by Evan Ronan
“They’re going to sit it out until I force them to do something.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I consider telling her about Warren John Fereday. And she reads my hesitation like it’s my first time at the poker table.
“What is it?” she asks. “What do you know?”
I’m too tired, too hurt, too drugged up to concoct a plausible lie.
“Okay, Denise. You asked for it. But let’s not get our hopes up here.”
And I go into detail about my meeting with Warren John Fereday. Her face exhibits the full range of emotions, from shock, to disbelief, to cautious hope, to skepticism, to …
“It’s him,” she says. “It has to be. My God, Greg, you did it!”
This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
“Denise, I haven’t done anything yet. And we’re a long way from this being confirmed. So let’s take a step back here and keep our heads about us.”
“But how else would he know about a thing like that?” she says. “Greg … oh, Greg.”
And she breaks down. Tears of sadness, tears of joy, tears of … what?
Twenty-Four
Denise has to get back to work, which is fine with me because I can use a couple more hours of sleep.
When I wake up again, the meds are wearing off already. I buzz the nurse and beg her for more, to which she replies:
“Thought your pain was only a five.”
“A five for me is a hundred for everybody else. Remember, I’m a Marine.”
“Ohhhhhhhh, I see.” She gives me a very Mom-ish look. “You’re not due just yet. I need you to hold out for a little bit.”
She goes while the pain battles with my pride.
The doctor comes in during Jeopardy. I’m doing reasonably well, too, but then again it’s not the answers that are difficult on the show.
It’s the questions.
Bah-dum-bump.
“Greg, I’m Dr. Waldron. How are you feeling?”
He’s short with grey hair that is turning white.
“Ready to go home, doc.”
“Really?”
“You bet.”
“What’s your pain like right now?”
“Call it a two.”
He arches both brows. “Rebecca just told me you were asking for your next dose.”
“I like to plan ahead.” I smile.
He laughs. “I want to keep you tonight. You’ve got a fairly serious concussion and nobody to take care of you because you live alone, right?”
My thoughts drift to Denise right away. If I ask, she’ll take care of me.
But something holds me back.
“That’s right.”
“You’re going to feel a lot better in the morning. We’ll see how steady you are on your feet.”
He performs some tests on me. Asks me to follow his pen with just my eyes, listens to my heart and lungs, asks me some questions that a third-grader could answer.
Then he’s gone.
And I’ve missed Final Jeopardy of all things. Goddamnit.
Denise returns during Wheel of Fortune and we sit in silence. After a while, she reaches over and holds my hand. There are a million thoughts running through my head. I love the feel of her.
“Denise.”
“Greg.”
We look at each other for a long moment. Our eyes say everything.
Denise loses the staring contest. “I’ve wanted to apologize to you for a long time.”
“I don’t know what for, and, Denise, whatever it is, it was a long time ago.”
“I used you in high school.”
It was a long time ago but her words sting.
“I knew you had feelings for me.” She bites her lower lip, gives me one of those up from under looks. “I pretended like I didn’t, but a girl always knows.”
I say nothing. Just hold onto that hand of hers.
“I liked having you on call. I knew no matter what happened, or what I did, you’d be there to listen.” Her face reddens. “You deserved better than that. You were a great guy.”
I look away.
Truth is, I’ve known this forever.
Now, I didn’t wait around for Denise. I had my share of girlfriends and plenty of fun in high school. But Denise was always for me the one that was juuuuust out of reach.
“Greg, I’m so sorry.”
She lets go of my hand to dab under her eyes. I can tell she means every word. She probably felt bad about it back then too.
“It was a long time ago,” I say.
“Thanks.” A smile breaks through under those water eyes. “Thanks for saying that.”
Twenty-Five
The next morning, I’m being discharged when Lorelei swings by. She’s wearing a real nice suit that shows off her great figure.
Her smile is genuine. As are her sentiments.
“You look a little better.”
“Thanks.”
The doctor says goodbye, while the nurse hands me my discharge instructions. Several pages are printed out regarding concussion protocol and the wrist break and the rib fracture as well as the possible bruised heart I have.
Bottom line, I’m not to exert myself.
Yeah, okay.
The nurse leaves, and Lorelei takes my hospital bag. “Are you sure you can drive?”
“I’ll manage.”
It’s slow-going to the elevator. The headache lingers, but the crippling throb is gone. Thank the universe for small favors.
Out in the parking lot it’s a bright, sunny morning. I’ve lost a day but managed to keep almost all the plates spinning.
“Can we sit for a moment?” she asks.
“Lor, I’m not in a mood to—”
“It’s not about Tammy.”
We find a bench on the edge of the parking lot. A couple nurses are finishing up their cigarettes of all things, no doubt on their way back into the hospital to tell all their patients not to smoke.
Everybody hustles.
We sit and the wash of traffic from the nearby artery hits us. The sky is blue and I can smell flowers and nature is almost enough to make me think everything is okay in the world.
Almost.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, Greg, but I really worry about you.”
I look over at her. She’s turned on the bench to face me, with her hands folded in her lap. Lorelei really is gorgeous. We met after I got out of the Marines, friend of a friend of a friend.
Everybody knows everybody.
She continues, “With everything you have going on, don’t you feel like you’re stretched too thin?”
I open my mouth to protest but in truth, this is exactly what I was thinking most of yesterday as I laid in that hospital bed.
I’ve got the pool hall, the laundromat, and the convenience store. The pool hall is all mine, free and clear, but it’s also the thing:
That barely earns, and
Where I spend most of my time.
Bad combination.
I own little pieces of the laundromat and the convenience store. For both I was looking to be more of an angel investor, but my respective business partners for both ventures, for various reasons, ceded more and more control so now I’m too much in the weeds. Then there are the online businesses that bring in a couple thousand a month. Right now that’s all passive income, but I’m not doing anything to make those better. They’re on a downward trend and everybody knows what happens if you don’t tend a garden.
It’d be perfect if the real estate deal went through. Then I could focus on that and work on getting my way out of these other things. Maybe keep the hall and the online stuff and sell off my equity for the laundromat and the store.
I should really sell the pool hall, but sentimental attachment keeps me there. It was Pop’s. I spent a lot of time in my youth in there. It was the first place I got to hang with the men as a boy.
“Old habits die hard,” Lorelei says, “Sorry.”
/> “It’s okay.” Something makes me reach for her hand. “We were together a long time.”
“Yes.”
She looks away.
“What?”
“There’s something else I wanted to tell you.”
By her tone, I can already tell. “You’ve met someone.”
She nods. “I was going to tell you at the track meet, but it seemed like it’d be too much.”
“Lor, you aren’t my wife anymore.”
She looks hurt by the fact I’m not hurt. “I just thought … never mind.”
She tries to pull her hand away. But I don’t let go.
“I’m happy for you, Lor. You deserve to be happy.”
“We all do,” she says.
We sit there for a few minutes. Visitors come and go.
“What’s he like?”
She laughs. “You’re never going to believe this, but he’s a film critic.”
Lorelei was never into the movies, whereas I’m a film buff. I have to laugh.
“I know,” she says. “Go figure.”
She tells me a little about him, but the whole time I’m wondering if Tammy has met him and if he’s a good enough man to be her stepfather.
“I want to meet him,” I say.
“I’d like that,” she says, not picking up on my tone.
We talk for a few more minutes and stay away from the topic of Tammy. Then she checks her phone for the time and says she has to go.
Lorelei walks me to my car and helps me get in. Before I shut the door, she says:
“The company making me the offer needs an answer soon, Greg.”
“Did you tell your boss about it?” I ask.
“I did.”
She doesn’t add anything there, so it sounds like there was no counteroffer made. Maybe her current company just can’t match the deal.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Greg, I’m real worried about you. And …”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Some kids were mean to Lorelei at school about what you’re doing.”
Anger.
A little guilt.
But more anger.
“What happened?”
“I think they’re related to Julie, second cousins or something.”
Everybody
Knows
Everybody
“What did they say?”
“They told her you got what you deserved.”
Fuckers.
“I’ll call her later.”
“Please do. And Greg?”
“Yeah.”
She takes a long time to say the next thing. “I know you’re doing the right thing but maybe you should think about stopping.”
I’m still angry about the little fucking punks who were nasty to my sweet daughter, and I make the mistake of transferring some of that hostility toward Lorelei.
“You want me to stop doing the right thing?” I shake my head. “What example does that set for our daughter?”
Lorelei holds a palm out. “That came out the wrong way. What I meant was, your daughter and I are both worried about you. There are a lot of people in town who are very angry at what you’re doing. I mean, come on, Greg, look what just happened to you. You could have been ki …”
And she’s crying.
“Killed.”
I’m surprised to see my ex-wife crying about me.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’ll be careful. I’ll start carrying my gun again. Okay?”
She nods, manages to compose herself.
“How about I swing by tonight with a pizza? I’d love to talk to Tammy about this. I want her to know everything will be fine.”
She gives me the once-over.
“Come on, Lor. I really need to see her.”
She nods. “Can you do six o’clock?”
Twenty-Six
There’s construction work being done on Route 55 so my commute to the state pen is nearly doubled.
It’s beginning to cloud up when I walk inside and go through the rigmarole once more. By now you’d think I’d be treated to the express service, but every day I’ve been here I’ve interacted with a different corrections officer at the desk.
I sign the log book, and uncoincidentally note that James Stanek, Nick Carlisle’s attorney, was the last visitor to sign in before me.
This morning I’ve got another long wait, so long that it’s lunchtime before they admit me to see Warren John Fereday. Today I meet with him in the large visitation room. Once more, he is shackled to the floor.
“You’re back,” Fereday says.
“I’m back.” Get right down to business, because I don’t want to spend any longer than necessary in this freak’s presence. “So you talked to Julie.”
He smiles. “You did your homework! Excellent, Greg. You know, I’ll bet most people underestimate you, but I think you make a fine detective.”
“I’ll bet most people looked right through your whole life, which made all the disgusting things you did much easier to get away with.”
He gives me a professional sneer. Then, “I see you were attacked.”
“Never mind about me.” The goddamned headache cranks up a notch. No doubt it’s the company. “What did you and Julie talk about?”
“I used to watch her play field hockey. She was on Apache’s strongest team in years. I knew they were going to go deep in the playoffs.”
I get a chill.
The fact that this guy knows this much about the field hockey program at Apache High School is fucking creepy. I picture him sitting in the stands, away from the parents, all by himself, just watching the girls and waiting for them to bend over to hit the … he’s at every game, come rain or shine, he’s at every game.
Just
Watching
“She was a very good player. Played halfback. Not the team’s best, mind you, but she made a strong captain and was the glue that held them together. They played like a team when she was on the field. She had that rare gift of making everybody else around her better than they were.”
“So you talked after games?”
He nods and closes his eyes, like he’s replaying their fleeting moments together. I want to stand up and punch him as hard as I can.
Why the hell didn’t Minghella and Barnes take this seriously? They should be here now, grilling this asshole.
“A few times. I always complimented her on her play and she was so polite. Unlike all the other girls, she actually thanked me and was kind enough to engage in conversation. Julie was really one of a kind. The world will miss her.”
He’s goading me.
“She was just being polite,” I say. “To a fault.”
He wears a wolfish grin.
“What did she say to you?”
“She asked me how I was, what I did for a living, you know, she was very mature for her age. A proper lady.”
“Sounds like she was almost too mature for you.” I decide to prod him. “I thought you liked them younger, not just in body but also in mind.”
He wags a finger. His nail is nicotine stained, a gross shade of yellow.
“That’s a misconception. Now, to be clear, I do enjoy a young body, one that has not been ravaged by time and—”
I hold out a palm. “Enough.”
He’s pleased with his ability to skeeve me out. I want to punch that fucking smile off his face.
He continues. “Suffice it to say, I was very attracted to Julie. Very.”
“So tell me what happened.”
He yawns. “I already told you yesterday. Now let’s talk about me.”
“I’ve heard enough about you,” I say.
“You’re going to hear more.” He leans forward, the smile gone, his eyes intense. “What can you do for me?”
“Do for you?”
“In exchange for my admitting to raping and murdering Julie Stein, what can you do for me?”
“Give you a pat on the back,” I say. “Maybe even say, goo
d job.”
His eyes narrow. “The fucking DA won’t lift a finger to help me.”
“I can’t understand why.”
He talks past me. “So you better figure out a way to squeeze him into doing something for me. Otherwise I won’t say a fucking word and Nick can rot in here with me.”
“What can the DA do for you, though? Fucking guy can’t let you out.”
“Accommodations. Perhaps the possibility of parole. Maybe a different facility, you know, one where I’m not locked up with a bunch of criminal assholes.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Pot, meet kettle.”
He sneers. “These men chose to commit crime. Do you think I had that luxury?”
I don’t want to engage him.
But he goes on anyway. “I’m an animal, that’s for damned sure. But it’s also true I didn’t choose to be this way. I am what I am.”
“How convenient.”
“You think so?”
“Helps you sleep at night, thinking like that.”
“We’re getting away from the point.”
“Which is?”
“I need you to help convince the DA to offer me better terms.”
“You’ll need your lawyer for that.”
“Then we have nothing more to talk about.” He gets up and signals the guard.
But I have to know for sure.
“Tell me more about Julie.”
“You couldn’t handle what I have to tell.”
“Try me.”
I’m tempting fate.
“She had a tight little body.” He whistles. “I mean, not an ounce of fat on that one. And …”
He shivers with pleasure.
I ask, “Did you like her tattoo?”
“Oh yeah.” He licks his lips.
“I dig a small tattoo on a woman also.” I nod like I’m getting into the idea myself, but really I’m just trying not to throw up. And the pain is hitting me full force. I need more meds. “Julie had that real nice butterfly on her. Right in the perfect spot too.”
“I remember.” He closes his eyes. “It was perfect.”
I shake my head. “You fucking liar.”
He hesitates. “What?”
Warren John Fereday plays innocent. Which he’s been doing his whole sick life.
It’s my turn to get up and signal the guard.
“Wait.” He reaches for my arm, but he’s bolted to the floor and can’t reach. “I’m not lying. I did her, Owen. I did her. She was shaved.”