CHAPTER ONE
Valerie and Tommy
I t’s not every day that a newborn baby is stuffed inside a folded up cardboard box and left in the gutter.
Thirty one year old Nick Santinelli, driver of a behemoth, New York City street sweeper, guided its heavy steel brushes around a corner drain. The sanitation worker prided himself in his skill at being able to keep the tip of the brushes at the exact edge of the curb, even while daydreaming.
It was that kind of day, today. He could not keep any of the horrible thoughts out of his mind. The diagnosis from the hospital was tragic and unforeseen by both, his girlfriend Sandy and himself. If only the doctors could have been wrong. She had two years to live, possibly three, but no more than that.
The white Allianz 4000 is a huge beast capable of sucking up an area rug. One California Hwy Department test required that the street sweeper be able to pick up a ton of sand in one minute. The Allianz passed with ease.
Two hundred and fifty gallons of water filled the street sweeper’s belly. For street waste, the hopper had a capacity to hold 5.6 yards.
The sprayers out front wet the pavement ahead at the rate of seven gallons a minute as Nick Santinelli straightened the sweeper onto 61st Street. He didn’t have to look at the time. Hecould tell that from where his position was on the route; 8:50–almost time for the first 15 minute break of the day.
Eying the cardboard box ahead, he dismissed it as a poor challenge. Only the day before, he read something in the papers about a street sweeper in the Bronx that had sucked up somebody’s dog, still attached to the owner’s leash. Sadly, the owner ran two and half blocks to catch up to the sweeper, only to find his dog dead inside the hopper.
Nothing like that could ever happen to Nick, he thought. He was far too vigilant.
What will I do when she’s gone from my life? I told her to stop smoking years ago, and now she’s got terminal cancer. Sandy is the only woman I ever loved. I’ll never find another soul mate like her again.
Nine months earlier
“Tommy, I told you already, I don’t want any of that stuff.”
“Why, you might like it.”
Valerie, normally submissive by nature, sat at the edge of the couch where she buried her face in her hands. “I hate you!”
“So hate me. See if I care.”
Although she covered her face, she couldn’t keep herself from looking through the spread out fingers at her boyfriend struggling to light a meth pipe with shaking hands.
“How would you know if you never tried it before?” he said.
“You’re gonna kill yourself someday. You’re crazy!”
“Nah! Just watch! Ya gotta roll it all around the bowl to let it recrystallize. Keeps the impurities down…or so they say.”
The boy, just shy of sixteen, inhaled a lung full. “Oh, man…this is the best shit I’ve had in a long time,” he squeaked, snorting the drug through stiffened lips.
“That crap is gonna kill you. Please, you gotta stop doing that to yourself.”
Dreamy eyed, Tommy sucked in the last of it, leaned into the sofa and succumbed to euphoria.
“My mother’s coming home from work soon. You gotta get out of here.”
“Give me a few minutes.”
“I’m serious, Tommy. She’ll be home in a little while. I don’t want her to see you like this. She already doesn’t like you.”
“Come on sweets, we got just enough time for a little…you know.”
“Not if you keep doing this crazy shit.”
“Come on over here,” he softly said, unbuttoning his shirt.
Valerie let him kiss her. He excited her. Except for the drugs, she had always felt that way about him, ever since they met in high school the year before. Back then he was clean and the school jock. All of the girls were after him.
“Put your shirt back on. You gotta go right now!”
She stepped loudly to the door and opened it to the hallway.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’. I gotta get more shit, anyway.”
Relieved, she cleaned up the living room,
Valerie and Tommy
I t’s not every day that a newborn baby is stuffed inside a folded up cardboard box and left in the gutter.
Thirty one year old Nick Santinelli, driver of a behemoth, New York City street sweeper, guided its heavy steel brushes around a corner drain. The sanitation worker prided himself in his skill at being able to keep the tip of the brushes at the exact edge of the curb, even while daydreaming.
It was that kind of day, today. He could not keep any of the horrible thoughts out of his mind. The diagnosis from the hospital was tragic and unforeseen by both, his girlfriend Sandy and himself. If only the doctors could have been wrong. She had two years to live, possibly three, but no more than that.
The white Allianz 4000 is a huge beast capable of sucking up an area rug. One California Hwy Department test required that the street sweeper be able to pick up a ton of sand in one minute. The Allianz passed with ease.
Two hundred and fifty gallons of water filled the street sweeper’s belly. For street waste, the hopper had a capacity to hold 5.6 yards.
The sprayers out front wet the pavement ahead at the rate of seven gallons a minute as Nick Santinelli straightened the sweeper onto 61st Street. He didn’t have to look at the time. Hecould tell that from where his position was on the route; 8:50–almost time for the first 15 minute break of the day.
Eying the cardboard box ahead, he dismissed it as a poor challenge. Only the day before, he read something in the papers about a street sweeper in the Bronx that had sucked up somebody’s dog, still attached to the owner’s leash. Sadly, the owner ran two and half blocks to catch up to the sweeper, only to find his dog dead inside the hopper.
Nothing like that could ever happen to Nick, he thought. He was far too vigilant.
What will I do when she’s gone from my life? I told her to stop smoking years ago, and now she’s got terminal cancer. Sandy is the only woman I ever loved. I’ll never find another soul mate like her again.
Nine months earlier
“Tommy, I told you already, I don’t want any of that stuff.”
“Why, you might like it.”
Valerie, normally submissive by nature, sat at the edge of the couch where she buried her face in her hands. “I hate you!”
“So hate me. See if I care.”
Although she covered her face, she couldn’t keep herself from looking through the spread out fingers at her boyfriend struggling to light a meth pipe with shaking hands.
“How would you know if you never tried it before?” he said.
“You’re gonna kill yourself someday. You’re crazy!”
“Nah! Just watch! Ya gotta roll it all around the bowl to let it recrystallize. Keeps the impurities down…or so they say.”
The boy, just shy of sixteen, inhaled a lung full. “Oh, man…this is the best shit I’ve had in a long time,” he squeaked, snorting the drug through stiffened lips.
“That crap is gonna kill you. Please, you gotta stop doing that to yourself.”
Dreamy eyed, Tommy sucked in the last of it, leaned into the sofa and succumbed to euphoria.
“My mother’s coming home from work soon. You gotta get out of here.”
“Give me a few minutes.”
“I’m serious, Tommy. She’ll be home in a little while. I don’t want her to see you like this. She already doesn’t like you.”
“Come on sweets, we got just enough time for a little…you know.”
“Not if you keep doing this crazy shit.”
“Come on over here,” he softly said, unbuttoning his shirt.
Valerie let him kiss her. He excited her. Except for the drugs, she had always felt that way about him, ever since they met in high school the year before. Back then he was clean and the school jock. All of the girls were after him.
“Put your shirt back on. You gotta go right now!”
She stepped loudly to the door and opened it to the hallway.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m goin’. I gotta get more shit, anyway.”
Relieved, she cleaned up the living room,
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