by C. Kennedy
“All right!” Michael high-fived Jake.
“Take a load off, bro, and show Christy how it’s done.”
“Check it out! My cast is finally off!” Jerry declared as he dropped into Stephen’s lap.
“Lookin’ good!” Lisa fist-bumped Jerry.
“Dr. Sattler says I have to have an X-ray tomorrow, but that’s okay ’cause Christy and Thimi have to get them too.”
Michael side-eyed Jerry. “I’m having a vision.” He put fingertips to his temples to imitate a mind reader. “Wait. Wait. I see spinning wheels. Wheelchairs. Could it be a wheelchair race?”
Jerry cracked up. “Maybe.”
“Michael,” Christy whispered.
Michael looked down at him, surprised to find a light sheen of perspiration gracing his upper lip. He quickly put an arm around him and steered him away from the crowd. Thimi followed close behind, holding tight to the back of Christy’s shirt. “Talk to me, babe.”
“We cannot go to the fire.”
Realization set in, and Michael felt horrid. “Oh my God, babe. I didn’t even think about that. I’m sorry. We don’t have to do these.”
“I wish to, but we cannot go to the fire.”
“Okay. Let’s sit over there at the picnic table, and Jake and Sophia will bring us the marshmallows.”
“The people will not like it.”
“They’ll understand.”
Christy looked doubtful.
Michael bent and looked directly into his eyes. “It’s okay, Christy. They’ll understand. I promise.”
Christy held his gaze for a long moment, seeming to verify the veracity of his words. “You will tell them we are not rude?”
“They’ll know, but I’ll tell them anyway.” He turned and called for Jake, who immediately stood and walked to them. “They can’t go near the fire pit. The, ah, the brands and all. We’re going to sit at the picnic table. Will you bring us marshmallows?”
Jake’s face softened. “Sorry, little buddy. We totally didn’t think about that. We’ll get you fixed up.”
“He’s worried people will think they’re being rude.”
“Not a chance. Go on over there, and we’ll bring you plates of everything. Cool cast, Thimi. Love the purple.”
Jake trotted back to Sophia, and Michael led Thimi and Christy to a nearby picnic table. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about that, babe. Thanks for reminding me.”
“I do not like to say these things.”
Michael one-arm hugged him. “I know you don’t, but I’m glad you did.”
Christy looked up at him, the late sun and dancing firelight making his aqua eyes ever brighter and more beautiful.
“Seriously, babe. I’m glad you told me.” He kissed the tip of his nose. “I don’t want you to ever do something you don’t want to do.”
Christy nodded, disappointment evident on his face.
“Th-thank you,” Thimi said softly.
Michael smiled. “Any time, Thimi. Never be afraid to say what you need.”
Christy translated, and Thimi nodded.
“Well, look at that fancy cast,” Bobbie said as she placed a paper plate piled high with s’mores between them on the table and took a seat next to Michael. “We’ll have to get everyone to sign it after you eat your s’mores, and I have just the tool.” She withdrew a Sharpie marker from her pocket and set it in front of Thimi.
“Wow, Mom. Full-service nurse.”
“Always.”
Michael lifted two s’mores from the plate and handed one to Thimi and the other to Christy. “It’s hot. Be careful.” He took one and bit into it. “Mmm, so good. Try it.”
Christy bit into it, and his eyes went wide. “It has the chocolate.”
“Yep.”
“Try,” Christy encouraged Thimi.
Thimi carefully bit into it, his eyes went wide too, and he suddenly stuffed the entire thing into his mouth.
Michael snorted. “Score!”
Bobbie smiled. “I see a stomachache on the horizon.”
Michael half laughed. “I think Thimi has a sweet tooth.”
Jake, Sophia, and half the gang joined them at the table, and they ate s’mores, chatted about the virtues of chocolate and marshmallows, and everyone signed Thimi’s new cast.
“Michael! I got one! I got one!”
“Incoming,” Jake announced.
Michael turned to see Darien had broken away from the crowd at the fire pit and now headed straight for him with a hot tong dripping melted marshmallow.
“Darien!” Rob yelled, but it was too late.
“Hold up, Darien!” Michael caught the hot tong with a hand before it poked him in the eye, Thimi fell off the picnic bench, and Christy panicked.
Bobbie did her best to keep Thimi from hitting the ground, and Michael’s hand sizzled as it burned. He dropped the hot tong as Mel swept Darien into his arms. Jake tried to catch Christy before he fell, but didn’t make it and Christy hit the ground with a soft oomph.
“Christy!” Michael shouted.
“Thimi!” Christy shouted.
Thimi scrambled away on hands and knees.
Michael shot off the bench and went to Thimi, who had huddled against a nearby tree, pressing into it, clearly terrified. The look in his eyes was familiar. Michael had seen the same faraway look in Christy’s eyes when he’d frozen in fear.
“Thimi?” Michael tried. He didn’t respond. When Bobbie squatted beside him, Michael whispered, “Get Dad,” and she sped away.
Michael knew what to do for Christy but had no idea what to do for Thimi and was afraid to touch him. As Michael began to feel helpless, Christy dropped down beside Thimi. “Adelfáki mou, it is me, Christophoros.”
Thimi remained frozen, rigid, pressing into the tree. Mac strode over quickly with his bag, and Dr. Jordanou followed.
“He’s like Christy, Dad. Do something,” Michael pled.
Mac quickly drew a syringe. “Hold him still, Christy.”
“I cannot. He will bite.”
Mac turned to Bobbie. “Move him into your lap.”
Michael looked at his dad. “I’ll do it.”
“Let your mother do it.”
“If he’s going to bite, I’ll deal, Dad.”
“Be prepared, and get hold of his hands.”
Michael had never done this with anyone other than Christy, and he was scared shitless. “Thimi? It’s Michael. Sit in my lap like you did today for the cast. No one will hurt you.” Michael reached for him, and he remained frozen. “He won’t budge, Dad.”
“Pick him up and put him in your lap. As if you were lifting Christy,” Mac instructed.
Michael took a deep breath, sat on the ground, and moved Thimi into his lap in one smooth move. Mac quickly injected his thigh, and he went limp.
“He is okay?” Christy asked, his anxiety clearly peaking the scale.
“He’ll be fine in a moment,” Mac said calmly.
Christy cupped Thimi’s face and spoke rapidly in Greek, and Thimi’s eyes seemed to focus on him.
“There we go,” Mac said with a smile.
“I’ve never seen that done,” Dr. Jordanou admired.
“A sedative to truncate the anxiety and ease the dissociation,” Mac explained.
“You okay, Thimi?” Michael whispered. Thimi looked confused, and Michael opted to continue holding him as he looked around, hoping the Terror of Wellington Ranch wasn’t nearby. “Where’s Darien?”
“Mel took him into the house.” Rob’s anger was obvious.
Mac gestured to Michael’s hand. “Let Thimi sit with your mother, and I’ll take a look at you.”
“I’m okay until he’s ready to move.”
Christy held his hands out to Thimi. “Come, adelfáki mou.” Thimi still looked confused and frightened but reached for Christy.
Michael’s hand had blistered, the blisters had broken open, and now his hand was filthy with dirt. “I need to wash this.”
Mac with
drew a small bottle of tincture from his bag and held it out to him.
Michael rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? That stuff hurts like hell.”
“Alas, you’ll be cured of all bacteria.”
Michael snatched the bottle of green soap from his hand. “Evil, Dad. You’re an evil mad scientist.”
“I accept the award.”
MICHAEL STROKED Christy’s curls back and pecked his lips. “Are you going to be okay?”
Christy glanced at Thimi, now asleep next to him on the bed, and looked back at Michael. “Yes. Rob will move him to the other cabin.”
“Do you want me to ask Rob to leave him here?”
“He will not do it because of the rule.”
“I’ll ask him anyway.”
“I go for the picture tomorrow.”
Michael saw worry in Christy’s eyes. “Why are you worried? You’ve had lots of X-rays.”
“I do not wish to be in hospital. It will not be good for Thimi.”
Michael frowned. “Dad won’t keep you there. It’s just X-rays.”
“You cannot say this. You do not control the actions of your father.”
Michael snorted. “Hang on.” He went to the living room area where his parents spoke quietly with Dr. Jordanou and Rob. “Dad?”
Mac looked up at him.
“Christy is afraid you’re going to keep him in the hospital. I told him it was only X-rays and you wouldn’t, but he’s still worried.”
Mac went to Christy’s bedside. “X-rays only, Christy. You don’t have to stay.”
“Do you make the promise?”
Mac smiled down at him. “I promise.”
Christy visibly relaxed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mac returned to the living room area, and Michael bent and carefully hugged Christy. “I’ll call tomorrow after practice.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, babe. I love you,” he whispered.
“You are the very good person.”
Michael smiled. “So are you. Call or text if you need anything.”
Christy nodded, rolled over, and spooned a sleeping Thimi.
Michael petted Christy’s hair one last time before returning to where his parents sat.
“Ready?” Bobbie asked.
Michael nodded and looked at Rob. “Let Thimi stay here tonight?”
“I can’t. Setting aside that it’s against license rules, it isn’t good for them.”
Michael was disappointed. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m going to speak with Christy tomorrow about Darien’s jealousy.”
Michael frowned. “What jealousy?”
“Darien is acting out because he’s jealous of the attention Christy gives Thimi.”
“I agree he needs to cool his jets, but I don’t think it’s jealousy. He’s just a kid.”
Rob nodded knowingly, and Michael knew he was being placated. “Let me know what I can do to help.”
“IT ISN’T fair,” Michael said as they rode home.
Mac glanced at him. “Does it surprise you that Darien is manipulative?”
“All kids are manipulative.”
“Darien is manipulative over and above the average five-year-old,” Bobbie said.
Michael rotated his neck and flexed his shoulders against the soft leather seat. He was tired, and any high concept wasn’t of interest to him at that moment. “Whatever. I don’t think it’s that serious.”
“It’s serious enough that people are getting hurt. Yourself included,” Mac said.
“It isn’t like he did it intentionally.”
“Let me give you another perspective. What would we have done with you if you had behaved as Darien does at five, nearly six, years of age?”
Michael turned from the window to look at his dad. “Fried my ass.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t act that way at five. People can get hu—” Michael stopped abruptly. “Fine. I get it.”
“Darien can be a charming little boy, but he has also learned inappropriate manipulation,” Bobbie explained.
“He acts like a regular kid,” Michael defended.
“He acts like a two-year-old without boundaries. Worse yet, he expects people to abide his behavior and throws a tantrum when it isn’t tolerated.”
Bobbie’s tone was uncharacteristically harsh, but Michael couldn’t refute what she said. Darien did act like a two-year-old—a spoiled rotten two-year-old—and people were getting hurt. “So, he needs some discipline,” he said noncommittally.
“An essential part of Wellington’s purpose is to give kids life and coping skills. Darien needs more than discipline. He needs to understand that his behavior is inappropriate and behaving this way, particularly as he grows older, will only leave him ostracized and unable to achieve social milestones and skills.”
This was too much information for Michael to process in his tired state. Humans were too complicated. “I’m glad I want to restore books when I grow up.”
CHAPTER FORTY
AFTER PRACTICE on Monday, Michael tried to reach Christy to make sure everything went okay with the X-rays. He could only reach Rob, who told him everything went well and Christy and Thimi were napping. Before he and Jake made it to the car, Michael’s phone rang and he answered it with a quick, “Hey, Lisa.”
“Hi, Mike! Can you come down to Smitty’s office? We think we got to the bottom of the Rich thing.”
“Yeah, okay. We’ll be there in twenty.” He terminated the call and looked at Jake. “Lisa wants us to go to Whitey’s. She says they may have solved the Rich problem.”
“Let’s do it, bro.”
They arrived at Whitey’s, and when they entered the bar this time, no one took umbrage.
“That was weird. It’s like underage patronage is a norm,” Michael said softly as he and Jake headed through the door and down the hall to Smitty’s office.
“Smitty wouldn’t let that happen. Besides, we’re the new norm around here, bro.”
They entered Smitty’s office to find Smitty, Lisa, Elf Man, and Detective Davis gathered around a computer.
“Hey,” Michael greeted.
“Hi, Mike. Park it.” Lisa kicked a swivel chair to him. “You too, Jake.”
Once seated, Detective Davis began in his official-detective-lecture tone. “Rich was arrested Saturday night in Harlem and transferred up here to our facilities.”
Jake and Michael exchanged surprised looks.
“That’s great,” Jake said.
“What was he doing down in Harlem?” Michael asked.
Detective Davis ignored the question. “I interviewed Rich about the night of Tony’s death. As you suspected, Tony went down to the city to talk to Rich, and Rich claims it didn’t go over well with Chase. When Tony left, Rich was worried about what Chase would do, so he followed Tony in an effort to make sure he was okay. He had no idea the gang, so to speak, would follow him.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Michael said tentatively.
“Based on what Rich told me, I had our forensics department take another look at the traffic camera footage from the overpass.” He motioned to Elf Man, who typed at the keyboard, and a color image filled the screen. Someone had circled two motorcycle riders with a heavy black marker.
“The riders circled in the picture are wearing jackets such as the one you described. The circled rider in the back is Rich. We know this because we were able to isolate the ring on his hand. The rider in the front, the one who ran Tony off the overpass, is Chase. We know this because he wears a unique helmet bearing his name.”
He motioned again, and Elf Man tapped the keyboard. Another image filled the screen.
“Our forensics department watched the footage through the time emergency services arrived and Tony and the car were retrieved from below the overpass. We learned that Rich rode back to the accident scene and sought help. This is an image of Rich flagging down a motorist. That moto
rist called 911. When the EMTs arrived, Rich left the scene.” Detective Davis motioned for Smitty to continue the lecture.
“You know from Detective Davis the fuel used in the firebombing of Michael’s house was aviation fuel. There are two types of fuel. The kind used for turbine engines is blue or green and the kind used for compression ignition engines in jets is clear or light gold. I didn’t find any blue or green residue at Michael’s house, so I knew jet fuel had been used in the Molotov cocktails. I thought the FAA could use an anonymous tip, and one magically occurred. Now, jet fuel is supplied to airports by underground pipelines. The only fuel on airport premises is kept in trucks, and the FAA was happy to request an inventory of fuel in every truck at every airport in the state that night.”
“Had to pull a double shift,” Elf Man grumbled.
Smitty looked irritated. “You have a job. Be happy.” He turned back to Michael and Jake. “No fuel was missing. Now, knowing that couldn’t be right, I asked around, and everyone seemed to be on the up-and-up until old Elvis, here”—Smitty lightly smacked the back of Elf Man’s head with the sheaf of papers he’d been holding—“decided we needed to check out the grounded planes.”
“Why’d you hit me? It was a good idea.”
“Because you’re smart.” Smitty continued. “The only grounded jet at JFK right now is the Sanna Shipping jet, and it just so happens to be missing fifty-five gallons of fuel.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
“And the fire department’s lab says it matches the incendiary fuel used at your place,” Lisa said.
“You’re saying Yosef hooked up with this Chase guy somehow?” Jake asked, dubious.
“It gets better,” Detective Davis interjected.
Smitty tossed the sheaf of papers onto his desk. “Detective Davis and I put our heads together and came up with an idea. I put the word out that someone might be buying if someone might be selling jet fuel. Within a day, one of Chase’s losers with an intellect rivaled only by garden tools calls and says, ‘Hey, we got some left over from a job we did two nights ago over in, you guessed it, none other than your neighborhood.’”