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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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Yeah, well, there ain't no baby in there now. You dig? There's nothing in there now.
What are you talking about?
An abortion, stupid. I had an abortion the day before yesterday. So you don't have to bug me about that shit anymore. Byebye, baby!
You going to sit here all day?
I don't know. I haven't decided yet.
Why don't you pick some other spot? It gives a man the creeps to be stared at all morning.
It's a free country, isn't it? As long as I'm not trespassing on your property. I can stay here till kingdom come.
Let me give you some useful information, son. There's two dollars and fiftyseven cents in that cash register over there and considering all the time you've put in casing the joint so far, you won't make but about fifty cents an hour for all your pains. However you slice it, that's a losing proposition.
I'm not going to rob you, mister. Do I look like a thief?
I don't know what you look like, boy. As far as I can tell, you sprouted up like a mushroom in this spot last night. You live in this town or on your way from here to there?
Just passing through.
Just passing through. A lonesome traveler with a knapsack on his back plops himself across from my garage to admire the view. There's other places to roam, kid, that's all I'm saying. You don't want to make a nuisance of yourself.
I'm working on a sketch. That old garage of yours is so rundown, it's kind of interesting.
It's rundown, all right. But drawing a picture won't improve the way it looks. Let's see what you did, Rembrandt.
It'll cost you five bucks.
Five bucks! You mean you're going to charge me five bucks just to look at it?
Once you look at it, you're going to want to buy it from me. That's guaranteed. And that's the price: five bucks. So if you're not willing to spring for it, you might as well not bother to look. It'll just tear you up inside and make you miserable.
Sonofabitch. You're some piece of work, aren't you?
I just tell it like it is, mister. If I'm getting on your nerves, though, you might want to think about hiring me.
Do you have eyes in your head, or are those brown things bulging out of your sockets just marbles? You've been sitting here all day, and how many cars have you seen drive up and ask for gas?
Not a one.
Not a one. Not one customer all day. I bought this brokendown shithole of a place three weeks ago, and if business don't pick up soon, I'm going straight down the skids. What do I want to be hiring someone for? I can't even pay my own wages.
It was just a thought.
Yeah, well, do your thinking somewhere else, Michelangelo. I got work to do.
I'll tell you what. You want to work. I'll give you a job. Nothing permanent, mind you, but that upstairs room over there the one above the office is a hell of a mess. It looks like they've been throwing junk in there for twenty years, and it's time it got cleaned up.
What's your offer?
Five bucks an hour. That's the going rate, isn't it? It's a quarter past two now. My wife's picking me up at fivethirty, so that'll give you about three hours. If you can't finish today, you can do the rest tomorrow.
Is there a benefits package, or are you hiring me on a freelance basis?
Benefits?
You know, health insurance, dental plan, paid vacation. It's not fun being exploited. Workers have to stand up for their rights.
I'm afraid we'll be working on a strictly freelance basis.
Five dollars an hour? I'll take it.
The name is Cyrus Cole.
Paul. Paul Benjamin.
I don't mean to be nosy, but I was wondering what happened to your arm.
An ugly piece of hardware, isn't it? I'll tell you what happened to my arm. I'll tell you what happened. Twelve years ago, God looked down on me and said, "Cyrus, you're a bad, stupid, selfish man. First of all, I'm going to fill your body with spirits, and then I'm going to put you behind the wheel of a car, and then I'm going to make you crash that car and kill the woman who loves you. But you, Cyrus, I'm going to let you live, because living is a lot worse than death. And just so you don't forget what you did to that poor girl, I'm going to rip off your arm and replace it with a hook. If I wanted to, I could rip off both your arms and both your legs, but I'm going to be merciful and just take off your left arm. Every time you look at your hook, I want you to remember what a bad, stupid, selfish man you are. Let that be a lesson to you, Cyrus, a warning to mend your ways."
And have you mended them?
I don't know. I try. Every day I keep on trying, but it's no easy task for a man to change his nature. I'm off the booze, though. Haven't had a drop in six years. And now I've got me a wife. Doreen. Best damned woman I've ever known. And a little boy, too. Cyrus Junior. So things have definitely improved since I got fitted with this hook. If I can just turn this goddamn garage around, I'll be in pretty good shape.
You named the kid after yourself, huh?
That boy's one in a million. A real tiger.
It's only temporary. On a freelance basis.
And this one, in case you haven't guessed, is Junior.
Hi there, little brother.
Say hi to Paul.
That's funny. His name is the same as yours.
Well, you and Junior have the same name, too, don't you?
Yeah, but he's my son. Nothing strange about that. He's my own flesh and blood. But here you got the same name as this man here, and you're not even the same color.
That's how we met. We're members of the International Same Name Club. Believe it or not, there are 846 Paul Benjamins in America. But only two in the New York metropolitan area. That's how Paul and I got to be such good friends. We're the only ones who show up at the meetings.
Thomas.
Paul. Rashid. Thomas. Which one is it?
Thomas.
Thomas Cole. My name is Thomas Jefferson Cole.
Are you making fun of me? I won't be mocked. Do you hear me? I won't let no punk kid stand there and mock me!
I don't like this. I don't like it one bit.
Louisa Vail. Remember her, Cyrus?
You shut your mouth! You shut your mouth now!
Is your name Paul Benjamin?
What can I do for you?
I just want to know what your game is, mister, that's all.
How the hell did you get into the building?
What do you mean, how'd I get in? I pushed the door and walked in. What do you think?
The damn lock's broken again. And so you just barge in on strangers, is that what you do? Is that your game?
I'm looking for my nephew, Thomas.
Thomas? Who's Thomas?
Don't give me any of that. I know he's been here. You can't fool me, mister.
I'm telling you. I don't know anyone named Thomas.
Thomas Cole. Thomas Jefferson Cole. My nephew.
You mean Rashid?
Rashid? Rashid! Is that what he told you his name was?
Well, whatever his name is, he's not here anymore. He left two days ago, and I haven't heard from him since.
And what was he doing here in the first place? That's what I want to know. What's a man like you messing around with a black boy like Thomas for? Are you some kind of pervert, or what?
Look, lady, that's enough. If you don't calm down. I'm going to throw you out. Do you hear me? Right now!
I just want to know where he is.
As far as I know, he went back to his parents.
His parents? Is that what he told you? His parents?
That's what he said. He told me he lived with his mother and father on East Seventyfourth Street.
I always knew that boy had an imagination, but now he's gone and made up a whole new life for himself. Do you mind if I sit down? He's been living with me and his uncle Henry since he was a baby. And we don't live in Manhattan. We live in Boerum Hill. In the projects.
He doesn't go to the Trinity School?
He goes to John Jay High School in Brooklyn.
And his parents?
His mother's dead, and he hasn't seen his father in twelve years.
I shouldn't have let him go.
Which brings me back to my original question. What was he doing here in the first place?
I was about to get run over by a car, and your nephew pulled me back. He saved my life. I sensed he was in trouble, so I offered to put him up for a few days. Maybe I should have pressed him a little more, I don't know. I feel pretty stupid about it now.
He's in trouble, all right. But I don't have any idea what it is.
Do you want something to drink? A beer? A glass of water?
No thank you.
Has anything happened lately? Anything unusual or unexpected?
Well, one thing I suppose, but I don't think it has anything to do with this. A friend of mine called about two weeks ago and said she'd spotted Thomas's father working at some gas station outside of Peekskill.
And you told your nephew about it?
I figured he had a right to know.
And?
And nothing. Thomas looked at me straight in the eye and said, "I don't have a father. As far as I'm concerned, that sonofabitch is dead."
Those are pretty hostile words.
His father walked out on his mother a couple of months after he was born. Louisa was Henry's younger sister, and she and the baby moved in with us. Four or five years go by, and then one day Cyrus shows up out of the blue, tail between his legs, wanting to patch things up with Louisa. I thought Henry was going to tear Cyrus apart when he saw him walk through the door. They're both big men, those two, and if they ever started to tangle, you'd see some teeth jumping on the floor. I guarantee it ... So Cyrus persuaded Louisa to go out with him to talk things over in quiet. And the poor girl never came back.
You mean she just ran off with him and left her little boy behind?
Don't put words in my mouth. What I'm saying is she drove off in Cyrus's car and went to the FiveSpot Lounge with him for a drink. What I'm saying is that he imbibed too much in the way of alcohol and that when they finished their little talk three hours later and got back in the car, he was in no shape to drive. But he drove the car anyway, and before he could get her back to where she lived, the damn fool ran a red light and went straight into a truck. Louisa got thrown through the windshield and was killed. Cyrus lived, but he came out of it a cripple. His left arm was so mangled, the doctors had to cut it off. Small punishment for what he did, if you ask me.
Jesus.
Jesus had nothing to do with it. If He'd been involved. He would have seen to it that things worked out the opposite from what they did.
It can't have been easy on him. Walking around with that on his conscience all these years.