A Death in Staten Island

My mother’s home has been vacant ever since she went into assisted living. Both of my sisters have moved to Florida, so it’s my job to take care of the old house. Last week I was draining the pipes for winter, and through the kitchen window, I noticed that Gino Pescatore had also returned to the neighborhood.

We had been childhood playmates. I hadn’t seen Gino for twenty years, but he was recognizable, and I spied on him as he parked in his mother’s driveway and proceeded to loot the place. Moving fast, he carried out a framed Hirschfeld, followed by silverware, a jewelry box, and a stamp collection. I said a little prayer for Mrs. Pescatore, because I figured she had died. She was a nice lady. She gave me fruit and candy, and I liked her. Gino, on the other hand, had always been selfish, and it seemed little had changed.

The last thing he threw into his car was a designer handbag, and he was backing out of the driveway, when his sister arrived on the scene. I’m not sure if Maria was trying to cut off Gino’s escape, or if she was so anxious to do her own looting, that she didn’t see her brother’s vehicle until she collided with it. Either way, the cars crashed and they were both furious. She crawled out of her damaged Toyota, as Gino limped towards her, and the two exchanged curses and insults. It might have come to blows, but Gino had been injured in the crash. He suddenly grabbed the back of his neck, and collapsed in a spasm of pain. Maria laughed at him as she moved the valuables from his car and placed them in her own, but unwilling to give up, Gino reach out and grab Maria’s ankle, tripping her onto the driveway, and since he wouldn’t let go, she grabbed a handful of his hair and twisted, as Gino sunk his teeth into her calf.

It was ugly. I shook my head as I watched them, knowing my sisters and I would never fight like that. We are more mature and more reasonable. Also, I stole all the valuables from my Mom’s house as soon as she went into assisted living.