Ergin Sutter was a mean man. Quick to anger. Beat down anyone come ‘cross his path of ire, and his ire was always afire, mean old motherfucker, he was. He had five boys. Each and every one of those boys hated their father…one died hatin’ him. He beat them – had them beat each other ‘til disgust drove them out to parts unknown. Didn’t matter they never seen each other again – didn’t need to. He done that to them. Killed their souls. Mean old bastard.
Arthur was the big one. ‘Turo. He played a little football he did, but was never too bright to be gon’ to college, but he played in the Army and some men came round to see – take a look at this big mean kid. Head like a block. Thick everywheres. T’ighs de size of watermelons inside his pants. Had a time with Pittsburgh, but not regular. He was a defender, linebacker maybe, hurt people, until they hurt him. Bad. Just takes once sometime. Wasn’t worth much after dat, and went to work on the docks. Heard a rumor he got crushed under a forklift, but that don’t sound right. For the forklift.
Messel was next and he bore the brunt of Big Arthur. Took a beating that kid. The first victim you know – after Art, cause the old man started in on Arturo – dats what his Momma called him. She left, went back to Puerto Rico or Nicaragua or whatever. Messel, he was slight, and wiry and wise. I think. The beatings never got to his mind. His mind was strong. He took it. Messel Sutter is a city controller in Arkansas, somewhere. Do you believe that. A controller – in charge of all that money. But back then he would bloody little David no end, until little David choked on a dog at the Giants. No one felt worse than Messel. Messel missed him the most. But the old man had one less mouth to feed.
