Saint John of the Five Boroughs. Ed Falco

       SAINT JOHN OF THE FIVE BOROUGHS

       Saint John of the Five Boroughs

       EDWARD FALCO

      This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

      Unbridled Books

       Denver, Colorado

      Copyright © 2009 Edward Falco

      All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof,

       may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      Falco, Edward.

       Saint John of the five boroughs / Edward Falco.

      p. cm.

       ISBN 978-1-932961-88-1

       I. Title.

       PS3556.A367S35 2009

       813’.54—dc22

       2009012626

       1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

       Book Design by SH · CV

      First Printing

       For Susan and Will

Blasted

      PEOPLE were checking her out from the balconies. Avery knew it, she could feel it, and so she was conscious of how low her slacks rested on her hips, how much of her stomach showed, how her breasts pushed up by her bra rode just slightly higher than the straight neckline of her tank top. Part of her squirmed, part of her preened. An old Rolling Stones song charged down from a second-story balcony a dozen feet in front of her, the driving rhythm doing its magic, dance welling up through her legs and backbone to her shoulders like someone flipped a switch and for an instant she was wildly happy, and that was a pleasure for the moment it lasted before she started wondering about the actual party where she was headed and about whether or not this night she might really hook up with some guy just because she liked his looks or the way he was built or whatever. Because she didn’t want to go back to ice cream and an old movie with Melanie. Because the summer at home that had just passed was all ice cream and old movies, only with mother, with Kate.

      Mel bumped shoulders with Avery and said, “Look. That’s Billy and Chack.”

      Avery saw Chack first. He was an Indian guy with big eyes and short, scruffy hair. He had on a short-sleeved madras shirt and khaki slacks, which was like a uniform with him. Sometimes Mel called him Professor Madras. He was a grad student in chemistry or something like that. He and Billy were one of those sets of guys who seemed to exist in a kind of magnetic relationship so that wherever one was, the other was circling nearby. She was still looking for Billy when she heard him scream out Melanie’s name and then hers as he emerged out of the crowd and climbed over the balcony railing. He was barefoot and wearing pants that only reached midcalf and a bright red shirt that looked like it was probably a woman’s blouse given the fat collar and the lack of top buttons, a small, skinny guy with long hair slicked back and dripping water on the shoulders of the shirt-blouse. When he let go of the railing to wave them up, Chack grabbed him around the waist and yanked him back to safety. Then someone turned up the volume on some Salt-N-Pepa cut, and heads nodded and bodies bobbed in a ripple of motion.

      Melanie said, “What’s up with that boy?”

      “Let’s go see.” Avery started toward the balcony and then stopped to say maybe they shouldn’t, since Dee was expecting them at Vince’s party.

      Melanie said, “Screw her. She’s been a bitch all night.”

      Avery thought it over for a second and then continued across the lawn. At the crowded doorway, she wanted to turn around, repulsed by the prospect of trying to wedge her way through the dense crush of bodies inside, but Melanie grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the swarm. “I need another drink,” she said. “I’m losing my buzz.”

      “Buzz?” Avery shouted. Melanie had her wrist in a death grip as she pulled her through pounding music and sweaty bodies. “You’re out of it, girl! You left buzz behind hours ago!”

      Melanie yelled something Avery couldn’t make out, and then a body stumbled in front of her. Melanie’s grip broke, the crowd closed around her, and Avery found herself toe to toe with a guy so big she had to look up to see his face, which was amazingly square and flat. “Yo, Missy,” he said. “Looking good!”

      Avery was about to slide around him when someone knocked into her from behind and pushed her flat against his unmoving body, which was so rock-hard and solid that it startled her. Banging into him was like running into a boulder. “Jesus,” she said, the words spilling out without thought, “what are you, like a weight lifter or something?”

      The guy’s face lit up. “You don’t know who I am?”

      “I’m supposed to know who you are?” Avery stepped back to get a better look and saw a guy who did in fact look a good bit like a boulder. He was tall and wide, with a neck the size of an average guy’s thigh. “Let me guess,” she said. “Football player.”

      He offered her his hand. “Zachary Snow,” he said. “I’m pretty famous, but I guess you don’t follow football, huh?”

      Avery said, “Do we have a football team?”

      Zachary’s face went slack with confusion before Avery smirked, cluing him in that she was making a joke, and he laughed a weird, high-pitched, tittering laugh. “You’re funny,” he said.

      “I’m only funny when I’m drinking,” she said. “Otherwise I’m pretty dull.”

      “Well, shit . . .” Zach pulled a silver flask out of his back pocket, took a swig, and offered it to her. “Can’t be talking to no dull girls.”

      Avery managed one big gulp of bourbon, which she recognized from its familiar sweet burn, before she coughed and handed back the flask. “That’s good,” she said. “Smooth.”

      “Booker’s,” Zach said. “Fifty dollars a fifth.”

      Avery stalled a moment, offered Zach a coy smile. She was getting that fluttery feeling she got when she didn’t know for sure what she was doing but was pretty sure she was about to do it. “So are you one of those football players everybody’s trying to get with because they’re, like, on the cover of Sports Illustrated and stuff?”

      “Nah, not like that,” Zach said. “But, you know, maybe. If I have a good season. This’ll be my first year starting.”

      “Starting what?” Avery asked. She had to smirk again to let him know she was joking.

      “You’re pretty funny,” he said.

      “So, like, Zach . . .” She reached up and touched the biceps on his right arm, which was significantly bigger than the width of her outstretched hand, thumb to pinkie. “How much can you lift?”

      “I can bench four hundred,” he said. “I got a shot at the Iron Man title. You into lifting?”

      She smiled her cutest, girliest smile. “Do I look like I’m into lifting?”

      Zach said, “You look good.” He pulled the flask from his back pocket and handed it to Avery.

      Avery took another big swallow, shook it off, and looked over Zach one more time as she handed the flask back to him. “So, Zach,” she said, “you want to come out to the balcony with me and meet my friends?” She offered him her hand.

      Zach said, “Aight,” and flashed a bright, happy smile.