by Tom Schreck
I got Mikey’s and Eli’s room numbers and they were both on the seventh floor, which I figured was the cancer floor. Like most people, I felt squirrelly in hospitals, but I tried not to let it get to me. Mikey’s room was all the way at the end of the wing, and when I got there, the door was closed. There was a warning on the door.
WARNING! No visitors—Radioactive treatment in process.
I definitely needed to talk to Rudy.
I checked the number for Eli’s room and it was right across the hall from Mikey’s. It had the same sign.
I skipped the elevator and ran down the steps to Rudy’s office. As always, he was sweating in front of his monitor and he had jelly-donut stains on the front of his lab coat.
“Rude—what the fuck is up with this radioactive shit?”
“What happened to ‘Good morning’?” He didn’t look at me and kept typing. “Hang on, just a second.”
He finished up typing with his two fat index fingers and looked up.
“That’s how you treat cancer aggressively. They’re being treated with something called cesium. It’s very powerful,” Rudy said.
“How come no visitors?” I asked.
“This shit is no joke—if you’re around someone who’s radioactive, you can be exposed to harmful levels.”
“So they’re in there alone?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Of course they get their cheery visits from Dr. DAT and a few of his international med students,” Rudy said.
“Gee whiz, now I feel a whole lot better.”
“Yeah, I know, they’re all kind of a Hindu candy striper detail.”
I was back to the office around lunchtime. It seemed bizarre to me that two guys would get beat up in the same park at roughly the same time, require pretty similar medical treatment, and then both be diagnosed with advanced cancer even though they hadn’t complained about anything before. I never quite made it to medical school but, just the same, my instincts told me something wasn’t the way it should be.
Trina buzzed me to let me know that my twelve thirty was here. That was Sherrie, and I could feel the nervousness spread throughout my body as I hung up the phone. I went out to the lobby to greet her.
“Good afternoon, Sherrie.”
“Hi Duffy.”
Sherrie still carried the bruises but her head wasn’t buried under a hat, nor was she trying to hide. We went back to the conference room.
“Did you see the paper?” Sherrie asked.
“Yup—how are you doing with all of that?”
“I’m okay. I’m a little worried about him, but between jail and what we talked about yesterday, I think it may give me the chance I’ve been looking for.”
“How’s that?”
“Look, I wouldn’t have wished him to go to prison or to get hurt, but if that’s the way it’s going to be, then I can make the best of it. I have family in Brooklyn and I think I’m going to head down there.”
“And do what?”
“My Aunt Lena teaches at a business school,” she said. “You know, where you can learn to be a paralegal or something. She’s wanted me to go down there for a while, and she said I could stay with her.”
“That sounds like a decent plan,” I said.
“Duffy, can I ask you something?” She looked at me and smirked.
“Sure.”
“Maybe not, forget it.”
“You sure?” I said.
“Did I tell you that my cousin Rafael is a barback at Cinderella’s?” she said.
“No.”
“He used to be an amateur fighter.” She sat back in the chair and smiled. “He said he saw you there last night. Doesn’t seem to be your kind of hangout.”
It wasn’t really a question so I let it hang.
“Look, if it’s okay with you, I’m not going to waste any time moving to Brooklyn,” she leaned forward in her chair. “I guess that means I won’t be on your caseload.”
“No, we’ll transfer your case to the appropriate place in Brooklyn. I’ll take care of that.”
I hesitated to ask her something because it had nothing to do with her case or her treatment, but I had to know.
“Sherrie, let me ask you something. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want,” I said.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“When you were in jail, did you hear anything about what happened to Walanda?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I don’t trust those three from Forrest Point. I heard them laughing about her being dead. Sick shit like about her brains spilling out and stuff … it was awful,” she said.
“That’s all you know?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Walanda was on my caseload for a long time and I feel bad.”
“Sorry, Duff.”
“Hey—that day in the group I noticed something. You don’t know what those three had tattooed on their hands, do you?”
“It was a spider’s web, a little tiny spider’s web.”
I felt a chill.
“Duff, you all right?” she asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Nah, just got me thinking, that’s all.”
“Hey, I’m going to run,” she stood up. “Can I get a hug? I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“We only had two sessions, Sherrie.” She hugged me and held on for a moment more than the customary clinical hug.
“Uh-huh, sure,” she said. “Just the same, you were a big help.”
“Well, thanks and good luck.”
“You too, and Duff?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to ice that hand,” she said.
She winked, smiled, and headed out the door to Brooklyn and what I hoped was a new life.
12
I had some amends to make, and despite the fact that I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Kelley’s anger, I wanted to face him. I owed him an apology, so I headed to AJ’s right after work so I could be there when he arrived.
I also had an ulterior motive. Sherrie said that the tattoos the three from Forrest Point had were spiderwebs. That’s a pretty common jailhouse tattoo, though it’s one usually sported by bikers around their elbows. With that group, it signifies the fact that they had the distinction of having committed a murder, kind of like how Cub Scouts get merit badges. I was dying to know if Kelley knew anything about spiderweb tattoos and if they had any relation to Walanda’s “Webster.” Still, I was a bit nervous asking Kelley for any information tonight. When it came to favors, my account was in the credit column.
I was distracted from my anxiety by the Fearsome Foursome who were already in mid-evening form, even though it was barely six thirty. TC and Rocco were in a heated debate centered on wedding rice and birds.
“You can’t throw rice at weddings anymore because the ASPCA outlawed it,” said Rocco. “The rice gets eaten up by the birds and it expands when it warms up in their stomachs and they blow up.”
“That’s bullshit,” said TC. “You’re thinking about seagulls and Alka-Seltzer. If you give seagulls Alka-Seltzer, they explode in mid-air because of the fizziazation.”
“If you use Minute Rice at a wedding, do the birds blow up faster?” Jerry Number Two said, pausing to sip his Cosmo.
“God, Jerry, you did way too many drugs,” said Jerry Number One.
“You’re right, there,” Jerry Number Two said. “One time I was tripping and somebody gave me a bunch of those Pop Rocks and a Dr Pepper. I was in the emergency room for eight hours. I felt like a seagull at a wedding.”
I was three-quarters of the way through my first Schlitz when Kelley came in. Trying not to be obvious, I studied his face for how he felt. As usual, Kelley’s facial expression didn’t give anything away. He took his usual spot.
I motioned to AJ to set Kelley up with a beer. AJ is often a pain in the ass but he knew his trade. He sensed there was a tension between Kelley and me and he stayed out of it. Almost impercepti
bly, he opened Kelley’s beer and slid it in front of him.
“Thanks, Duff,” he said.
“Kel, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry if—” Kelley interrupted and I didn’t get to finish.
“Oh, your little ‘Duffy for Hire’ deal?”
“Uh, well yeah.”
“Well, I know you private eyes kind of live on the edge a bit,” he said. “Shoot from the hip, live for the moment. I know, I’ve read the books,” he said.
I deserved Kelley’s sarcasm and I wasn’t going to argue with him. He wasn’t looking at me and he was trying to be nonchalant, but I could tell he wasn’t happy with me.
“Look, you were way out of line, and it could have cost me my job,” he spun around on his stool and looked me right in the eye. “If you want to get killed living out some vigilante fantasy, that’s your business. Next time leave me out of it.”
“I’m sorry, Kel,” I said.
“It’s fine. The guy’s going away for a long time so the end result is that another piece of scum is off the street. Besides, I got a special commendation from the chief for my actions … geez.”
“I’m glad you didn’t get into trouble over it.”
I was tempted to make a joke about the heroics but decided against it. Kelley was a man of principles and what mattered to him was that my irresponsible actions could’ve screwed him. The fact that the results were positive was incidental.
AJ set us up again, again on my tab. Kelley didn’t protest. I decided to chance asking Kelley about the tattoos.
“Kel, what do you know about jailhouse tattoos?” I asked.
“Oh, now we’re just making conversation?” he said.
“I did a group in the jail and these three tough-looking women from Forrest Point all had small spiderwebs tattooed between their thumb and forefinger.”
“Look, ‘Duffy for Hire,’ didn’t we just have a little talk about you retiring from the gumshoe life?”
“C’mon, Kel,” I said. “I’m just curious.”
“I’ve never heard anything about it. Bikers have ’em on their elbows sometimes, but that’s something different.”
“Yeah, I know. Do you think it has anything to do with the ‘Webster’ stuff Walanda was talking about?”
“Duff, you watch way too much TV.”
With that, he half turned to direct his focus on the TV. The Yankees were off, so the TV was on ESPN Classic. They were showing a 1984 USFL game between the New Jersey Generals and the Arizona Wranglers. Kelley acted like it was some storied rivalry akin to Notre Dame and USC, and fixed his attention on the screen. I decided to let it go.
The Foursome, like a dog with a bone, was still chewing on the seagull/rice/Alka-Seltzer dilemma.
“TC, it’s a known fact,” Rocco said, raising his voice. “Accept when you’re wrong.”
“How come you don’t see dead birds all in front of churches if it’s true?” TC said.
“How come you’re just an asshole?” Rocco said.
“I heard about a lady,” Jerry Number Two said. “She tried to dry off a guinea pig in a microwave and the poor thing blew up.”
“The guinea pig or the lady?” asked Jerry Number One.
“I don’t remember,” said Jerry Number Two.
“That happened to me once,” TC said. “I put a chicken liver in the microwave for the cat,” said TC.
“What the hell kind of voodoo were you practicing?” said Rocco.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and was counting out money for my bill and AJ’s tip when Kel spoke without looking away from the Wranglers’ classic touchdown drive.
“How many times did you hit him?”
“I hit him with a one-two and then a body shot. Then I slammed his head into the bumper twice,” I said.
“The one-two landed on the nose? The head slam was on the side of his head?”
“Yeah.”
“The scumbag’s nose was halfway over to his ear,” Kelley stayed focused on the television. “It separated right off his face, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said. I turned for the door.
“Duff,” I turned back around. Kelley was still watching the game. “Nice combination,” he said.
I headed past the Foursome and went home. I was halfway home when it dawned on me that my mysterious Crown Vic friend wasn’t tailing me. I smiled to myself, thinking about how my imagination can run wild, but I didn’t get to smile for long. Just as I was pulling into my driveway, a silver Crown Vic passed the Moody Blue heading the other way.
13
“Hey Duff.” I hated it when Sam greeted me first thing in the morning. Actually, as I thought about it, I hated when Sam greeted me regardless of his timing.
“Yes, Sam?”
“How can you tell when a Polack chick has been using a vibrator?” Sam smiled.
“Gee, Sam, I don’t know. How can you tell when a Polish-American woman has been using a vibrator?” I said.
“Her front teeth are chipped.” Sam really got a kick out of that one, and before I could say anything, he disappeared and went back to the business office.
It was a lovely start to another shit sandwich of a day. It was time for the second Quality Assurance Committee meeting. As I made my way into the boardroom, I saw Sheila talking to Gabbibb, and I think I heard her mention something about Botox. Gabbibb was wearing an authentic Derek Jeter Yankees jersey with dress slacks and polished Bostonian shoes. He was heading to the Stadium after the meeting to catch his beloved Bronx Bombers.
Bowerman led off the meeting with an announcement.
“Before we get started, I wanted to let you all know something. As you all know, we’re very excited about our new halfway house and though it’s far from being refurbished, we would like to invite everyone out to see the new facility.” Bowerman had her hands folded neatly in front of her. She was doing her best to be ultra-professional. “We’d also like to present an overview of the type of program we’d like to run, once we get approval from the state and all the construction is done,” she said.
There was an effort to unite the various Jewish agencies to coordinate services. For people like Claudia and Bowerman, this was threatening because it meant the possibility that their little empires might be compromised. It was Hymie’s idea, and on paper it was a good one. Unfortunately, the inane power struggles that dominate the lives of people who rise to the positions of leadership in these organizations would find a way to sabotage whatever good could come of a partnership.
Besides this committee and a couple of others, the big joint project was the halfway house that Espidera was funding. Anyone in social services will tell you that there’s an absolute dearth of residential facilities for women with children. It is probably the biggest single obstacle for women to get help for addiction, prostitution, and physically abusive relationships. There were halfway houses and safe houses, but none where you could bring your kids for longer than a few weeks. It was going to be a great thing, despite the fact that Espidera made it possible so he could get a tax break. I guess sometimes the ends do justify the means.
“I’m just so excited,” Espidera said, beaming at the attention he was getting. “The possibilities this new program will offer the women and children of this area are tremendous.”
Bowerman and Claudia figured a date for all of us to take a ride out to Kingsville to see the new facility and to discuss some program planning. It wasn’t hard enough that I had to get caught up with all this paperwork, I also had to somehow get it done on days when we weren’t even in the office. These little field trips to pat board members on the back and stroke the egos of people like Bowerman made me crazy.
I had just gotten back to the cubicle when Trina stopped by. I liked Trina and, even though she was the Michelin Woman’s secretary, she seemed to be on my side. I also liked her because she was twenty-four years old, with shoulder-length brown hair and legs that reached all the way to the ground. Being twenty-four, she gravitated to the h
ipper fashions, which was fine by me. Having her pass by the cubicle in some of her tight-fitting pants or significantly above-the-knee skirts had a way of breaking up the day.
Trina was my women’s focus group of one. I ran relationship issues past her, got date ideas, and dissected rejections with her. She was eager to help me navigate the minefield that was the fairer sex, and I could tell she genuinely liked me. She smelled nice and was a pleasure to be near. She also had been seeing a guy named Lou for two years and I could sense she wasn’t always pleased with him.
“Hey Duff,” Trina almost whispered.
“What’s up?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you this, but she’s going to audit ten of your charts in the morning.”
“Shit. Do you know which ones?”
“She usually has me, you know, randomly select them.”
“Ugh.”
“Duff, suppose you, like, happened to let me know which ten of your files are in the best shape. Maybe I could, like, randomly select them for you.”
“Trina, you don’t have to do that.”
“Let me know by the end of the day,” she looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. “It’s, like, so not a big deal.”
She smiled at me and let her eyes linger on mine a little after we stopped talking. It made me wonder. I didn’t feel comfortable having her stick her neck out for me, but I am also not a fool.
The problem was I didn’t have ten good files. I could give Trina a list and try to get ten files into some sort of shape. It would mean close to an all-nighter, but it would buy me some time. I came up with ten and discreetly slipped the list onto Trina’s desk on my way to get some coffee. She smiled at me and tucked the list away.