What I remember most was the chain. It was huge. Each link in it, bigger than my skull. It snaked out the back of a massive truck, down passed the end of the street, through the police barricade, across the sand and into the water.
The Belt Parkway ran along the horizon on the other side of the water, traffic backed up from the Kings Plaza exit all the way to Sheepshead Bay. The highway was too far away for me to really know for sure, but I imagined that the reason the cars stood still was so that people could lean out their windows to see what was going on right in front of me.
A huge man, with a hard hat, covered in axle grease, got a part of the chain unstuck from something that I couldn’t make out. Then, he carried two huge metal hooks down to the police officers and started explaining something.
“We should go.”
“What?” I replied, only half hearing what Benji had said. His new red Schwinn alongside my bike.
“We should go.”
“Why?” He was always like this, pulling back, moving away from anything that could be avoided.
“It’s time to go.”
“Then you go.”
“Okay.” He stood on his pedals and started to move away. “Steven?”
“I’m staying.”
“Fine.” He leaned forward, increasing the traction between his front wheel and the muddy sand that made up the path back the way we had come, made a tight turn, and left for home.
At first, I sat there, astride my bike, not moving. I was worried that the cops would tell me to get lost, but they seemed so focused on whatever that chain was for that they didn’t seem to see me. After a while, I got off my bike, put down the kickstand, and moved along the edge of the taped off area to some rocks on the edge of the beach; a much better view, but definitely still out of the way.
Hard Hat Guy was much bigger than the cop he was talking to. Hard Hat Guy was much bigger than anyone I had ever seen. The hooks had looked large in his hands but now seemed absolutely enormous as the cop examined them and asked some questions.
Hard Hat Guy called back to the truck. Someone inside the truck started a motor. Not the one to drive it, some other engine, hidden in the place where the chain came from. Then, he called down to the water, and two men in lifejackets with lights strapped to their heads came up from the shore to talk with him and the cop. The Lifejackets took the hooks with them, back toward the shore. Hard Hat and the cop cleared debris away from either side of the chain. An outboard motor startled me with its sudden, throaty moan. Then the chain scraped its way down the beach.
The Lifejackets’ boat moved away from the shore slowly, for about ten minutes. When they finally stopped their engine, they called back to the cop and Hard Hat. Hard Hat gave them the “Go” sign.
The chain screeched across the pavement as it shot into the water. Some more yelling. Then, the engine in the back of the truck whined, both higher and louder. The chain stopped moving. It pulled itself tight. It quivered a few inches above the ground, but in all other ways had become still.
The engine whine was the only noise left to be heard. And, once it bore down and girded itself for the task ahead, it’s tone steadied. Still loud, but so steady a noise that I could tune it out and hear the stillness of the beach that it had tried in vain to shout down.
Slowly, the chain began to coil back into the truck. Hard Hat and the cop had made their way down to the water’s edge and the two Lifejackets soon joined them. The water around the chain began to bulge. It turned silver and copper.
Hard Hat yelled for them to get back as the rear of a 1973 Monte Carlo spouted out from beneath the bay. The hood popped open spraying everyone with water. The Lifejackets pried open the doors and the cop broke open the trunk.
Stagnant, stewed water poured from every opening. And the nervous energy drained from everyone; the cop, the Lifejackets, and Hard Hat. Hard hat leaned in through the torn off passenger side door and was working at something. The Lifejackets backed off. The cop stood next to Hard Hat, his feet planted firmly in the sand.
When Hard Hat finally stood up, all I could see was his back. Light reflecting off the water shown around him, a dark figure rising from the carcass of a car. The cop came up behind him and gently put his hand on Hard Hat’s back. The cop said something to Hard Hat. Hard Hat nodded. And without turning, they both headed up the beach toward some paramedics who had finally arrived.
The paramedics called out to the cop. The cop yelled something back. The paramedics were no longer in any kind of a rush. They put down their emergency gear, picked up clipboards, and started making notes.
When Hard Hat finally turned toward the paramedics, that was the first moment I saw her. Long dead, in a tangle of seaweed, the skin of her neck partially eaten away. The paramedics loaded her onto the stretcher.
Then Hard Hat and the cop headed back toward their vehicles. Hard Hat moved slowly, plodding, his head hung low. The cop got in front of him, and reached up, holding him by his massive shoulders. The cop said something. Hard Hat nodded.
The cop spoke again; then, Hard Hat cried. He cried so hard, he shook. He shook so hard, he sat down. He sat down right there, in the street. He hung his head, and he wailed.
The cop held his shoulder and stood there in silence.
Reference: NYT: GAMBINO TRIAL HEARS CAR THIEF DESCRIBE WORK by Ronald Smothers — Oct. 16, 1985