Try as he might, he'd been unable to say this tactfully.

"Why not? I'm entitled. It never stopped your father."

"Ya imitatin' him now?"

He thought that might jar her. She showed no reaction, however.

"It started coming out of my taxes the first day I went to work."

"It's sapposta be fuh people who reahly need it, who couttn't get by wit'out it."

"That's right, I forgot - we're rich."

He stared at her icily. "Ya should be ashamed'a yaself, smaht girl like you. Ya coulda got a job right away. Den again, ya ain't ashamed'a nothin' no maw."

"You wouldn't collect if you lost your job?"

"Not if you wa workin'. I'd pick cans up awf the street fuh deposit befaw I'd put my han' out. I'd find somethin', anything."

"And let your family suffer - you, Mister Family Values himself."

"My fam'ly'd suffa maw if I was freeloadin'."

She muttered angrily, looking away. "You'll never change."

"If dat's the kinda change ya want from me, fuhget it." He rose and pushed his chair under the table. "I'm saprised the sfacheem let ya collect. I guess he figyid since ya sucked 'is bone lawng enough he'd t'row you one."

She threw a teaspoon at him, striking his chest. He yanked open the sliding glass door, pulling it from its track, and stormed away before he succumbed to the urge to beat her.

When he returned from work he immediately set to repairing the door. The house had been vulnerable to robbery all day. Fortunately, they lived in a good neighborhood.

Deanna found work in a nearby insurance office. Although she was earning considerably less than she had at Horizon, Dante was pleased. It would only do her good. Things could not be worse between them, he believed. Would it matter if she took up with her new boss, or even if she left? He didn't think so.

14

Junior entered the living room opening a plastic video case, shaking the cassette from it.

"Hold it," said Dante, seated in an easy chair, newspaper in hand. "I wanna show ya a reahl movie. Save dat fuh tamarra."

"C'mon, Da, I'll hafta pay a penalty."

Dante reached for his wallet. "Heah's the two bucks."

"I don' wan' ya money. I'm workin' now."

"Jus' give dis a cheahnce."

Junior made a face.

"If ya feel like dat, take ya eats an' watch ya movie downsteahs."

"It's betta up heah wit' the big screen an' stereo. C'mon, ya not watchin' nothin'."

Dante pointed the remote at the VCR. "I guarantee yi'll like dis. Watch."

Soon the credits were rolling. The film was "Gunga Din."

"Black 'n white?" said Junior, annoyed, unwrapping a burger.

"Ssssh! Give it a few minutes. Relax, eat. It could be worse. Dey coulda cuhlarized it. I hate dat. It makes everything look so fake."

Junior was soon captivated. He laughed all the way through the intitial battle sequence, charmed by the spirited hokiness, the crispness of the action, and the swagger of the protagonists.

Dante beamed. "I told ya. I musta seen dis a hundred times, no igzaggerayshin. 'Millyin Dollah Movie' useta be on every night on Channel Nine when I was a kid. Dey don' make 'em like dis no maw. Even Gran'pa likes it. Ya don' need awl dat blood an' cursin' to make a good movie."

"But dis ain't what waw's reahly like," said Junior. "Dis's like a cartoon. Dis makes it out to be a big pahty. Dis's maw like hah we played it when we wa kids."

Dante was surprised. "The way ya been tawkin' an' actin', ya make it seem like the Gulf Waw was a pahty."

"It wasn't a reahl waw, Da. We had a biggah cheahnse'a buyin' it from ah own guns den from deahs. I don' undastandin' hah ya thinkin'. Ya won' watch 'Platoon' 'cause it's too reahl, but ya love dis, which makes waw out to be a big game. A'you anti-waw now? If ya ah, ya shouttn't be tellin' anybody to watch dis. Dis's a hundred times maw dangeriss den 'Platoon.' At leas' 'Platoon' shows hah messed up ya kin get. Dis makes waw seem so neat an' clean."

Dante reflected a moment. "Ya make a lotta sense, 'cept fuh one thing. If 'Platoon's so reahl an' reahly shows hah messed up ya kin get, why'a ya sahry yaw waw wasn't like dat?"

"'cause you know ya got what it takes to deahl wit' it. I'll go to my grave not knowin' if I do, an' dat burns me. Hah kin ya not wanna be paht'a the bigges' thing goin' down in the world? Ya gotta be a reahl mammaluke. You regret bein' deah now?"

"I'd neva regret it, 'speshly now seein' the way the commies went down aroun' the world. My country called. I'd neva be anti-waw. Dat's fuh people in lollipop land, not the reahl world. Ya keahn't negotiate wit' scum. Dey'll spit in ya face an' piss on ya grave. But nobody should like waw. Dat's sick, at least afta ya find out what it's reahly like - an' ya find out quick in a reahl waw. I pray to God deah'll neva be anotha one, but deah will. Dat's hah we ah."

"I hope ya right. If we go to Yugoslavia, I'm reuppin'."

Dante sagged. "Yi'll find out everything ya wanna know deah, I guarantee it. Dat won' be easy." He fell silent a moment, staring blankly at the screen. "You look at 'Platoon' like I look at dis. Everybody dat wasn't deah does. Vietnam's just a name in books now, 'speshly afta yaw waw washed away awl the bad mem'ries fuh civilians. As fuh dis bein' maw dangeriss, I doubt it. Movies like 'Platoon' might make us too afraid to fight in any waw, an' what could be maw dangeriss den dat? An' like I told ya befaw ya went ova deah - deah ain't nothin' dat kin get ya ready fuh the reahl thing, not the meanes' drill sergeant, not nothin'. A movie's still a movie. Ya could watch 'Platoon' a millyin times an' not be ready fuh what goes down in a reahl waw."

"Dat's why I want it. When yer on the line ya livin' to the max, jus' like when ya gettin' ready to jump atta a plane."

Dante fell silent, knowing there was nothing he could do to make his son see the error of his ways. They viewed quietly, engrossed. Soon, Cary Grant and Sam Jaffe, searching for gold, lured by ominous chanting, entered a temple. Dante struggled to move his legs into the lotus position, ala the villain.

"Dis's my fav'rite paht."

The camera focused on Eduardo Ciannelli's magnificent, hardened, charcoaled face, of which the whites of the eyes and teeth stood out prominently against the dark backdrop. He soon began a call to arms.

"...Rise our new made brothers. Rise and kill. Kill as you'll be killed yourselves. Kill for the love of killing. Kill for the love of Ka-lee! Kill! Kill! Kill!"*

Each sentence was punctuated by a short burst of horns, until the last, which was followed by a sustained blast. Dante and Junior were laughing uproariously, more so when Cary Grant broke into a silly song and dance to distract the cultists as Sam Jaffe tried to flee to warn the British command. Dante hit the rewind button and they viewed the sequence again. He smiled as he watched Junior mouth the dialogue to himself, committing it to memory. They laughed so hard Jo Jo was lured from her room.

"What's so funny?"

"Sssssh!" said her brother. "Quiet, Bozo."

She plopped beside him and struck him with a pillow. She too became engrossed.

"I told ya it was great."

"It's a lotta fun, Da," Junior returned, "but I wouttn't call it great. Look at what de'ah doin'. The whites who invaded the country an' stole the land're awl brave, happy-go-lucky, an' good, while the darkies, the ones who awways lived deah, ah eitha loonies, simps like Gunga Din, or wannabes who fall in line wit' the guys on top. It's cowboys an' indians in India, dat's awl."

This had never occurred to Dante, despite the number of times he'd seen the film. How had he missed something so obvious? To his displeasure, he felt as if something had been taken from him. This was his favorite film of all time, one of the few things from his youth he recalled fondly. Now it was as if someone he'd long admired had been exposed as a fraud, criminal, or misanthrope. He was reminded of his disappointment upon first hearing that President Kennedy had been a philanderer, common, no better than Dante Gentile Sr., and also when he'd read Ball Four, which exposed the infidelities and character flaws of baseball stars.

"Tawk to ya brotha, Jo. See if ya kin get it t'rough 'is thick skull to go to cahlidge. He's wastin' 'is brains."

Jo Jo, without taking her eyes from the screen, said: "He wouldn't be able to handle it. Stocking shelves is his speed."

Junior pounced on her, applying a headlock. "If you kin do it, mo-mo, anybody can."

Dante revelled in the affection his children had for each other. At least Deanna and he had done one thing right. He hit the pause button until the horseplay had ceased.

"Put it back, Da," said Junior.

As Dante was about to restart the tape, a thought struck him.

"Wait. About what ya said befaw. - should we give dis country back to the indians 'cause dey were heah firs'? Dey lawst, an' what came out of it's the greates' country deah eva was. Whites had a betta way. Indians'd still be sleepin' in teepees an' scalpin' each otha."

"Losin's one thing, genacide's anotha."

He was too ashamed to ask what "genocide" meant, although he was sure it was something bad. "Livin' the way dey did's betta den what we got now?"

"To dem it was. Not awl of 'em wa savvigiz."

"I keahn't see it. Dey lawst. It's time dey got ova it. An' whatta dey doin' now - runnin' tax-free kisinos, gettin' rich. Yeah, I feel sahry fuh dem."

His children were staring at him.

"Maybe Daddy's the one who should go to cahlidge, Jo."

Dante chuckled. "Wise guy."

They refocused on the film. Soon the British force was advancing toward the trap the cultists had set. Ciannelli boasted of how the imminent massacre was but the first step in his plan to conquer the world. Cary Grant dubbed him "mad," which inspired Ciannelli to liken himself to Hannibal, Caesar and Napoleon.

"Who is dis guy?" said Junior, writhing with glee.

Dante told him. "I neva saw 'im in nothin' else."

"He ain't Indian?"

"Whattaya tawkin' about?" said Dante proudly. "He's a paisan." His joy was fleeting, as he realized he'd sounded like his father.

Soon Sam Jaffe, gravely wounded by the thrust of a bayonet, was scaling the side of the temple, past spiritual figures of gold, the treasure Cary Grant had been seeking. Teetering as he stood at the pinnacle, he unslung the bugle from his narrow shoulders and sounded retreat, alerting the troops of danger. Dante rose, pressed a fist to his lips, and imitated the action. As bullets pummelled the frail hero and sent his rousing call into sharp dissonance, Dante fell forward to the floor, blowing into his hand off-key, as if he'd been shot himself.

The three were laughing so hard Deanna was drawn to the living room. She paused behind them and looked at the screen, where "Toad Face," the son of the megalomaniacal guru, was meeting a violent death. Junior cheered. Jo Jo whistled and pumped a fist.

"Siddown," said Dante to his wife, looking up from the floor. "Nex' show stahts in five minutes."

She walked away without a word. They heard the door of her room close.

"What's wit' her?" said Junior. "She pissed we ain't as mis'rable as her?"

"Sssh!" said Dante, fearful Deanna would hear. He got to his feet.

"He's right, Daddy," Jo Jo whispered. folding her arms tightly to her chest and projecting herself backward against a cushion.

"Leave 'er alone an' let 'er work things out fer 'erself. She's been doin' good keepin' it to 'erself mohsly."

"Doin' good?" said Junior, peeved. "By who? Not by us."

"We gotta stick by 'er. Dat's what fam'ly's awl about."

"Like she stuck by us?"

Dante was stung. "Look, right now the bes' thing we kin do is to leave 'er alone. Ya think I like livin' in a sep'rate room, sleepin' alone? But dat's the way it is right now an' I gotta deahl wit' it 'til she figyiz out what she wants'a do."

"I still say awl she needs is a good beatin'."

"Danny!" his sister scolded.

"I mean it."

Dante's nostrils flared. He stared at his son, hands on his hips, challenging him. Junior avoided the gaze.

"Should I smack the crap atta you fuh skydivin', bungee jumpin', an' buyin' a motahcycle? I don' even like ya drinkin' in fronna me. An' what about awl the bootahns ya bring to the house?"

Junior hung his head.

"I don' say nothin' 'cause yer old enough to think an' do fuh yaself now. I keahn't butt in no maw, no matta hah much ahgihda ya gimme."

"But she's ya wife - an' ya let 'er wawk awl ova ya."

"I don' own 'er. What good would it do me to beat 'er back in line? If it don' come from 'er haht, it don' mean nothin'. I'd just as soon lose 'er."

Somehow those final words got past the lump in his throat.

"Yer a wuss, Dad."

"Danny," said Jo Jo softly, mortified.

Dante looked his son in the eye. "If I eva heah ya beatin' ya wife, I'll def'nitely butt in, I'll tell ya dat. Dat's one thing I'd neva stand from you. Dat's neva gonna happen in dis fam'ly again, not whahl I'm alive. Ya heah me? I'd move ya wife in heah wit' us an' help 'er divawce ya. What ya showin' me now is dat ya nowheres neah ready to get married."

"Married?"

"Don' even think about comin' in heah an' tellin' me you ah. I won' let ya 'til ya get ya head straight."

"Who wants'a? Who needs it? Look what it comes down to. Wake up. The divawce rate's fifty-pahcent now. If it don' work no maw, t'row it away. It's not as if ya neva gonna get laid again. Dis ain't the nineteen-fifties. Girls'a so easy now."

Junior hurried out, leaving behind the remnants of his meal, which his sister gathered. She took a step toward the kitchen and paused.

"When's this all gonna end?" she said somberly.

Dante shrugged lifelessly. "I guess we had it too easy fuh too lawng. Dis's payback. God's testin' us."

"Do you really believe that, Daddy?"

He looked into her glazed eyes. "Dumb, huh? I useta think He paid me back wit' good things 'cause'a awl I went t'rough as a kid an' den in 'nam. Now He took it away again? Why would He do it like dat?"

"You always taught us to be responsible for ourselves."

"An' heah I am pointin' the finga at God, right?"

"Yeah, but what I really mean is when is Mommy gonna start being responsible for what she did? This's all her fault."

He hadn't the will to rebut. "Go back to ya homework, Jo. Dis ain't gonna do us no good. It's ol' news. Besides, deah's a comedy speshil I wanna watch. I kin use a good laugh right now."

Jo Jo's brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

"The Sapreme Court thing."

Jo Jo smirked and turned away. Dante felt a twinge. In that brief reaction, his daughter had looked exactly like his wife.

He was fascinated by the hearings on the confirmation of Clarence Thomas. He did not understand what was so terrible about what the nominee had done. The man had never put a hand on his assistant, never forced her into a corner or threatened her position. In fact, she'd followed him to another job. And the incidents in question had occurred years ago. No other woman had come forward to support the charge. Each side had character witnesses with impeccable credentials. The matter was coming down to his word against hers. One was lying. It seemed there would be a loser only should one crack under the strain of questioning, and it seemed neither would. In Dante's view, the proceedings were a waste of tax-payer's money. He was reminded of the last time he'd served jury duty. During an interview for a rape trial, he asked the prosecuting attorney if there were an eye witness or strong physical evidence of violence. He did not want to be in a position of having to judge one person's word against another's, condemning or exonerating solely on the basis of performance under pressure. He was dismissed.

Ben claimed the real issue in the Thomas hearings was abortion. Its proponents feared the appointment of another conservative would tip the court into a pro-life position. Consequently, a scandal had been conjured to block the appointment. At first, this seemed far-fetched to Dante. However, in light of the chicanery he'd witnessed in the service and at the convention center, he conceded that it was possible, as politics, more than any other pursuit, seemed to encourage deviousness. He was disappointed that Thomas would not state his opinion on abortion, although it might cost him the position. What kind of country was America becoming when its leaders lacked the courage to air convictions? The pro-life position was supported by many, if not a plurality. Why was Thomas reluctant to say he wanted to protect the innocent, the helpless? To Dante, it was the noble position.

He chuckled when it was revealed that Thomas had quipped to his asistant that there was a pubic hair on his can of soda, and as the investigating committee registered outrage. This was sexual harassment? This was the best Thomas' opponents could conjure? In Dante's view, a woman debased or intimidated by something so silly should have never left the house, let alone entered the work force. Did the senators want Americans to believe they'd never enjoyed a dirty joke? He wondered if Deanna were watching in her room. What did she think? Did she support the assistant? He cringed, certain she did. Years ago, he would have bet his life she would have never supported such nonsense.

Now one of the senators was reading from The Exorcist, linking the assistant and her supporters to the devil. It was beyond absurd, bizarre. And there was Ted Kennedy, shrinking painfully in his seat, perhaps from the weight of his own sins, body language communicating volumes. To his credit, he kept the low profile common sense dictated he should. Dante didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In seeing these men in action, it was a miracle anyone ever voted. What hope was there for the country if these were among its leaders?

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