Tor(Mentor)

Friday Night Fights

Passaic, New Jersey 1993

“Pop, we’re goin’ to the game! We’ll back later!” Pauly Falzo, a ruggedly handsome boy of eighteen years, hollers from the bottom of the stairs.

“I take it I don’t need to remind you of your curfew!” Pop, the Falzo family patriarch, yells from his recliner in an upstairs den.

“We’ll be back at eleven-oh-one,” Joey ‘JP’ Falzo, a wholesome boy, retorts with a smirk. At the fresh age of seventeen, he towers over his grandfather and dawns the same sandy hair as his older brother.

“Why don’t you come up here and run that smart mouth of yours to my face?” In his sixties, Pop has been kept sharp from raising the Falzo boys since childhood.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep him in line, Pop. We’ll be back by eleven.” Pauly gives JP a playful slap in the face.

Pauly and JP sit in the stands at a high school football game with their longtime pal, Vin Valero. JP is a senior at the home team’s school, Pauly having graduated the year before by the skin of his teeth. They heckle the visiting team from their angle in the bleachers. Pauly leans over his lap and lifts a brown paper bag from under the bench to his mouth.

“Take it easy, will ya?” JP warns.

“Pauly, you groomin’ your brother into a wuss?” Vin ribs his friend.

“Relax. I’m well-versed in this art,” Pauly preaches.

“Yeah, big bad wolf over here. Versed in the art of rule breaking,” JP mocks.

A tall figure approaches them. “You girls being good?” Dan ‘Jakes’ Jakobs, a balding Sergeant with the Ramapo Valley County Sheriff’s Office, jokes familiarly.

“What’s up, Jakes?” JP reaches out for a handshake. Jakes reciprocates and extends a hand to Pauly and Vin.

“Paul, check your blind spot.” He bends over and points to the quite visible top of a forty-ounce beer bottle stemming from the paper bag under Pauly’s seat.

“Oh, whoops. Thanks, Jakes.” Pauly manipulates the wrinkled paper bag by making the edges tall enough to cover the peeking bottleneck.

“I’ll be around if you guys need anything. Stay out of trouble.” Jakes raises his eyebrows and points as he walks away.

Pauly stands, subtly moving the brown-bagged beverage under his jacket. “Come on. Let’s get outta here before they call the game. I want to beat the rush.” Vin and JP follow close behind, finagling their way out of the bleachers.

The boys rough house and shadow box as they stumble their way down a main street of town, presently deserted due to the turnout at the game. Vin waves.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Vin farewells as he heads down a side street.

“See you, Vin!” Pauly calls. He lets out a long sigh.

“You good?” JP inquires.

“I’m always good—” Pauly is cut off by savage howls. A huddle of boys tumble onto the street from seemingly out of nowhere, shoving and throwing punches. Pauly makes a break towards the brawl.

“Shit!” JP sprints after him. “Pauly! Come on!”

Pauly ignores his brother’s plea. The younger Falzo dashes to the scene. Pauly grabs hold of a boy his size and pulls him off another kid. The boy soars like a ragdoll. Pauly goes from guy to guy, pulling aggressors from victims. JP stands to the side, at a loss.

He grabs his hair anxiously. “It’s not worth it! Let’s go!” He barely gets the words out when blue lights invade the fight.

Boys scatter every which way. Pauly grabs the collar of JP’s shirt, dragging him to flee. A County Sherriff car increases speed, catching up to Pauly and JP.

“Do we stop?” JP gasps.

“No, man! Run!” The lights now accompanied by sirens, illuminate their silhouettes. The boys are forced off the road by the cruiser. They reluctantly slow down, already knowing to put their hands above their heads. “Fuck,” Pauly exhales defeatedly.

A camera flashes as the boys stand for their mug shots.

“Look, it wasn’t us. We were on our way back from a football game. That’s where we were all night. We were the ones trying to break it up,” Pauly entreats to a stern cop. “You can even ask Jakes.”

“Your record isn’t looking too redeeming,” the cop antagonizes, combing through a list of past petty crimes and misdemeanors, most of which were booked by Jakes. “It’s no wonder you’re buddies with Jakes.” He laughs to himself. “At least your brother’s history is a little cleaner.”

JP sits in a metal chair under the supervision of another cop, hands cuffed behind his back. He looks to his older brother longingly. His eyes are puffy.

“Can you let him off then? He didn’t do anything. He was just standing on the side. He told me not to get involved. He doesn’t even know how to fight. He did the right thing,” Pauly argues.

“If he did the right thing, he wouldn’t be here. Both of yous.”

Pauly looks at a clock hanging on the wall. 11:15. “Shit. Pop’s gonna kill me.”

“Alright, kid. You get one call,” a deputy announces. Pauly jumps from his chair and follows the deputy.

Pauly and JP sit in a courtroom beside their public defender. Pop looks on from a row behind, gripped by stress and worry. Judge Brawnley leans forward in his seat.

“You’re faced with an interesting predicament, gentlemen. I’ve got two options of what I can do with you. Since you’re undoubtedly going to be serving some sort of time, the decision therein lays where. Paul Falzo, being a legal adult, you are facing jail time at the county correctional. Joseph Peter Falzo, as a minor, you’re facing time in juvenile detention.” Judge Brawnley draws out his speech. “Now, the reason I question where you’ll be serving time is because the state has been developing an alternative option to conventional incarceration. Mr. Kelly, have your clients heard of Lawton Behavioral Modification for the Ill and Morally Destitute?”

The boys’ defender, Ray Kelly, leans in to whisper muffled words to Pauly and JP. “No, Your Honor. They have not.”

Brawnley proceeds to explain. “Lawton Behavioral Modification is a facility for men of a range of ages who struggle to grasp the concept of conforming to society’s laws and norms. The acts of the offenders who are placed there are not unique in nature. They fall under the crime umbrella of theft, burglary, assault, battery, and even circumstances related to behavioral anomalies. They do not take men who have been found guilty of heinous crimes like murder or manslaughter. The facility’s sole purpose is behavioral reform. Making sense so far?”

The boys nod yes. “Yes, Your Honor,” Mr. Kelly agrees. Pop lowers his head, pressing his hands together in prayer.

“It’s not locked down. The only means of confinement are a barbed wire fence, and the Reform Mentors themselves. The point of that is to determine the effectiveness of your reform training. If you run, then you’re guaranteed to be transferred to a correctional shortly thereafter. If you don’t run, we can be assured that your training is coming along successfully.

“Gentlemen, since the acts you’ve committed are generally contained to street violence and in Paul’s case, alcohol related incidents, I feel that you fit the model of who we would want to send to Lawton. You’re more of a threat to your own futures than you are to society. Joseph, I especially find you to be a prime candidate for this type of training.

“From your record and your disposition, I believe you’re starting this program at a farther along rate than your brother. That is, if you choose to surround yourself with better company and not fall prey to oppressive influences. Paul, take note of that. I also want it to be very clear that if it weren’t for favorable words from Sergeant Jakobs, you both would have been placed in detention long before Lawton came to be. Thank your lucky stars. Paul and Joseph Peter Falzo, I hereby sentence you to no less than one year of reform training in the custody of Lawton Behavioral Modification for the Ill and Morally Destitute.” Judge Brawnley slams his gavel.