Sacred Sins

by C. D. Reiss

  “A money trail,” I said.

  David stood straight with a smile.

  “Immunity,” he said with his palms up as if he was accepting a gift from the heavens. “For your client and the family in the 1999 case if they weren’t involved in the murder. But the heart? I’m sorry. Even if you brought me Judas Iscariot and a receipt for thirty pieces of silver, I couldn’t deliver that.”

  A heart was the one thing I would have brought him Judas Iscariot for.

  “No.” I stood and gathered my bag. “Do your own legwork. No proffer.”

  The room didn’t have an echo until my heels clacked against the hardwood floor as I made my way out. I felt Indy behind me, catching up to put his hand on the door latch.

  “Don’t leave town,” David called. “I always love saying that. It’s like the movies, don’t you think? It’s got such tension. Especially when the audience knows the cop just has to get a warrant before nabbing the criminal the next day.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said.

  “Bring me that middleman, Ms. Drazen, and you’ll be a free woman.”

  Without acknowledging his promise, I walked out.

  * * *

  I blew past Will without looking back. People everywhere. Ears and eyes. Well-tread halls and rooms. I had no place to go, but I walked there fast with Indy at my side. He pulled me into a stairwell, down one flight, backing into the metal bar of the door at the bottom with a clack.

  I went through into the cavern of underground parking lot. Grime everywhere. Tires screeching around turns. Bars of light in the concrete ceiling. He led me to a corner by a steel box marked DANGER and held me.

  “Breathe,” he said.

  Everything. Everything at once. Like a slow-moving tsunami, I was swimming one minute and pulled under the next. The currents moved in all directions, making it impossible to surrender or fight. I was made of alabaster. Heavy. Worthless. Cut into a shape that didn’t fit the life I was in.

  I could fall apart. Crack down the middle before shattering. In a moment of weakness, I could explode into a hot blossom of shards and dust.

  All I had to do was let it happen.

  No one would blame me.

  I backed away with my hand on his chest as if it could steady me.

  “I feel like an idiot.” I continued without letting him reassure me. “Who does that? Thinks about what they want most and offers a trade with the first person who wants something from them? I could have asked to be an inch taller or ten years younger. Would have made the same difference.”

  “You did what you had to.”

  I tightened my fist around the fabric of his shirt. “I thought I was making decisions, but I was only making choices.”

  “Give up your father,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For yourself. Do it for your own well-being or I will.”

  “The middleman? The guy from San Luis Obispo? You sure he’ll testify?”

  “Now that I know what to ask, maybe.” He held my arms and my stare. “Look. We can’t help Jonathan.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “We can’t. You can’t. But I can save you, and I can do it before they come for you.”

  They were coming for me. Finally. I loosened my grip on his shirt.

  “Maybe it’s time I took my medicine,” I said. “It’s been a long time coming.”

  “Margie,” he replied, bending so our eyes were level, “there’re a lot of years between who we were and who we are. But I know you. Have you ever done anything out of greed? Or for power? Or was it all for love?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “To me, it does. It’s the only thing that matters.”

  “I can’t feel anything, Indy. I want to hear you and be relieved that you believe in me. I want to care about what’s happening to my life, but I can’t feel anything but pain about Jonathan.”

  “I know.” He put his arms around me and held me. “I’m going to feel it for you. I’m going to decide for you. I’m going to go talk to the guy in San Luis.”

  “You need to be here. You just found out he’s yours.”

  “I wasn’t there for you or him all these years. Let me be what I was always supposed to be.”

  I pressed my cheek against his chest where I could hear his heart beat. I listened with a kind of awe that it worked day in, day out, keeping him alive where others failed. Every beating heart was a miracle, but the human race was one miracle short.

  21

  Indiana McCaffrey went north to the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo to obtain a guarantee of sworn testimony, saving me from arrest, burying my father, breaking my promises so I could be free. Jonathan was unconscious most of the time. Sheila was ready to sue the entire medical establishment. Deirdre was inconsolable. Fiona was on her way. Leanne too. Carrie couldn’t get on a plane without ruining her life. My mother was sedated, emotionally flat, pointlessly holding on to hope.

  Paulie Patalano was two floors above us—stable, with a Catholic family that would keep him hooked up to every machine known to man while my son died. My hands were ice cold thinking about how close he was, and how far away.

  “Where’s Drew?” Fiona asked. Entropy had taken hold of her perfect coif, pulling loose strands out of her braids and leaving a flat greasiness at the roots. Cameras followed her everywhere, so she rarely looked less than perfect.

  “He had to run an errand.”

  “We missed him. He was one of the family for a long time.”

  “He was.” I put a cup under the urn and poured a cup of coffee I didn’t want to drink as much as I wanted to hold.

  “Who knows? Maybe we’ll gain a brother.” She dumped three packets of sugar in a cup of hot water that had four lemon wedges floating in it. “Even Dad seemed happy to see him.”

  Dad had looked neutral to me, but we see what we want to see and Fiona had wanted to see happiness. I couldn’t blame her.

  “Where is he anyway?” The cup warmed my hands.

  The last time I saw my father, he’d been striding past me in a hallway, talking on the phone as if he was managing important business.

  She shrugged and blew on her hot lemonade. “He missed his shift.”

  Monica and my mother were in Jonathan’s room. In ten minutes, we’d switch the bedside vigil, and I’d sit by him and catalog all the ways I’d failed him. Without a donor, this would go on for hours or days, but not longer. Not a moment longer.

  What business did my father have? What could possibly be important this late at night? I checked my phone. No word from Indy. There was nothing to worry about. He was only going to secure testimony that my father had murdered my ex-lover. Nothing to see here.

  Except… had Dad found out about my proffer?

  He knew a number of judges in the city, and they weren’t above a payoff in either favors or cash. Had one of them signed my warrant? Had they contacted him?

  I looked for him, hoping to see him talking to someone who would fill in the blanks. Standing in the lobby, I watched people come in and out, wondering if there was some kind of precautionary measure I should have taken after the meeting with the FBI. Worry made standing still seem like betrayal. Worry was a sense of responsibility for outcomes we’re not responsible for. Worry also made intelligent decisions impossible. It made prayer seem like action.

  “Margaret?”

  I started at the sound of my father’s voice as he came up behind me. “Dad.”

  “Did I startle you?” He put his phone in his pocket.

  “I’m just tired.” My coffee was cold. I threw it away. “I was on my way back up.”

  “It’s going to be a long night,” he said as we walked to the bank of elevators. “You should get some rest.”

  “It’s almost my turn with Jonathan. Mom will be out.” I pushed the button. “She’ll need you.”

  “It seems strange to hear you say that.” A pleased smile curled his mouth. “After all those ye
ars, it took this to bring her back.”

  “You can thank Jonathan if he’s around to hear it.”

  “Brought your old flame back too,” Dad said, ignoring me. “Everyone was glad to see him.”

  “Except you.”

  “No,” he tsked. “I am glad. I always liked him.”

  “You despised him. He didn’t control me, and he didn’t take orders from you. If he’d done at least one of those things, you would have tolerated him.”

  The elevator doors opened. When it was empty, we got in.

  “You misread me.” He pressed the button with his thumb.

  “I’ve watched you try to marry off my sisters, so please spare me the myopic hindsight.”

  The doors closed. We were alone.

  “You hated him because he knew what you’d done.”

  “Actually,” he said, “I liked him very much. He loved you. He was good to you. I know he was impulsive and a little immature, but he had a good heart.”

  Everything he said after “I liked him” was true, but immaterial. Indy’s love and respect for me were as irrelevant as his flaws. The only things that mattered to my father were loyalty and power. Like an old world king, he’d marry us off to make alliances. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it was a disaster.

  I watched the numbers light up. “We’re together for good this time.”

  “That’s wonderful! I’ve very happy for you both.”

  I looked at his profile. I couldn’t read him. If he was being truthful, he wouldn’t get excited or show delight, but he’d be generally pleased. His voice made him sound happy, but not gushing. The half of his face I could see seemed exactly calm and gratified enough. His lack of resistance to my reunion with Indy was either a perfectly modulated act or the truth.

  “I should tell you now though,” I said. “So you can prepare.”

  He turned toward me. I stepped back as the elevator slowed so I wouldn’t have to crane my neck to observe his expression.

  “Prepare?” Eyebrow up. Listening with caution. So guarded.

  The elevator stopped.

  “This time, I’m leaving with him.”

  “Leaving what?”

  The doors opened.

  “I won’t be working with this family anymore.”

  Before I could read him, he walked out. I followed then stopped.

  “Dad,” I said. “Did you hear me?”

  He stopped a few feet in front of me.

  “And you’re not going to draw me back,” I said.

  Finally, he turned with a smile as unreadable as the Mona Lisa.

  I continued. “They’re adults. They can fix their own problems.”

  “I agree,” he said, holding his hand out for me. “It’s about time you found your own happiness.”

  I went closer, half-believing that maybe I’d misjudged him or maybe he believed it was too late for me otherwise. Might as well give up and let his oldest do what she wanted… right? Let Sheila or a hired hand run things. Maybe even Jonathan if he made it.

  Then my father spoke again, shattering his well-crafted illusion. “Drew coming back was the best thing for everyone.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. My mind went completely clear for a moment while what he said sank into the empty space.

  He knew. As sure as the sun rose for New York before California was even awake, he knew.

  “Are you coming?” Dad asked.

  I went with him to meet our family, but neither of us said a word.

  * * *

  “Who are you calling?” Jonathan asked as I walked in and sat by him.

  “Nobody,” I said, hanging up when my call to Indy went to voicemail.

  “How—” Sheila started.

  “Don’t ask me how I’m feeling,” he said.

  “You look like a towel that’s been bleached and wrung out,” I said.

  “Margie!”

  “She’s honest,” he said. “It’s fucking refreshing.”

  Silence fell over the room. Outside Jonathan’s heart, there wasn’t much polite conversation to choose from.

  Fuck polite conversation.

  “I have a question,” I said, straightening my back and putting my hands in my lap. “For both of you. But first…” I held up my right hand. “Pledge.”

  Sheila rolled her eyes and raised her hand. “Open.”

  “Open,” Jonathan said, picking his hand up half an inch and letting it drop. “I can’t salute.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I trust you.”

  “Mistake,” Sheila joked.

  “Hypothetical question.”

  “We opened pledge for a hypothetical question?” Sheila leaned back, crossed her legs, and laced her fingers across her torso as if, despite her words, she was ready for a juicy hypothetical.

  “If one of us ever tried to hurt our father, what would he do?”

  “Hurt?” Sheila asked. “Like how? Like Carrie?”

  Carrie had nearly killed him, but that wasn’t what I meant.

  “Like in business.”

  “Like steal?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t want to get any more specific. What I was doing was close enough to stealing. “And I mean, really hurt him.”

  “Like make him broke?”

  “Sure.”

  “He’d…” Sheila shrugged. “Make your life miserable, but without money, he wouldn’t have the power to really do that. I don’t know. Not nothing, that’s for sure.”

  “Impossible,” Jonathan said. “Can’t make him broke. There’s too much.”

  “Just pretend,” I said.

  “You’re funneling all his cash into your pocket?”

  “It’s just a hypothetical.”

  He shook his head slowly. He was getting weak from this conversation alone. “Then why open pledge?”

  Sheila leaned forward, putting her elbows on his bedrail.

  “Carrie left,” Jonathan said. “He takes that personally. Still. Now. Take all his money and he’ll respect you. Separate him from his kids and he’ll send Franco after your husband.” His turned slightly toward me. “You never married. That gave you power. Nothing to take.”

  Drew coming back was the best thing for everyone.

  “That’s why he kept you close,” Sheila added. “I was always convinced of that.”

  It’s about time you found your own happiness.

  I held up my hand. “Close pledge.”

  22

  “Will?” The bathroom walls echoed his name. I huddled in a stall on the closed toilet lid.

  “Margie?” he whispered in half-sleep. “Is everything all right?”

  “I need you. Can you do something?”

  “Now?”

  “Now. Right now.”

  “Yeah.” He sounded more awake already. “Nanette can take Hannah to school. I can do without the drop-off line.”

  I hated doing this to him. He had a life.

  “Franco Carloni,” I said. “His son, Franco Junior, works with him. Do you have someone who can find Junior?”

  “I hope you don’t need contact.”

  If Will consorted with known felons, he could lose his license.

  “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Find out if Junior’s out on a job. That’s all.”

  “What’s going on, Margie?”

  Drew coming back was the best thing for everyone.

  “My father said he’s happy Indy’s back.”

  “And? That’s a problem?”

  “It is when it’s a lie. When it’s said to soothe me into looking the other way. Indy knows things my father doesn’t want known, which is as good as a target on your back. Dad threatened him years ago, before he went underground. Now he’s back and if my father’s happy it’s because he’s easier for Franco to find.”

  He was silent long enough for me to know that he saw the pieces I’d put together. “I don’t know what I can get you, but we’ll try.”

  “Thank you.”

  “
Roger.”

  I cut the connection and dialed Indy.

  Got the same message.

  Hung up.

  It was like 1999 all over again, but this time was different.

  This time I wouldn’t let him go so easily.

  23

  “He was better than all of us,” Sheila said, crouched into herself. Behind her, the lights of Los Angeles dotted the night horizon under the line of the mountains.

  “Stop talking about him in the past tense,” I replied. It was dark, and the world still moved under us as if I’d have a son in the morning.

  “Remember that time he gave that kid the ball?” Deirdre said, absently paging through a magazine for the hundredth time. “At Dodger Stadium?”

  Jonathan had been twelve when Drew and I took him to a Dodger game in the bleachers. Before that, he’d only been up in the boxes where the cushions were leather and waitresses brought gourmet food. Drew had insisted Jon had never really experienced a baseball game the way they were meant to be experienced.

  “But the six-dollar seats?” I’d said. “Can’t we get something in the mezzanine?”

  “It was all over the news,” Sheila said.

  “That he was in the cheap seats,” Deirdre replied. “With the masses.”

  Jonathan had brought his glove. His coach had worn it in with shaving cream and rubber bands. He sat between Drew and me, explaining the strike zone, how it moved, which pitches did what. Behind us, a family chattered in Spanish, and in front of us, a line of guys from San Pedro drank too much beer.

  “This is the perfect view for a slider,” Jonathan said. “And Urias has got a mean one. It’s one and two. He can afford to be out of the zone, so watch this…”

  I didn’t know what Urias threw, but it was smacked down the center of the field so hard the outfielders didn’t bother running for it. The sound got to us the same time as it reached us. Guys in front stood with their arms out. One fell. Jonathan stood, reached, leaned back far, farther, and caught it with the smack of leather.

  Drew and I cheered, and when Jonathan straightened, we could see behind him.

  A kid of about seven had his glove up. It was Dodger blue. Plastic. Peeling in the pocket. His big brown eyes were wide with surprise and his lip quivered with disappointment.