Sunset Park

the cops have behaved like men instead of animals, and no, she can’t cry even if she wants to, but please, Miles, she says, put your armsaround me, hold me, Miles, I need someone to hold me, and Miles puts his arms around Ellen and strokes her head.
    They have to do something about his hand. It is swelling now, the area around the knuckles looks bloated and blue, and even if no bones are broken (he has discovered that he can wiggle his fingers a bit without increasing the pain), the hand must be iced to bring down the swelling. Hematoma. He thinks that is the word he is looking for—localized swelling filled with blood, a small lake of blood sloshing around just under the skin. They must ice the hand, and they also must eat something. They have been sitting on the grass in the cemetery for close to two hours now, and they are both hungry, although it is far from certain that either one of them would be able to eat if food were set before them. They stand up and begin walking, moving quickly past the tombs and mausoleums in the direction of Windsor Terrace and Park Slope, the Twenty-fifth Street entrance to the cemetery, the exit from the cemetery, and once they reach Seventh Avenue, they go on walking all the way to Sixth Street. Ellen tells Miles to wait outside for her, and then she goes into a T-Mobile cell phone store to talk to her new boyfriend, her old boyfriend, it’s a complicated story, and a few moments later, she is unlocking the door to Ben Samuels’s apartment on Fifth Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues.
    They can’t stay here for long, she says, just a few hours, she doesn’t want Ben to get involved in this, but at least it’s something, a chance for a breather until they can figure outwhat to do next. They wash up, Ellen makes them cheese sandwiches, and then she fills a plastic bag with ice cubes and hands it to Miles. He wants to call Pilar, but it is too early, she is at school now, and she doesn’t switch on her phone until she returns to the apartment at four o’clock. Where do we go from here? Ellen asks. Miles thinks for a moment, and then he remembers that his godfather lives nearby, just a few blocks from where they are sitting, but when he calls Renzo’s number, no one picks up, it is the answering machine that talks to him, and he knows that Renzo is either working or out of town and therefore does not bother to leave a message. There is no one left except his father, but just as Ellen is reluctant to involve her friend, he balks at the idea of dragging his father into this mess, his father is the last person in the world he wants to turn to for help now.
    As if she is able to read his thoughts, Ellen says: You have to call your father, Miles.
    He shakes his head. Impossible, he says. I’ve already put that man through enough.
    If you won’t do it, Ellen says, then I will.
    Please, Ellen. Leave him alone.
    But Ellen insists, and a moment later she is dialing the number of Heller Books in Manhattan. Miles is so upset by what she is doing that he walks out of the kitchen and locks himself in the bathroom. He can’t bear to listen, he refuses to listen. He would rather stab himself in the heart than listen to Ellen talk to his father.
    Time passes, how much time he doesn’t know, three minutes, eight minutes, two hours, and then Ellen is knocking on the door, telling him to come out, telling him that his father knows everything about what happened in Sunset Park this morning, that his father is waiting for him on the other end of the line. He unlocks the door, sees that Ellen’s eyes are rimmed with tears, gently touches her face with his left hand, and walks into the kitchen.
    His father’s voice says: Two detectives came to the office about an hour ago. They say you broke a policeman’s jaw. Is that true?
    He pushed Alice down the stairs, Miles says. I lost my temper.
    Bing is in jail for resisting arrest. Alice is in the hospital with a concussion.
    How bad is it?
    She’s awake, her head hurts, but no permanent damage. They’ll probably let her out tomorrow morning.
    To go where? She doesn’t have a place to live anymore. She’s homeless. We’re all homeless now.
    I want you to turn yourself in, Miles.
    No chance. They’d lock me up for years.
    Extenuating circumstances. Police brutality. First offense. I doubt you’d serve any time.
    It’s their word against ours. The cop will say Alice tripped and fell, and the jury will believe him. We’re just a bunch