everything. But it didn’t. Anthony Pavano was a bully. His son Andy wasn’t.
Then Andy did twelve years as a New York City cop. Nothing as violent as that impulsive moment.
And why was he thinking of it now in this theater with people laughing all around him? Onstage, the nearsighted inspector was interviewing a coatrack. Andy glanced around, searching for Sari. But he couldn’t locate her in the dark.
He really needed a smoke. He could feel the pack of Camels in his jacket pocket. Cora probably wouldn’t approve. Who was Cora? He had to remind himself.
The play ended finally. Yes, the nearsighted inspector had committed the murder. But he was too nearsighted to realize it. At the end, he arrested himself.
Andy climbed to his feet and started to follow Cora across the aisle toward the exit.
“Very clever,” a woman said behind him.
“Too clever,” the man with her said.
“Did you guess the ending?”
“Yes. About an hour ago. But I still enjoyed it.”
“It’s one of his lesser works.”
“All of his plays are lesser works.”
Into the cool night air. A chatter of voices as people hurried to their cars. Cora walked along the sidewalk toward the pier till they were away from the crowd, then turned back to him. “It wasn’t very good, was it.” Said with a shrug and a sad smile.
“I don’t think I laughed,” he said. His eyes were over her shoulder, searching for Sari. How had she disappeared? He just wanted a glimpse of her.
“It was supposed to be sophisticated,” she said. “But the actors camped it up too much, don’t you think? If they’d played it sincere . . .”
He didn’t want to discuss the play. He wanted to catch one more look at Sari and have a slow, soothing smoke. He wanted to burn his throat and let the smoke make his eyes water.
No. He didn’t know what he wanted.
But when he heard the shrill shouts, he suddenly snapped alert. He turned toward the cries. From the pier? He spun away from Cora and took off running.
19
H e heard shouts for help. Shrill cries. And, in the circle of light from a tall streetlamp, saw a small group of people wrestling against the side of the darkened lobster shack. He didn’t realize they were children until he was a few feet from them.
“Stop! Police!” he boomed.
He stepped in something soft. Glancing down, he saw a smashed ice cream cone on the pavement beneath his shoe. Another cone lay near it, ice cream still round at the top.
“You dumb shit! You dumb shit! You pay me back!” a blond-haired boy in a blue Southampton sweatshirt was screeching.
A big dark-haired kid, nearly twice his size, had him by the front of the sweatshirt and swung a meaty fist above the boy’s face. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up, liar!”
Two or three other kids stood back a few feet and watched. They were all shouting angrily at the big guy.
Not even teenagers, Andy realized. Their voices hadn’t changed.
“You fuck! You pay me for that cone!”
“You want a cone? I’ll shove it up your ass! You think I can’t? You want to dare me?”
Kids!
The big kid started to lower his fist to the smaller boy’s midsection.Andy stepped between them and absorbed most of the blow on his side. The kid had a pretty good punch.
“Break it up. Police.”
He grabbed the big kid by the shoulders of his gray hoodie and pushed him backward.
“Get off me, asshole. You don’t look like no police.”
“Sag Harbor Police,” Andy said, as if that would convince the kid. “What’s the fight about?”
The blond-haired boy pointed to the asphalt. “My ice cream cone. He tried to take it.”
“Liar!” the big kid screamed. He lunged at the smaller guy again. Andy caught him and stood him up.
“Ethan is telling the truth!” a girl cried. The others joined in agreement.
“You’re Ethan?” Andy asked.
The blond kid nodded. He had tears in his eyes. He brushed back his straight blond hair with one hand. His whole body was trembling. Andy saw he was
Then Andy did twelve years as a New York City cop. Nothing as violent as that impulsive moment.
And why was he thinking of it now in this theater with people laughing all around him? Onstage, the nearsighted inspector was interviewing a coatrack. Andy glanced around, searching for Sari. But he couldn’t locate her in the dark.
He really needed a smoke. He could feel the pack of Camels in his jacket pocket. Cora probably wouldn’t approve. Who was Cora? He had to remind himself.
The play ended finally. Yes, the nearsighted inspector had committed the murder. But he was too nearsighted to realize it. At the end, he arrested himself.
Andy climbed to his feet and started to follow Cora across the aisle toward the exit.
“Very clever,” a woman said behind him.
“Too clever,” the man with her said.
“Did you guess the ending?”
“Yes. About an hour ago. But I still enjoyed it.”
“It’s one of his lesser works.”
“All of his plays are lesser works.”
Into the cool night air. A chatter of voices as people hurried to their cars. Cora walked along the sidewalk toward the pier till they were away from the crowd, then turned back to him. “It wasn’t very good, was it.” Said with a shrug and a sad smile.
“I don’t think I laughed,” he said. His eyes were over her shoulder, searching for Sari. How had she disappeared? He just wanted a glimpse of her.
“It was supposed to be sophisticated,” she said. “But the actors camped it up too much, don’t you think? If they’d played it sincere . . .”
He didn’t want to discuss the play. He wanted to catch one more look at Sari and have a slow, soothing smoke. He wanted to burn his throat and let the smoke make his eyes water.
No. He didn’t know what he wanted.
But when he heard the shrill shouts, he suddenly snapped alert. He turned toward the cries. From the pier? He spun away from Cora and took off running.
19
H e heard shouts for help. Shrill cries. And, in the circle of light from a tall streetlamp, saw a small group of people wrestling against the side of the darkened lobster shack. He didn’t realize they were children until he was a few feet from them.
“Stop! Police!” he boomed.
He stepped in something soft. Glancing down, he saw a smashed ice cream cone on the pavement beneath his shoe. Another cone lay near it, ice cream still round at the top.
“You dumb shit! You dumb shit! You pay me back!” a blond-haired boy in a blue Southampton sweatshirt was screeching.
A big dark-haired kid, nearly twice his size, had him by the front of the sweatshirt and swung a meaty fist above the boy’s face. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up, liar!”
Two or three other kids stood back a few feet and watched. They were all shouting angrily at the big guy.
Not even teenagers, Andy realized. Their voices hadn’t changed.
“You fuck! You pay me for that cone!”
“You want a cone? I’ll shove it up your ass! You think I can’t? You want to dare me?”
Kids!
The big kid started to lower his fist to the smaller boy’s midsection.Andy stepped between them and absorbed most of the blow on his side. The kid had a pretty good punch.
“Break it up. Police.”
He grabbed the big kid by the shoulders of his gray hoodie and pushed him backward.
“Get off me, asshole. You don’t look like no police.”
“Sag Harbor Police,” Andy said, as if that would convince the kid. “What’s the fight about?”
The blond-haired boy pointed to the asphalt. “My ice cream cone. He tried to take it.”
“Liar!” the big kid screamed. He lunged at the smaller guy again. Andy caught him and stood him up.
“Ethan is telling the truth!” a girl cried. The others joined in agreement.
“You’re Ethan?” Andy asked.
The blond kid nodded. He had tears in his eyes. He brushed back his straight blond hair with one hand. His whole body was trembling. Andy saw he was
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