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Автор Лоренцо Каркатерра
Lorenzo Carcaterra
Sleepers
A non fiction book, 1995
For Sleepers everywhere.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not have been possible without the support of the silent citizens of Hell's Kitchen. I will honor their requests to remain anonymous voices and never forget their contributions.
Through the years, I've been fortunate to have worked with many editors who have helped me in various stages of my career. None has had more confidence in my abilities than Peter Gethers. With this book, he made a leap of faith few editors are willing to risk. Then, he guided the work and shaped it and edited it as few can. He also supplied an endless stream of jokes that helped ease me through the rough spots. No writer could have a better partner.
Any writer would love to have a great agent. I have three. Loretta Fidel was
Clare Ferraro found a place in her heart and on her Ballantine shelf for my first book. Then, over a terrific lunch, she fell in love with my second. Then, she waited and she waited and she waited. Through it all, she supplied patience, friendship, and encouragement. I would also like to thank Steve Golin and the people at Propaganda Films for their passionate belief in
I need to thank my doctors, who helped me fight off a variety of illnesses during the writing of this book – Dr. Paul Chrzanowski, Dr. Nancy Nealon, and my main man David at the Rusk Institute.
Then there are the cops – Steve Collura for the kind words; Joe Lisi for the laughter and concern; and, above all, Sonny Grosso, for everything he has meant to me throughout a friendship that now numbers in the decades.
To my phone buddies – Hank Gallo, Carlo Cutolo, Mr. G. , Marc Lichter, Leah Rozen, and Keith Johnson – for being there and for listening.
To Liz Wagner for the laughs. And to Bill Diehl for the wisdom and the care.To my wife, Susan Toepfer, I owe everything. She has always had my respect, will always have my love, and will always be my friend.
To my son, Nick, thank you for the smiles and the chance to forget my work for a period of time. To my daughter, Kate, thank you for showing me what a warm heart can beat beneath such a pretty face?.
And thanks to my crew of suspects – the Fat Man, Bobby C. , Barn-Bam, Carmine, Doc, Big D. , Mike Seven, and Sammy Weights. You were always where you were supposed to be. I never expected any less.
Prologue
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Pat O'Brien to the Dead End Kids in
I sat across the table from the man who had battered and tortured and brutalized me nearly thirty years ago. I had imagined him to be in his sixties – he had seemed so old to me back then – but, in fact, he was in his late forties, less than a decade older than me. His thinning hair was combed straight back, and his right hand, trembling and ash white, held a filtered cigarette. His left clutched a glass of ice water. He looked at me from behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes moist, his nose running, the skin at its base red and flaky.
