Angela and Tony had a great time at dinner. He took her to Nicastro’s, one of the better Italian restaurants in the neighborhood. Tino, the singing waiter, serenaded them. They started seeing each other regularly which gave Tony a chance to spend a little time with Jack.

The kid was obviously angry with him. Angela and Tony would sit on the living room sofa, as close as the watchful eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Oliveri would allow. Tony tried his best to talk to Jack. The kid answered Tony’s questions about school or sports, but he never turned his head in Tony’s direction, staring at the TV instead. He kept his answers short. Ordinarily, this would have bothered Tony. Frankly, he was used to kids admiring him because he was a policeman. But, wanting to impress Angela, he remained patient. He worked hard to build a relationship with the kid. One night, while he was waiting for Angela to get ready to go to a movie, he asked Jack, “You want to go see a basketball game? I can get tickets for a Knicks game.”

“You mean, you, my sister and me?”

“Just you and me if you’d like that better.” Jack didn’t bother to respond. It was going to take a while to reach this kid.

Rizzo’s partner, John Sykes, was a good cop. He was older and more experienced and Rizzo looked up to him. He asked his partner’s advice about Angela. “How long you been seeing her now?” Sykes asked

“Two months yesterday.”

“You’re keeping track of the days and hours?” Sykes, who stood 5’ 7” and weighed more than 200 pounds, laughed. “You’re getting in deep, partner. Anyway, you might be trying too hard. The kid probably figures you’re just being nice because you got a thing for his sister.” He tapped Rizzo playfully on his wrist and said, “And he’s probably right.”

“It’s early, but I think this thing with Angela has potential,” Rizzo said.

Sykes looked at Rizzo and smirked. He was about to say something when the car radio went off. “Car 802, we have a report of a fistfight on Bloomfield Avenue and Twelfth Street. Proceed to that location.”

Rizzo, who was driving, turned on the siren and pointed the patrol car toward the fight scene. As they pulled up to the curb, they saw two men, one white, the other black, wrestling on the ground, both men trying desperately to reach a switchblade knife, just out of reach. Rizzo kicked the blade over the curb. Then, each officer took hold of one man and pulled them apart.  

“Damn it they’re drunk,” Sykes said. He pulled his man up and swung him around so he was facing the wall and handcuffed him. Rizzo, who had the white guy, followed suit.

The wall was that of Narducci’s Tavern. “What happened here?” Rizzo asked his guy.

“This nigger tried to take my money. It was sitting on the bar, where I always keep it. Ask anybody, they’ll tell you.” 

Rizzo twisted the man’s cuffed hands, pinching his skin hard enough to make him yelp. “Watch your mouth,” he said     

“That’s not what happened, officer,” the black man said. “And if he calls me that again, I’ll slit his throat.”

“Don’t make this worse,” Sykes said. “Let’s hear your story.”

“I was minding my own business, just drinking my whiskey, man. This shit bird here pushes a five-dollar bill in my direction and says. “Here nigger, take this five and get your black ass out of here.”  

The white guy laughed. “You ain’t gonna take his word for it, I know that.”

Sykes had already called for a paddy wagon. The two men were arrested and placed in the back and taken to lockup. Both claimed the knife belonged to the other guy, but one of the bystanders told Sykes she saw the white guy pull it out of his hip pocket.

The officers walked into the tavern to interview Narducci’s customers. The place had the familiar smell of spilled beer, whiskey and cigarette smoke. Every customer was white. Two of the bar’s patrons confirmed the black man’s story. Another customer supported the story the white guy told.    

Back in the patrol car, Sykes said, “That colored guy should have known better than to drink at Narducci’s. There’s a bar he can go to just three blocks away.”

Rizzo and Sykes had had conversations like this before. Usually, Rizzo just let it go, but that day, he spoke up. “You know something? That colored guy has every right to be in any bar he wants to be. Did you notice his tattoo? The man fought in the War. He earned that right.”

Sykes, who had fought in the Korean War, nodded his head. “Yeah, I gotta admit, in Korea, some of our best guys were colored.”

When their shift was ending, Sykes walked over to Rizzo and said, “Before we got that bar fight call, you said you thought you and Angela might get serious. You really think so?’

“Yeah, why?” Rizzo asked.

Sykes looked around to be sure no one was within earshot. “I heard she kind of has a reputation, if you know what I mean.”

“Who told you that?” Rizzo asked, his voice louder than he intended.

“I don’t know. You hear things. People see things. Just keep your own eyes and ears open.”

That night Rizzo was taking Angela to a policemen’s benevolent association dance. He arrived at her apartment, wearing his good black trousers and his favorite black, flyweight dress shoes. He rang the doorbell. The Oliveri family lived on the first floor of a two-family home.

The front door opened up into a long hallway that led to the first-floor apartment. To the left of the hallway was a steep staircase that led to the second-floor apartment. Angela’s father, Angelo, was waiting for Rizzo in the front hall. “I want to talk to you,” he said. “You been seeing my Angela for a while now. Don’t get me wrong. You seem like a nice boy.” Mr. Oliveri hesitated. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Her last boyfriend seemed nice too. I let him sit in my living room with her after Marie and I went to bed. You getting my drift?”

Rizzo did his best to stifle a grin. He nodded yes.

Mr. Oliveri raised his hand and shook his forefinger at Rizzo. “Don’t get any ideas. I kicked her last boyfriend up and down Abington Avenue. He don’t come around the neighborhood no more.” He looked into Rizzo’s eyes. “It don’t matter that you’re a cop, understand?”

“You won’t have a problem with me. I really like Angela and I respect her.”

Mr. Oliveri, whose muscular forearms alone were enough to back up his claim, didn’t respond. He just turned and led Rizzo into the apartment. On the way home from the dance, Rizzo asked Angela about her last boyfriend. “I don’t want to talk about him. He wasn’t very nice.”

“What was his name?”

“Do we have to talk about this?” she asked. She ran her hand down the length of her skirt, smoothing a few wrinkles.

“Just tell me his name. Maybe I know him.”

“You don’t.”

Rizzo pulled the car in front of her house and put his white Ford in neutral. She thought he was going to kiss her before he walked her to her door, but the look on his face told her otherwise. “His name is Jim Coyle,” she said.

He reached over and kissed her. “I’ll walk you to your door.” 

Tony made it his business to check out Jim Coyle. They were about the same age. Coyle worked in a screw machine shop near South Orange Avenue in Newark. On his day off, Rizzo approached Coyle at his job, while he was on break. Coyle recognized him immediately. He held his hands up and said, “I’m not looking for any trouble. I know you’re Angela’s boyfriend.” He shook his head and said, “Don’t believe everything you hear, man.”

“I heard you’ve been saying some things about Angela that aren’t true.”

“Who told you that?”

Rizzo, who was holding his night stick in his right hand tapped his left hand with it. “How do you plan to fix this? Angela’s reputation, I mean.”

“Look, you want to hit me with that club? Go ahead. I get that she’s your girl, but,” he hesitated, “maybe I wasn’t lying.”

“You saying you took advantage of her?” Rizzo’s eyes got big. This was not what he expected.

“No, I’m not saying that.”

“That’s what you told people.”

“I don’t think I went that far, but tell Angie I’m sorry, okay?”

“Whoever you told that to, you tell them you lied, asshole.”

“Okay.”

When Sykes heard about it, he laughed. “Tony, you really think he’s gonna do that? Even if he did, the cat’s outta the bag, partner.”

“You think so?”

“Look you’re never gonna know for sure if it happened or not. Did you ask Angela?”

“No, no way.”

“I been married thirteen years. Trust me on this. You let it go and I mean completely, or you let her go.”

“What would you do?”

“Doesn’t matter what I would do.”

Tony and Angela continued to see each other. When the winter turned to spring, they had picnics in Branch Brook Park near the cherry blossom trees. They took Jack with them sometimes. Jack and Tony played catch and he let Tony show him how to throw a curve ball. Tony felt he was finding common ground with Jack and Angela agreed. They were wrong.