Chasin’ the Bird

 Part 2 of 2

 

The trauma center waiting room was a busy place, people coming and going, families huddled together, speaking in hushed tones. Periodically a doctor would appear through the wide automatic doors, find the appropriate family members and give them a brief status report. The reactions ran the gamut, from smiles and laughter and hugs for the doctor, to choked sobs and tears.

Dom and Della waited, trying their best to remain calm. Mrs. Kemper had come by but had to leave after several hours. They would call her as soon as they had news to share.

The automatic doors swung open and a young man in scrubs came into the room.

“Mancini?” He called out in a firm voice.

Dom went to where the doctor was standing, Della close behind. “I’m Dominic Mancini.”

“Mr. Mancini, I’m Dr. Fleishman. I’m a trauma surgeon. Your brother sustained a knife wound and a laceration to his liver. The knife entered his right side, about right here.” He pointed to a spot on his torso. “It was a serious wound but we were able to repair it. No other organs were hit. He lost a lot of blood but they got him here quickly.” The young physician continued, describing the post-surgical protocol and the fact that the next forty-eight hours would be critical. Dominic retained just one detail: Vinnie was alive. The doctor finished his report. “Do you have any questions?”

“Dr. Fleishman…” Dom took a deep breath. “What are his chances?”

“I won’t sugar-coat it, Mr. Mancini. The surgery went well, but a lot of things can go wrong. I’d say his chances are fifty-fifty. As I said, the next forty-eight hours are critical.”

They thanked the doctor, marveled at his youth and professionalism, held on to his hand a little too long, and then watched as he turned and exited the way he had entered. Dom and Della fell into each other’s arms, tears flowing freely, damp spots collecting on shoulders. For now at least, Vinnie was alive.

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It was one of those glorious September days in The City, not a cloud in the sky, the temperature expected to reach the low eighties. The Giants would pack Oracle Park for the umpteenth consecutive sellout and the 49ers were poised to open their season with great expectations. All around town, people shed their jackets and scarves and ties and took their lunches outdoors to the parks, squares, and plazas. Out on the bay, sailboats moved in graceful white clusters around Alcatraz and Angel Island. It was the time of year San Franciscans cherish.

Dominic Mancini had little time to enjoy the season. He was on a mission. He walked all around Union Square, then down Stockton Street past the entrance to Macy’s. Nothing there. He made his way back to the Powell Street turntable and waited for a cable car. It was after Labor Day and Dom was able to board without the crush of tourists. The bell rang brightly as the car rolled up the street past the St. Francis Hotel, then farther up the block to the Sir Francis Drake, the doorman standing outside in the traditional British costume. At the crest of Powell Street, passengers jumped off for The Top of the Mark. Soon came the left turn onto Jackson, past the Car Barn and Museum. He looked and listened closely. Still nothing. The car turned right and climbed to the top of Hyde Street where it paused for the magnificent view of Alcatraz and the bay. Some riders stepped off for the photo op while others boarded for the trip down the hill. The car moved forward, tipped dramatically, and down the hill it rolled, intersection after intersection, a long series of steps. Dom could smell the wooden brakes burning as the gripman worked to control the car.

Dom got off at Aquatic Park and looked around. Nothing. He thought about stepping into the Buena Vista for an Irish Coffee but decided to walk over to Ghirardelli Square instead. As he approached the corner of Beach and Larkin and the stairs that led to the fountain plaza, he saw a small crowd gathered around a street performer and he heard the sound of the alto saxophone.

Dom stood at the back of the crowd and listened. He recognized “Cool Blues” and “Parker’s Mood.” Vinnie had it right. This man was channeling Charlie Parker.

A song ended and the musician announced he’d be taking a break. People pressed ahead, dropped change and bills into his instrument case, and moved on. Dom stepped forward and smiled as the aged Black man poured a cup full of steaming liquid from a thermos bottle. The man paused, lowered his dark glasses, and looked at Dom.

“Well now, there’s a familiar face.” He wore faded denim pants, battered work boots, and a cable-knit sweater that had no doubt been white once upon a time. A black fisherman’s cap covered most of his gray hair.

“Hello.” Dom smiled again. “I think you know my brother.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Mancini, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Dominic.” He extended his hand. “Vincent is my brother.” They shook hands firmly.

“Ha! Vincent? I always called him Dago Red. No offense.”

“None taken. He always called you Bird.”

The old man grew serious. “You know, your brother is my hero. Saved a whole day’s worth of earnings for me. Ran those kids off and they didn’t hardly get a dime.” He paused and searched Dom’s eyes. “Well now…well, well, well…I am afraid to ask. How is my friend Dago Red?”

Dom felt a lump in his throat, but he managed to get the words out. “He’s going to be fine. He’ll be coming home in a few days. We expect him to be back at work by Halloween. Thanksgiving at the latest.”

“Oh my, my, my, that is good news. Good news indeed! Tell him Emerson Jones said ‘Hello and God bless.’”

“Mr. Jones, would you do me a favor?”

“Why sure. What can I do for you?”

“I want to make a video for Vinnie. Would you play ‘Star Eyes’?” Dom took his smart phone from his pocket and opened the camera.

The old man smiled as he picked up his instrument. He moistened his lips, wet the well-trimmed reed, and began to blow.

_____