I, Michael Bennett

No wonder Ed was so ecstatic. It was the first time I’d ever driven down Lander Street when I didn’t want to run all the red lights.

As I looked into the rear of the paddy wagon while Ed drove, the thing that struck me most about the gang of fools we’d just bagged was how sad, cheap, and dumb they looked. With their bedheads and their cheap hoodies and baggy jeans, they didn’t look dangerous. They looked sloppy, like a not-so-merry band of young, tired losers.

Staring at them, I thought what a shame it was. What an incredible mess they had made of their young lives. Miguel Puentes, who was going to be charged with three murders, was pure evil, but the rest of them were low-level, B-team knuckleheads, morons who had seen too many rap videos. They looked stu

I guess the only thing going for them was that they were young, mostly in their early twenties. Some of them were looking at serious time, five or ten years, but maybe in the end, it would help them. Maybe they could get out at thirty, when they wised the hell up. Who knew? Like everyone said, hope springs eternal.

Speaking of hope, by far the best part of the day happened when we were pulling back into the armory.

A group of about thirty people was standing in the parking lot. I recognized a lot of faces from the meetings we’d attended. As I exchanged a wave with Dr. Mary A

They cheered as though we were rock stars when they saw the arrested gang members in the back of the van. They even offered us refreshments as we passed, just as they would hand them out to marathon ru

“We’re so proud of you,” a smiling old black woman in a yellow tracksuit said to us as we frog-marched the punks up the steps of the armory. “My grandkids can play in the street this evening. At least for one night, my babies won’t die.”

Proud of us? I thought, looking wide-eyed at the group. It really was a touching thing. It reminded me of right after 9/11, when so many regular people lined the West Side Highway and handed out water and food to cops and utility workers heading down to Ground Zero.

I exchanged a stu

CHAPTER 94

THAT SAME NIGHT, around 7:00 p.m., Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” was pumping at deafening levels from the overhead speakers as neon disco lights alternately circled and strobed all around me.

Over the pounding dance track, a DJ suddenly urged me to throw my hands in the air and shake it like I just don’t care. And I would have, except I didn’t want to drop the Ha

Nope, I wasn’t out clubbing. The disco sound track was for “cosmic night” at the bowling alley, and the party people in the house tonight were me, Seamus, and my ten kids, here to celebrate the twelfth birthday of my twins, Fiona and Bridget.

The kids’ birthday wasn’t the only reason to party. We’d put away a grand total of seventy-two criminal gang members that afternoon. In eight hours, we’d cleared the town of just about every bad guy. And not one cop had been hurt. It was an insanely successful day.

I spent the next few hours after we left the armory doling out pizza and tying bowling shoes. Which was a lot more fun than it sounded. The kids had never bowled before and were having a complete panic. Especially when Eddie and Trent stood on their plastic chairs beside the ball return and did a spirited square-dance routine to the song “Cotton-Eyed Joe.”

“Hey, Dad! Dad! You have to see this. It’s Grandpa Seamus’s turn,” Ricky called as I was setting out the paper plates.

“Ladies and gentlemen, behold Seamus Be

“What a perfect approach,” he said. “What perfect form.”

“What a perfect load of malarkey,” I called out.

Eyes locked on the pins in concentration, Seamus swung the ball back, stepped forward, and let her rip. His right foot swung dramatically behind his left during his release. He actually was pretty graceful.

“Go, Twinkle Toes,” I said, clapping.

“Come on, baby,” Seamus yelled as the ball hooked. “Cruise in the pocket! Cruise in the pocket!”

Cruise in the what?

Wouldn’t you know it? It was a devastating, pin-crushing strike. Seamus pumped his fist and high-fived everyone as the kids went crazy.

What the …? Who knew the old codger was a good bowler?

I was up next. My ball made a lot of noise, but instead of a strike, it was a four–ten split that I missed completely on my second roll. Worse than that, I received nothing but crickets from the kids.

“I thought you said you played this game before,” Seamus said, licking the tip of the pencil he was using to keep score.

“Granddad is better than Daddy. Granddad is better than Daddy,” Shawna called out to everyone.

“That really was awesome, Granddad,” Brian said. “Who taught you how to bowl?”

“A nice American fella I met when I first came to this country from Ireland,” Seamus said.

“Wait, it was a tall guy, right?” I said. “White wig, wooden teeth? George Washington?”

“‘O beware, my lord, of jealousy,’” Seamus said, holding up the pencil. “ ‘It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.’ ”

I held my hands up in defeat.

“Now he’s busting out Shakespeare? Okay, okay. You doth win, Father. I know when I’m beat. You’re firing on all pistons tonight.”

We cut the cake and sang “Happy Birthday” as Fiona and Bridget blew out their candles. I sca

I thought of what the woman had said outside the armory.

At least for one night, my babies won’t die.

Exactly, I thought. What else was there? I couldn’t have said it better myself.

That’s when someone pointed it out. The eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the corner of the disco-pumping bowling alley.

“I wonder where Mary Catherine is right now,” Fiona said as I handed her the first slice.

That did it. The party was over right there, right then. Though the music still raged, the laughter stopped as everyone looked down at their bowling shoes.

At least they weren’t looking to me for the answer. Because for once, I didn’t have the slightest clue.

CHAPTER 95