Bruno Williams pressed the button on the recordable turntable and spoke into the microphone:<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is a confession. A reluctant one but my crime has been witnessed, and there is no way out. I killed Sonny Bumbass, my neighbor of 15 years in this Brooklyn tenement, today, July 12, 1959, at roughly 9 p.m. and in cold blood.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou would have too, if you had endured the years of sleepless nights and constant noise, if each of your legal avenues to get him to shut off the incessant music had failed. You would murder, I contend, as I have murdered.<\/p>\n
\u201cSonny began bootlegging records three years ago. Two hundred a week, all hours, playing them on one turntable and recording them on the microphone of another table to make the duplicate. A low-end affair, he maxed the volume to get the sound. Others complained, but it\u2019s my bedroom that shares a wall with his bathroom, where he records \u2014 \u2018for the acoustics.\u2019 I appealed directly to Sonny, but as the landlord\u2019s nephew, he laughed me off.<\/p>\n
\u201cTwice I called the police. Someone is on the take, and they never came. This apartment was grandfathered to me, I can\u2019t afford another, not since I lost the job at the plant. For falling asleep on duty.<\/p>\n
\u201cBumbass \u2026 even though he\u2019s dead, I still hate that name \u2026<\/p>\n
\u201cFor 30 months we argued to the edge of violence. But in these last weeks I changed my tactics. I charmed. I don\u2019t know if I planned to kill him, but I wanted Sonny to like me, to take me into his apartment, to let his guard down. He began to invite me over to listen to his favorites. Always the capitalist, he played the redneck music and boogie-woogie that is so popular with the kiddies these days. Nothing with taste.<\/p>\n
\u201cTonight, I arrived with something better: \u2018Ellington at Newport.\u2019 Duke sells so Sonny was willing to play it. When we reached Gonsalves\u2019 famous sax solo, Sonny closed his eyes to take it in. I beat him to death \u2014 in four four time \u2014 with a plaster bust of Beethoven.<\/p>\n
\u201cAt that moment I considered I might get away with it. Sonny was a black-marketer, connected to riff-raff far more suspicious than a veteran like me. But then I saw a horrified face looking in through the window \u2014 Frank Malone. Out to sleep in the cool air of the fire escape, Malone dropped his mattress and fled down the ladder. By the time I reached the window he was two levels below me. He descended to the street, turned a corner, and was out of sight.<\/p>\n
\u201cMalone will bring the police, of course. So, I have taken Sonny\u2019s recordable to my own apartment, where I leave this message as my final\u00a0\u2014\u00a0\u201d<\/p>\n
Three hard knocks at the door.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019ve come. Well, I\u2019ll say again that you\u2019d have killed Sonny too. All that noise, all those years. They might convict me, but they\u2019ll never blame me.\u201d<\/p>\n Bruno clicked off the machine and opened the door to his fate. In rushed Fidel Canada, a first-floor tenant, nearly out of breath.<\/p>\n \u201cYou got a phone, Bruno?\u201d he said between gasps.<\/p>\n \u201cI had it pulled years ago. No one could ever hear me over all that noise from …\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFrank Malone\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I saw the whole thing. Frank climbed off the fire escape, and went tearing into the street still in his pajamas, all panicked, shouting something we could never make out, then got bulldozed over by the Chauncey Street bus.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy God.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s an ambulance down there, around the corner, though it won\u2019t do him no good now. The police got the whole street blocked off. I gotta call my cousin in Queens. He was real close with Frank.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes \u2026 Yes, you do that, Fidel. Try Mrs. Polk on the 14th floor. I think she has one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll go on up, Bruno. This\u2019ll break her heart too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, break \u2026\u201d Bruno glanced at the disc on the recordable turntable. When Fidel was gone, he picked up the record, opened the window, and tossed it away.<\/p>\n Freedom!<\/p>\n Emancipation!<\/p>\n Quiet!<\/p>\n His confession eviscerated into a thousand pieces on the cement 11 stories below.<\/p>\n Or so he thought. Instead the disc spun away like a rebellious Frisbee, slamming unbroken into the seam in Sonny Bumbass\u2019 window. It wobbled as it hit, as if something out of a Chuck Jones cartoon, then hung still, wedged solidly in the gap. A circular black flag on the building\u2019s exterior.<\/p>\n Bruno stared in disbelief, cursing the gods of music and aerodynamics, then reluctantly eased himself out onto the rickety fire escape. Bumbass\u2019 window was more than an arm\u2019s length beyond the banister, but if he could just lean out a bit \u2026 his fingertips could almost touch \u2026 yes, he could feel success within his grasp \u2026 a tad more \u2026<\/p>\n Through the dusty pane he could see Bumbass\u2019 body lying still \u2026 he laughed, though the banister pressed hard against his ribs \u2026 You deserved it, Sonny, you son of a bitch \u2026 play Chopin once and a while and I might have forgave yeah \u2026<\/em><\/p>\n Just one more inch \u2026<\/p>\n **<\/p>\n \u201cNever seen a banister give way like that before,\u201d said Officer Moody, kneeling over the broken body of Bruno Williams. \u201cNasty fall.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt happens on these old tenement fire escapes, Sid,\u201d answered Officer Ureno standing nearby. \u201cYou should never lean on them, especially a big man with all that weight.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cFirst Malone, now this guy. Tough night for the building losing two people.\u201d<\/p>\n Moody fingered one of the countless black shards covering the pavement. \u201cWhat was this record in his hand anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUnlabeled.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGive you 10-to-1 it was recordable and he was a bootlegger. Moving his wares out the back fire escape late at night.\u201d Moody grimaced. \u201cA conman stealing from Bing and Dean and everyone else with talent. Kinda got what he deserved.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s heartless, Sid. And even if you\u2019re right, I\u2019d go on record saying the punishment didn\u2019t fit the crime.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Bruno Williams pressed the button on the recordable turntable and spoke into the microphone: \u201cThis is a confession. A reluctant one but my crime has been witnessed, and there is no way out. I killed Sonny Bumbass, my neighbor of 15 years in this Brooklyn tenement, today, July 12, 1959, at roughly 9 p.m. and … <\/p>\n