The City Brigade: The Entire Story

By Tim Gerard

This young adult novel tells the story of good friends Ricardo, Peter, and Kate, whose lives are changed forever when their friend Emanuel becomes the victim of the drugs and violence so prevalent in their urban neighborhood. But what can kids do to help prevent these terrible situations?

 

The friends are determined to find a w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing Group
• Release date: Apr 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781641118736

Tim Gerard

As a child, Tim Gerard valued the time he spent listening to stories and having family conversations. He wishes all children could enjoy that same luxury. In a world of increasing competition for control of a child's attention, he hopes the closets and inner vaults of their minds will be filled with parental answers and the wisdom to fight off all the human and technical vultures encountered in our time. The cozy fireplace and hearth rug where Gerard sat during his childhood may not be available to all kids growing up today. Still, he hopes every child will leave the family gathering spot armored with caring advice and fond memories.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE CITY BRIGADE

F

rom time to time, the young man stirred just a whisper of movement but never made it back to consciousness. All he succeeded in doing was maintaining hope in a desperate mother.

The tubes and breathing apparatus were a constant reminder of his state, but Maria did not give up. Convinced her child would come back out of the coma, she insisted on talking to him each day so he knew he was not alone, that she was there to love and support him.

On this day, his lifelong friend, Peter Casey, had visited. Then, after a short stay, he returned to his life. The time taken was appreciated by Maria, as it was with other visitors. However, she knew she was the one constant visitor her son could rely on, both now and when he eventually awoke.

Maria struggled to focus that day, as she did on occasion. She kept forgetting her count for knitting and had to unravel her work to get back on track. After the third time she knew it was hopeless and then she did what she always did next in such a situation, which was to pull out her Rosary beads.

Maria’s faith was simple in nature, but its strength was surpassed by the inert resolve of a mother. Bent over with her Rosary beads in hand, she prayed with vigilant fervor. She would keep the enemy, that angel of death away.

How had it gotten to this point? Let’s go back to the beginning so you will understand.

THE FLUE SHOT MAKES FRIENDS

Peter Casey and Ricardo O’Sullivan met on the day both their mothers took them to the local health clinic for flu shots. Even though the boy’s fathers worked out of the same firehouse their families lived at opposite ends of St. Anne’ parish. This meant they each went to a different school. However, with a reorganization within their school district they would soon be classmates at a new integrated facility that was being built. So, while they instantly got along well, each appreciating each other’s humor and sense of joking, neither of them realized how important their friendship would become.

Ricardo introduced himself to Peter that day, to which Peter replied. I know who you are, your dad is the new guy on the ‘Fire.’’

He waited a long time to get there and he loves it. I’m going to be a fireman one day. How about you?

Peter nodded his head up and down quickly. Yup, sure am.

The two went to discuss the programs they liked on the T.V., and all things sports. Who they loved and who they did not? Their chit chat came to an abrupt halt when the nurse called Peter’s name.

Peter was not looking forward to getting his flu shot. His eyes widened as she followed the nurse back into the office, where old Dr. Lombardo was waiting.

The doctor didn’t miss a chance to tease Peter, whose eyes took in the print on the wall over the sink. No way! Peter said in a raised voice, "Surely, they wouldn’t do that. Would they?

No, Peter, we are not going to do that to you, the doctor said, unable to hide his amusement. The nurse moved his t-shirt up a bit and wiped an alcohol pad across his arm.

Thank goodness. What type of guy would pull down his pants to get a shot in the backside? Peter asked.

One not as smart as you, the doctor said.

Ouch! Peter winced and looked at his arm.

Dr. Lombardo had just given him the shot. Distraction, it puts everything into perspective, he said with a small laugh. Well done, Peter. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

No, I guess not. Definitely better than a shot ‘there,’ he added, pointing to his backside. No way; never!

His mother laughed a brave Irish laugh, It is all over. No need to pull down your pants, my man!

The aging doctor smiled and handed Peter a candy pop, saying, Do not tell the dentist!

Does the dentist pull teeth from your butt?

The old doctor’s face brightened up. This will be one for the family folklore.

Peter wasn’t sure what was so amusing. He’d been quite serious.

Peter walked back out to the waiting room and met with Ricardo, who was walking in, following the nurse and his mother. He looked unamused, just like Peter’s had been.

Ricardo noticed the sucker. What flavor?

Raspberry…pretty good.

Did it hurt, Peter?

Naw, but I made sure they gave me the shot in my arm, not in the butt like the guy in the poster.

What? Ricardo was shocked and panicked. He started to turn around and his mother, without even looking at him, grabbed his arm. Come on, sport. You got this.

Peter started laughing and that’s when Ricardo realized he was getting teased. You just wait, Peter, I’ll get you back for that.

Both boys started to laugh and trash talk, to which both mothers agreed they may have their hands full this upcoming year.

Then Ricardo and his mother continued into the doctor’s office. Meanwhile, Rosemary struck up a short conversation with another mother.

A few minutes later, Ricardo was back in the waiting room with a green apple sucker. Peter ran over to him as his mother stood by the steps to leave. Hey, we play in the city yard sometimes. Would you like to come?

Ricardo looked to his mom, who looked over to Peter’s mother. Since the boys seem to get along so well, it might be a good idea to exchange numbers and have them hang out sometime.

Agreed, Peter’s mother said. She began to search her handbag for a pen.

Ricardo said, His dad’s on ‘the Fire,’ now, so Dad will have his number.

They are busy enough as it is, Ricardo, his mother said. She turned to Peter’s mother and said, All we can do is hope that they never get called into certain buildings around town. Things are never safe around the drug dealers and some of the thugs that hang around them.

Ricardo’s mother nodded her head and the two women didn’t say another word. What more could be said? Their neighborhoods were dangerous, despite a close community that tried their best to keep the bad things out of it. Little did they know that there was a force coming to help combat their problem, from a place they would never have dreamt of.

As Maria Sullivan walked home that evening, drawn from the caverns of motherhood and the example she herself had been afforded by her own mother, she determined that she would dedicate her life to giving her children more time than stuff. She knew that children would be children, but she knew that they needed a custodian who dispensed both kind and hard love; most of all she knew she would have to listen to them as they evolved. It would take hundreds of meal-time discussions to instill values in her children that would keep them on the right road in life.

She was not able to articulate in a sophisticated way all that ran through her mind. Inadvertently she said aloud, I will just have to be a good mother.

Ricardo looked at her and in an endearing way but not understanding the full import of his response said, But you are!

She pulled him close to her. In later years her attentive ear paid off in the bond she enjoyed with all her children, but especially in the closeness she developed with her older daughter, Kate. But first they would have to grow up.

Across the street from the clinic stood the formidable police station and the courthouse where the unfortunate members of society ended up.

On this day as usual, the area was always busy, society’s downtrodden parading in and out at all hours. It was a well-known fact that many parents prayed daily that their child would never end up there—for any reason.

The people who staffed these buildings, especially the policemen and police clerks were the fathers and mother to many of the children. Many of current policemen’s fathers had been cops and in many cases their grandfathers also. As different cultures and nationalities gathered in their community, the force had become more diversified, which was helpful. However, the criminals had also become more diversified at the same time, which was challenging.

As both pairs of mother and son were about to part, Peter elbowed Ricardo and pointed. One of the officers, Tubby Connors, was making way out of the precinct with someone who was making quite the ruckus. She was short, spirited and had a waistline that showed how much she loved the pastries she was renowned for making. Connors looked like he’d also enjoyed a few too many of the delectable sweet treats. Still, he was a committed and beloved officer in the community. He was hard on people but also fair.

I wonder what that’s all about? Ricardo asked.

Peter’s mother said. That looks like Mrs. Catherine Malone Silvestri.

Isn’t she the one who always says, ‘Help out kids; no to all drug dealers?’ Ricardo’s mother asked.

That is her.

Now everyone was watching as Mrs. Silvestri, a middle-aged mother of two, trying to free her arm from Connors grasp and go back into the station. But she wasn’t successful and before long, she was on the sidewalk.

Tubby turned to another officer who was standing there, just observing the situation, holding onto a dealer he was waiting to take into the station for booking. His name was Smithy and he was a familiar face at the station.

Connors commented. Hey, Garcia, I have a physics question for you.

Yea, yea, Sarge, since when did you get interested in physics?

When Mrs. Malone Silvestri came in, what was the time lapse between the time her feet crossed the threshold and the time her rear achieved the same feat?

Now, Sarge, Garcia cautioned, you need not talk like that, considering you have a bit of a gut yourself.

Well, at least when my feet cross the threshold my derriere does so in the same time zone. Get it? She is so fat that her head is in the building long before her derriere—she is a massive woman!

Garcia decided to change the subject. Well, Sarge, time for me to book this mouthy punk of a dope dealer. Man, look at his well pressed t-shirt, pants, and sneakers paid for on the backs of kids’ miseries. What a shame…look at him, he’s a fine-looking Italian kid who could do anything he wanted. He’s just too lazy.

The cuffed prisoner gave the detective a dirty look and mumbled something, then sniffed and shrugged his shoulders.

Tubby looked at the kid and shook his head in sadness. It was a waste, plain and simple. How much did the gold necklace cost? A gold cross and you sell drugs to help kill kids! Do you really think he’d approve? Tubby pointed up to the sky.

A silent and spiteful stare was the dealer’s only response.

A pirate abroad and a provider at home, Garcia. I’ll take care of him.

Bless your Irish heart. I’m going to hang out near the clinic; it’s flu shot day for the school kids. Make sure no miscreants like Opioid Oliver are lurking around. Not that I wouldn’t love to catch him in the act and get him off the street. A doctor pushing drugs like he does. Makes my blood curdle.

Officer Garcia crossed the street and saw Peter, Ricardo, and their mothers. He noticed the boys laughing about something, their hands on their guts. What’s so funny?

The boys could barely answer so Peter’s mother did. These two are entertained by the notion of pulling teeth from one’s South Pole—must have been something in their flu shots.

Well, I don’t get it but it’s quite the visual, I must say, Officer Garcia said.

I see Mrs. Silvestri was at it again. She does have a good point, you know, Ricardo’s mother said. It doesn’t seem like we are winning the war on drugs. It’s a mess. When are you going to be able to put that fire out once and for all?

Now Officer Garcia was a bit annoyed. Yea, yea, but it will be a hell of a day when we will enlist those brave firemen.

They might do more with their hoses to clean up the streets than you guys do with your law and order stuff!

Yea, yea, those fire guys could not take our kind of heat.

Ricardo’s mother Maria smiled in amusement and decided it best to call a truce. Adios, have a nice day, Garcia. Then she turned to Peter and his mother. It was wonderful to meet you both and I look forward to coordinating a time for the boys to play.

Officer Garcia thought about what Maria had said and their banter. The truth of it was they were right. The community did have a terrible problem with drugs in the city, and they were losing the battle and their children to the greed of the vultures.

The image of the drug dealer Smithy in his arrogant, cool-dude stance remained with Garcia as he wandered into the clinic. He wondered how many of the children would one day end up as victims of Smithy’s and Opioid Oliver’s greed.

Down the block from the clinic and police station was St. Anne’s Church, plus its school and community center. On this occasion in his usual robust fluster, Fr. Moriarty entered the dining room, and hung his Báinin cap on the knob of the dining room door. The cap did not stay and as he bent to pick it up, he said, I must mind this. All the way from Ireland and with me for years—a gift it was from a good wholesome Irish neighbor.

It’s your trademark, Father. Fr. Ramos smiled.

They knit them so tightly that they can keep the rain out in wet old Ireland. They were traditionally worn in a place with an entirely different view to that I saw from my bedroom window before I came down. You know, my good little man, if my mother looked out the same window, as I did just now, and saw St. Anne’s, the school, etc., and all that has been done in the last hundred years she would marvel at it all. God help us, change came very slowly to the parish she was raised in. What a lot of work has been accomplished here over the years by immigrants from all over: Irish, Italian, and your own people! It is surely the work of the good Lord himself via the hands of the diverse ethnicities of his faithful. Is that not so, my good little shepherd? Begor, it’s God’s work indeed! Anyway, how are you my faith-filled comrade in arms?

With his cap now secured on the hook, he sat down and looked to Fr. Ramos, who was watching him. Fr. Ramos cringed, obviously not considering himself little, but quickly recovered. He had put a spoon of cereal in his mouth and was unable to speak but nodded his head in answer to the salutation.

On regaining the use of his vocal cords, Fr. Ramos then began to get right down to business. I’ll need to have the stuff in the office send over to the Parish Hall. The place is a mess. Everything is everywhere! But it is good that we are getting the contributions. There is hunger in the projects.

You are right, the place is a mess and littered like the peer near Killorglin on a windy day. If I dumped stuff like that as a boy, my old fellah would have given me a good kick in the pants. But, I suppose, we’ll feed their bellies first and then hopefully teach them a bit of manners.

Although Fr. Moriarty had heard what his peers said, you wouldn’t have known by his response. God, Fr. Ramos, how do you keep so trim and neat in appearance? It was that fancy Spanish upbringing that you had! Never had to work on a fishing curragh as a boy, I suppose. Well it made men of boys where I came from.

Fr. Ramos glanced to the much taller sea-hardened priest. If I were there, I would pity the fish!

Good man, F, Ramos, good man! But this man is famished. Let’s say grace.

One grace later, food was being ate and casual conversation commenced.

In stark contrast to the red-headed Fr. Moriarty, the sallow-skinned Fr. Ramos was short and looked more like an altar-boy than a priest. But that was all that was diminutive in his makeup. His family had come from Mexico, having picked up the Spanish name somewhere in colonial conquest. From such a unique blend of ethnicities, he’d also managed to master fluent English, which was a stark contrast to most of the people of Hispanic heritage in the area.

Fr. Ramos’ energy contrasted with his short stature and his tall Celtic superior often marveled at his endless hunger for work. He was a John Bosco of the community with a soft spot for the younger generation. When children got in trouble he was first to help them, whether at the police station or in the courthouse. If he needed extra help he would then fall back on Fr. Moriarty, who then pulled all the strings of his political abilities to care for his flock: they made an excellent team.

For the longest time, it had been Fr. Ramos who focused on the