The Theater of Emerald Tears

Chapter Two


Jimmy\'s bathroom was clean, neat, well taken care off, and entirely too nice to really use, Sunny thought, standing there, bare feet on the clean tile, wondering if Jimmy would kill him if he used his razor. Looking at himself in Jimmy\'s mirror, he supposed he looked, and he drew his eyebrows down, wrinkled his nose, imagined himself looking classically gangster-ish. Okay. Maybe the black eye made him look suitably disreputable. Maybe it didn\'t.

Besides, all of the dangerous men he\'d ever known didn\'t look like monsters. They looked like nice ordinary men, at least until they pulled a gun. Dangerous men were the ones one wasn\'t suspecting something from. Sunny bite his lip and leaned forward to look into his own eyes. Yesterday he\'d been cool, able to be the polished professional. Yesterday, he\'d been just Jimmy\'s accountant. Today… Today he\'d been kissed and Jimmy had showed him the library. Sunny pulled his chin length black hair back from his face and tried to decide if he looked dangerous or not. The housekeeper had thought so! Burglar!

He posed for the mirror, deciding maybe he liked the little bit of beard on his jaw. He could have been a pirate! He pulled his hair into a pony tail turnturned sideways so that the black eye didn\'t show. He could have been, Daisuki the Dark! Terror of the Pacific! And he\'d capture Jimmy Caravello, take him hostage, hold him for ransom, seduce him, much to the shock of his proper Catholic family, they\'d have sex on a private beach. Not that anyone would know if it were private, Sunny thought, laughing at the pirate image of himself in the mirror. Then they\'d get married on some tropical island. It had to be the pacific though, because he was half Japanese and Japan was to the west. Somehow, in his mind, the Caribbean just belonged closer to Japan.


Of course, New York was a long ways from the Pacific, from Japan, and from some tropical islands that existed only in Sunny\'s imagination. 1933 was a long ways from Sunny being able to marry Jimmy too. He cleared his throat, told himself he was an accountant, a dangerous accountant. Today, well, after he saw James about some vegetables for the kids Jimmy had taken custody of, he was going to get himself a new hat. Something really nice. Something he could pull down over his eyebrows, some dark gray hat, and a suit to match. He\'d get a dark gray wool suit and put a rose in the lapel. Maybe he\'d get some new shoes too, and when he got to the Kit Kat Club, he\'d pause in the entrance, take his hat off slowly, and then he started giggling and the day dream dissolved like a burning screen. Maybe he\'d still buy a new hat, but he\'d never be anything more than a mouse shadow compared to the triad that ruled the Caravello business. Still, a new hat wouldn\'t be so bad.

He buttoned his top button and went back into the bedroom. Using Jimmy\'s razor, without asking, was just a bit beyond what Sunny could do. He was clean enough to go see James anyway. Then he\'d go by his place, pick up some money, clean up, buy his hat, maybe. A decent hat could be fifteen dollars. Sunny sat down on the floor, back to Jimmy\'s bed, and pulled his socks on, while he thought about if he wanted a hat and a suit. A suit would set him back more than he wanted to pay. While there was five thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-three dollars hidden in his apartment, with his uncle\'s book, he was saving. Someday he was going to buy a theater, The Theater of Emerald Tears.

Metal scraped metal as Jimmy\'s door opened. Sunny\'s fingers paused, laces around his fingers, bow half done. Already caught ofard ard once, maybe he was being hyper vigilant. Almost holding his breath, he finished the bow on his shoe. The door closed. Sunny\'s heart went so fast it stopped and restarted. Someone, not the housekeeper, not him, someone else was in Jimmy\'s house.

There was always the chance that someone would try to hurt Jimmy, especially as he grew more powerful. And whoever they were might be a danger to the broom wielding Miss. Vitero. Silently, Sunny got to his feet, holding his lip between his teeth. He had no idea where Jimmy might have weapons in his bedroom. Even if he could find a gun, he realized he\'d never actually used one. Somehow, the need had just never arisen.

There was a big bed to hide under, and much to his own disgust, he actually considered it. He gritted his teeth. It might be nothing even. Miss Vitero might have just looked back in on him, though he knew it hadn\'t been her. She has heavy foot steps, and he hadn\'t heard her coming. If it was just Mr. Malloy, he\'d never live it down. He could hear his most immediate boss, and one of his lover\'s best friends laughing, \'Nearly hit me over the head with a fire poker! This one\'s not hardly civilized, Jimmy!\'

The difference between a man and an abacus was that Sunny picked up a polished brass log turner. The utter silence in the house bothered him too. He spun the long brass ad hoc weapon, checking it\'s balance and getting his nerve up, when the door opened again.

Being wrong would have been nice. The man in the door way wore a dark suit, dark blue tie, and seemed completely out of place. Black leather gloves and neatly styled blonde hair made him seem just like everything Sunny wished he was, dangerous, slick, powerful. One hand behind his back, the other on the door knob. \"I\'m Marcus. Paddy sent me to find you. Jimmy\'s been hurt. I didn\'t scare you, did I?\"

Sunny held the log turner with both hands, gut tied in knots. He\'d seen or at last heard the voices of most of Jimmy\'s higher ups, most of the lieutenants below, and even the better part of anyone who was someone in Jimmy\'s organization. And… people called Jimmy, Mr. Caravello. At least, Sunny knew he had, until, until yesterday. \"Where is he?\"

\"He\'s at St. John\'s. He might die. You\'d better come with me. He was calling for you,\" Marcus said, stepping into the room, closing the door with the same hand he\'d opened it with, his other hand still behind his back. \"I\'m supposed to drive you there right away.\"

The brass slipped in Sunny\'s hands, slipped on sweat as he turned it round and round. He also knew that smell that had come into the room with Marcus. Blood. Fresh blood.

\"I\'m so glad you came,\" Sunny lied. \"I gotta get something, something secret to bring with me. Can you wait outside for me? I promised Jimmy I wouldn’t let no one see the combination to the safe.\" Suddenly, being what someone else thought he was came easily again. He\'d thought, maybe he\'d be just himself, just who he really was, because he couldn\'t be anything else when he was with Jimmy, but now, now he was the stupid Asian boy for this man. \"I don\'t wanna make you wait long, just a minute, okay, Sir?\"

No one in Jimmy\'s organization knew about Sunny and Jimmy, except Mr. Malloy and Mr. Meyer. Sunny refused to look at the window. He could get up to the roof. He couldn\'t leave Miss. Vitero though. He couldn\'t just go and leave her. If his hands sweated anymore he was going drop the log turner.

\"We need to go now,\" Marcus said, stepping closer, bringing the scent of blood closer with him.

Dark flecks showed on the sleeves of the jacket. Sunny refused to think of where they\'d come from. One run. He had one run at this. He wondered if Marcus could hear his heart beating.

He stepped forward, the hooked end of the log turner aimed just beside Marcus\' knee. Brass shot through sweaty hands like a bullet, and Sunny smacked it closer, hard, and jerked. The ashy hook sank into unsuspecting knee and Marcus screamed bloody murder. The log turner went back in the other direction, with just enough force to free it from Marcus\' knee, then Sunny spun it, putting all his strength into the impact of the handle against Marcus\' temple. The string of cursing that was just getting started stopped and blue eyes dulled. They stood there for a moment, just a second, not even enough time for Sunny\'s racing heart to get a breath in. Marcus fell to the side, red paint trickling down the side of his face.

\"Ah, eh, ah,\" Sunny nearly chirped, dropping the log turner from now icy fingers. One hand to his mouth, he didn\'t know if he should cry or breath or if he could do both anymore. He squatted, and with shaking fingers reached out to Marcus\' throat. He couldn\'t find a pulse, nothing, just white skin that could have been some fake skin somewhere, covered in fake blood. Yeah. He closed his eyes. Both hands over his mouth now, he stepped over Marcus. Then he saw the blade. A good ten inches long, the blade had fallen from a black gloved hand and lay on the pale throw rug at the foot of Jimmy\'s bed. Sunny turned around, walking backwards towards the door, both hands still over his mouth.

It couldn\'t be red soaking into the cotton of the rug. Miss. Vitero was the only other one here. She\'d been such a nice woman, protective of Jimmy, like a mother, kind of. It could not be her blood. It couldn\'t be red. But it was.

There was a phone in the house. Sunny blinked, then turned and ran. Down the stairs, into the main entrance. Jimmy had to have a phone! In the library, by where Jimmy\'s desk was. That\'s where it would be.

Sunny\'s fingers were shaking almost too much to dial. The sound of the dial rotating back to the start so he could do the next number was almost too loud. There might be other intruders. Miss. Vitero had said she\'d called the police, but he didn\'t believe her. The police wouldn\'t come to the Caravello house unless they were coming for Jimmy anyway. He held the handset close, cupping the microphone end, waiting for Jimmy\'s secretary to answer. He\'d killed a man, oh my god, he\'d killed a man! He\'d killed a man in Jimmy\'s bedroom… and Miss Vitero, he had to find her! She was hurt somewhere!

\"This is Marge. What\'da want,\" a familiar and comforting voice asked. Marge was the owner and waitress of the diner by the office, where he\'d eaten every day. She had his poetry. She\'d know what to do.

Sunny opened his mouth, but nothing came out, just a mangled sob. Finally, he got out, \"Help! This is Sunny! I did a bad thing! Help!\"

\"Where are you, Sunny,\" she asked, then hushed someone in the diner. \"I\'m trying to hear!\"

\"It\'s bad! It\'s so bad! We need a doctor!\" Sunny said, wishing he sounded more coherent. \"Marge, I killed a man!\"

\"Now, Sunny, calm down!\" Marge said, but he could hear the fear in her voice. \"Just calm down, Sunny. Where are you? What do you want me to do?\"

\"Jimmy\'s house. Tell Jimmy, Marge. I don\'t know what to do.\"

A new voice, female, Italian accent, crisp, entered the room. \"You can start by putting the phone down.\"

Sunny looked up. The woman that stood there was smartly dressed, a dark gray trench coat, dark hair swept up behind a beautiful face. She pointed a gun at him as if it were just a part of her, just a decoration like her long nails. \"Help,\" Sunny said into the phone, dizzy again, heart racing. He\'d killed a man. Oh god.

She fired, hitting him in the shoulder and sending him back over into Jimmy\'s leather chair. The world faded away from him as he went back, like the closing credits on the movie he\'d woken up in. He saw himself with a new hat, smiling at Jimmy. By the time he hit the chair, there was nothing but darkness, nothing but the great void of no fear or desire that he\'d read he ought to want.

The telephone handset smashed into the desk, marring the wood, swaying back and forth as Jimmy\'s secretary called his name, growing more and more frantic. The woman who\'d shot Sunny put her pistol back into her handbag, into the metal area that would prevent the hot barrel from damaging anything else in the bag. Her heels clicked against the floor as she crossed to the desk. She picked up the phone, smiling with dark painted lips. \"Hello.\"

\"Hello! OH thank god! What\'s going on? Where\'s Sunny?\"

\"I shot him,\" the woman said, \"Tell Mr. Caravello that it\'s time to retire. His pet accountant works for us now, or will when he wakes up, if he knows what\'s good for him. You tell him that my boss what\'s his, and he\'s made a good sttodatoday.\" She hung up on the cursing Marge. If language were the key to Heaven, none of them were going.

Another man, muscular, the kind one would see at a carnival or being a bouncer at a rough club. \"Bull, after you get him,\" she pointed to the blood man hanging over Bull\'s shoulder, \"Out to the car, come back for pretty boy here. Boss is going to love this one.\"

\"Not dead?\"

\"Well, I should hope not,\" Estelle said, pressing her fingers to Sunny\'s throat. \"No more than Marcus.\"

On a whim, she picked up a piece of paper from Jimmy\'s desk, not looking at what it was and pressed it against Sunny\'s shoulder. Red on white, she thought. If only blood didn\'t dry to such an ugly color.