Chapter 5: The Burnt Club

The Sartori Social Club had stood on Hylan Boulevard for fifty years, and the whole street had come out to watch it burn.

Old men in slippers stood on the sidewalk with their hands over their mouths.

A woman from the bakery next door was crying into a dish towel.

The fire trucks had their hoses on the second floor, where my father's office had been.

I walked straight through the crowd to the yellow tape.

Nino limped behind me, and Santino came last, not touching me, as promised.

"Who called it in?" I asked the nearest fireman.

"Neighbor, ma'am. Smelled gasoline at the back door around nine."

"Gasoline," I said.

He looked at me, then at the club, and said nothing else.

A black sedan slid up to the curb behind the trucks.

Dario got out in his overcoat, with two soldiers behind him.

He came up the sidewalk with his face arranged for the neighbors, soft and sorry.

"Gem," he said, loud. "I came as soon as I heard. This is a tragedy."

"It's gasoline."

"Wiring. The place was fifty years old."

"A neighbor smelled gasoline at the back door."

The soldiers shifted.

Dario put his hand on my shoulder, so that everyone on the street could see a husband comforting his wife.

"You're upset. Lidia and I were just saying you shouldn't be alone tonight. Come home."

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