“Digger,” Amelia said quietly. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
He looked at her and his face shook like his chin would tumble to the floor at any second. He swallowed hard and then looked at James. They met each other’s gaze before James dropped his to the table.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” Digger yelled, and slammed a hand down on the counter. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
Margo cried quietly, tears rolling down her face like rain on a window. Granite looked at Digger, who had turned and was bending over the counter clenching his fists hard against its surface and groaning. His face was loose with grief and his hands shook on the table. Amelia sat silently, calmly. I just sat there numb, not shocked, not surprised, not caught totally off guard, just frozen in place, in time.
“They found him at the Hilton,” James said quietly. “There were some pills and a bottle of vodka beside him.”
Digger turned to look at him. “If you try to tell me that he offed himself, I will walk right over and smack you in the fucking head, you fucking shyster bastard.”
“No. He didn’t,” James said. “The police say it was an accidental overdose. He was reading and he fell asleep.”
“Dick couldn’t fucking read, dipshit,” Digger said. “Or didn’t you ever pay enough attention to know that?”
“Well, he was looking at a map. An atlas.”
“An atlas?” Amelia asked.
“Yes. There was a town circled on it. Tucumcary. Tucumcary, New Mexico. Does that mean anything to anyone?”
We all shook our heads.
“Maybe he heard it in a movie,” I said. “It has a kind of ring to it that Dick would like. He liked the sound of words.”
Margo smiled at me.
“Where’d he get the pills?” Digger asked.
“There’s no way to know,” James said. “Probably from a street dealer. A friend, maybe.”
“We’re his friends,” Digger said. “We wouldn’t give him no pills.”
“Other friends, then,” James said. “Ones he met while he was gone.”
Digger glared. Looking at him, I knew that I would not want to be the person guilty of handing Dick a bottle of pills. “I’m going over there,” he said.
“Digger, I don’t know if …,” James began.
“You don’t have to know nothing. Nothing. All you have to know is that I’m going over there. He’s my pal. I want to see him.”
“They moved him, Digger. He’s at the morgue.”
“There’s nothing in his room? No stuff? No nothing?”
“Well, according to the police there are some personal effects but nothing big. Clothes, I suppose. Toiletries.”
“I wanna see him.”
“Well, someone needs to make a positive identification but I thought I would do that,” James said.
“You? Why you?” Digger asked.
“To spare you all the hardship.”
“Spare me nothing. I’m his fucking family. His fucking family.”
“Okay,” James said. “Okay.”
“I’m going too,” Amelia said.
“Me too,” I said.
Digger looked at us and nodded. “Fucking rights,” he said. “Family.”
Digger
I NEVER FELT NOTHING like that ever. I stood there looking down at the face of my winger and it was like he shoulda moved, shoulda winked at me, shoulda let me know it was all a big fucking gaffe. But he never did. He just lay there all cold and quiet. He just lay there like a little kid, sleeping. It tore the heart right the fuck out of me to see that. The others didn’t stay long. The old lady touched his cheek with her fingertips and said his name all quiet and sad, Timber reached out to touch his hand, and me, I just stood there. Just stood there. Looking. Thinking. When they left, I kept right on standing there looking at Double Dick Dumont. My winger. My pal. My brother.
“Digger,” Rock goes, peeping into the room. “Are you coming? We’re finished here.”
“Well, fuck off then,” I go. “I ain’t done here.”
“We’ll wait.”
“Whatever.”
He closed the door. It was chilly in there and I pulled my coat closer around me, then reached down and tucked the sheet snug around D. It didn’t seem like enough so I walked over and got a few more from a pile on a table and covered him up good. Nestled him in on accounta he never did like being cold, hated it, really, but put up with it without bitching like any good rounder would. Slept in a fucking doorway when I met him. A doorway. No warm air grate, no empty warehouse yet. Just a doorway. A hard-core rounder getting by. I pulled a metal stool over to the side of the gurney he was on, put my feet up on the rungs of it, and looked at him.
“Amazing fucking thing, ain’t it, D? We spend all that time learning how to move around with people and we still end up all alone in a cold fucking room. Hardly seems worth the fucking trip, you know what I mean? No. No. You wouldn’t know that. You was always the one that wanted people around you. You was always the one that talked me into letting anybody near me. Why’d you do that, D? How come you did that? How come? I was doing good. I was getting by. I didn’t need nobody. Fuck, I even told you to take a hike at first, you fucking loogan. No. I don’t mean that. I never meant that. Not never, D. I never thought you was a loogan. You were just a little short on the upstroke but you were always stroking. Always. Fuck, I admired that. I flat out admired that you never gave up even when the stuff was too fucking deep even for a whiz-bang guy like me. You never gave up. I looked up to you for that. Did you know that? I looked up to you. I never told you, though. Never told you on accounta it was soft, the warm and fuzzy kinda shit that drove me crazy. I never told you until now, and now it’s kinda late. Guess I’m the loogan now, eh? Keep that to yourself, though, D. I still got a reputation down here.
“What the fuck am I gonna do, D? I ain’t got no one to watch over no more. I ain’t go no little brother, and you was always my little brother. Always. Them others, they don’t need me. Not now. It ain’t no tough life we’re living. Not like then. Not like when we hooked up. Remember that, D? Remember? Remember how we’d be shivering like a dog shitting razor blades, all huddled up in the alley by the Mission, and we’d suck back a few swallows of hooch and carry the fuck on? Or around old Fill ’er Up Phil’s oil drum fire with the hot dogs on the stick that one of the boosters grabbed from the market? Steak on a fucking stick. Right, D? Steak on a fucking stick. Or remember the rain trick? You liked that one. Remember? How the rain’d run over a lip on the gazebo in Berry Park and we’d all get a free shower? Fuck, that was funny. You thought we meant like a real shower and they caught you all naked with a bar of soap in the rain. Jesus, I laughed. That was a good one. You even laughed like hell whenever we reminded you. I liked that about you, D. You could always take a joke, a trick. Who the fuck am I gonna joke with now, D? Who?
“It don’t matter. I remember how to operate alone. I guess I could go back to that. Yeah. I guess I could go back to that. But you know what, D? You know what I fucking wish? You know what I wish more than anything? I wish our life hadn’t fucking changed. I wish we’da never won that fucking money on accounta I’d still have to look out for you and you’d still be here. You’d still be here, ’cause I looked after you good, D. Best I could. No one ever got on your case with me around. Never. I don’t know what you had inside you that made you kinda crazy but I’da looked after you through it. I woulda. But the fucking money changed everything and it took my attention away. I wish we’da never won.
“But you know what else? You know what else, D? I wish I could fucking fly. I wish I could fucking fly, and I know that sounds crazy coming from me, but if I could fly I’d take off right now and fly to wherever you are and be your winger again.
“Guess I can’t, though. Guess you’ll just have to wait while I finish up here, however long that takes. Stubborn son of a bitch like me’ll probably live to be a hundred and fucking fifty just out of pure cussedness. But you�
��ll wait, won’t ya, D? I know you’ll wait. Can I tell you something, D? I’m pissed at them. Not all of them. Just the Square Johns. Just the ones who never really tried to see us. The ones who figured we lived somewhere else. The ones who thought we were trespassers, that we weren’t supposed to be here. I was never big on the Square Johns anyway, was I? But I’m pissed ’cause I think they coulda done more for you. Shoulda done more on accounta it’s their friggin’ world and they’re supposed to take care of the ones that ain’t got the tools. They’re supposed to look out for the weak ones, the ones who need a hand making it around the world. Like me. Like I did looking after you. I’m pissed and I don’t know if I’ll get over it. Is that okay, D? Is that okay?
“I guess I gotta go. See you, buddy. You let me know if you need anything. Anything and it’s yours. It’s yours, pal.”
That’s what I said to him as close as I can remember. Then I reached down and kissed him. Kissed him and said goodbye.
Granite
DIGGER WALKED OUT of the room where Dick lay and right past all of us. He didn’t wait for us. Instead, he walked down the street and I watched him hail a cab, get into it, and disappear. There are distances you can feel. They say that the middle of the ocean and any spot in space are similar. They say that the view is the same in all directions. Isotropic. Everywhere you look is water, horizon, and sky or else stars, planets, and space. I knew then, as I watched the tail lights of the taxi ease around the corner, that the world becomes an isotropic place when pain and sorrow and hurt define the topography of things. It’s all you can see. Everywhere you look. I didn’t know what power was needed to alter that. My experiences in life had never granted me that education, but I did know that people are like stars or continents sometimes: distant, removed, unreachable, the holes between them as deep as space or seas sometimes, and cold as emptiness can be.
“Where do you think he’s gone?” Timber asked me.
“I don’t know.”
“Will he be all right?”
“Digger? Yes. That’s one guy I wouldn’t worry about.”
We climbed into the car. There didn’t seem to be anything to say, so we drove in silence, James guiding the car slowly and easily down the street. Everyone seemed to want to watch the street flow by. I know I did. The city felt emptier somehow, and I kept looking at the people on the street, wondering about their stories, where they came from, how they managed a day, a life, a history, how they felt walking along sidewalks filled with strangers and untold tales. Continental drift. It’s a phenomenon that happens unsuspectingly, minute fractions at a time, the polar opposite of the Hubble constant, the rate of expansion of the universe. People drift apart like that. Minutely, fractionally, or else accelerated to light speed and beyond. But the universe was compacted matter once, and the earth was Pangaea; one continent, one world. Separation was the nature of things, it seemed. But it was the coming together of things that amazed me right then. Watching all of those people moving, orbiting each other, I marvelled at the randomness of colliding worlds. When Double Dick Dumont came into my life, it was outrageous fortune. Improbable. Unbelievable. But the more we edged closer, the more magical it became. Every movie we saw together was a joining. Every wandering conversation was a tie. Every joke, every story, every sight was another entrance we made together into a land that had never existed before, a land you learn to travel without maps, conversation your only compass to shores edging closer and closer, seamlessly, becoming Pangaea. I knew about it then. Understood. Knew for dead, absolute certain that some people are a country you come to inhabit gradually, their shores and yours touching, merging, unifying, and their departures dislodge you.
We filed into the house and settled in the living room. Margo busied herself making a pot of tea and the rest of us sat silently, wondering what to do next. It was James who took control.
“There are a few things that need to happen right away,” he said. “The first is that we need to have a plan for the media. Frankly, I’m surprised they’re not here already. Second, we need to discuss how to handle the arrangements.”
“I’ll handle the press,” I said.
“How?” James asked.
“I’ll handle the questions. I’ll also talk to my editor at the paper and tell him I’ll write the story.”
“You will?”
“Yes. Not a story, really. A column. A eulogy.”
“An honour song,” Amelia said.
“Yes.”
She nodded. “I’d like him to have the very best,” she said. “He deserves that. He always deserved the very best.”
“I know a good funeral director. I’ll inform him right away,” James said.
“Shouldn’t we try to contact the family?” Margo asked, returning with a tray bearing tea and cups.
“We are the family,” I said. “Technically, he was indigent.”
“Imagine. An indigent millionaire,” she said. “Strange, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Timber said. “The whole thing’s been strange. The whole trip.”
“I would never have missed it, though,” I said.
“Me neither,” he replied.
“He needs a place to rest,” Amelia said. “He needs a place where he can be at peace. A nice site overlooking a river.”
“Why a river, Amelia?” Margo asked.
“Because it was his favourite hymn. ‘Shall We Gather at the River.’ Remember, Timber?”
“Yes,” Timber said. “I remember.”
“We used to go to chapel at the Sally Ann. The Salvation Army. They’d put on a big breakfast afterwards but you had to go to chapel first before you could eat. Most couldn’t stand the service but Dick really loved it. Especially the hymns. He’d sing really loud even though he didn’t know all the words. Of course, he couldn’t read but he’d try to memorize them and sing really loudly.”
“And terribly,” Timber added.
“Yes. Terribly. But with a lot of gusto anyway,” Amelia said. “Shall we gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful river. He really liked the idea of that. He said it was like meeting all your friends for a picnic, and I think he’s probably right about that.”
“Well, I think I’d best call the newspaper and start things moving there. I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind, just to head off the hounds when they call or arrive.”
“You’re always welcome here,” Amelia said.
“May I stay too?” Margo asked. “I’d like to be around as well.”
“My sister,” Amelia said. “You’re welcome here too.”
“And when Digger comes back?” I asked.
“When Digger comes back, I’ll speak with him,” Amelia said.
“Then I guess we should begin taking care of things,” James said.
And all of us moved forward together. Like continents.
Digger
“DOUBLE JACK BACK and two drafts front and centre, Ray,” I go, striding up to the bar.
“You got ’er,” Ray goes.
There’s a fair crowd for the Palace and the bar seats are almost all taken. Looking around I see the usual gang: the talkers busy engaging their invisible pals in politics or the drama of life; the gazers staring at one spot on the ceiling or the floor; the glass rubbers stroking the frost on their drafts like a lover, nursing it, making it last; and the sharks either enjoying the booty from a scam or a score or in the set-up stage, getting enough liquid courage to do their deed. Typical old-man-bar, middle-of-the-afternoon kinda crowd.
“So what’s shaking?” Ray goes, settling in for a talk.
“Damndest shit,” I go.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Like what? Anything I should know about?”
I look at him. I’ve known Ray for years and I’ve never really taken a good look. He’s an old fucker now. Still got the leftovers of a ducktail in his hair, still combs it back and slicks it, but there’s a lot less to fucking grease. Wears glasses now that kinda bob on the
end of his nose, the half-glasses that people figure give you the egghead look but really just bring out the bozo in you. Wears them on a rope around his neck like he knows he’s gonna forget where the hell he put them. Jesus. I shiver thinking about how easily the friggin’ years get by you.
“How fucking long’ve I known you, Ray?”
“Let’s see. I come here right after the merchant marine so that’s a good thirty years, so probably twenty-five, thereabouts.”
“That’s a friggin’ long time to be staring across a bar at somebody.”
“I guess. Only you were never that much of a talker. You were a draft-and-dash fucker for a long, long time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Only really started doing the good-neighbour routine once you hooked up with those friends of yours. That’s when I started to really know you.”
“And how long’s that been?”
“God. Fifteen years, maybe. How the fuck are they, anyway?”
“Good. Most of them.”
“Most of them means there’s a story there.”
“Yeah. You ever really like me, Ray?”
“Like you? What the fuck kinda question is that? Haven’t I always done you good here? Haven’t I always let you be?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sure. But that’s not liking someone. That’s taking somebody’s loot and doing your friggin’ job. I wanna know if you liked me. Really.”
He looks at me over the top of those bozo glasses and I see how the years have made his eyes all watery-looking. But they’re steady. They’re strong and they’re looking at me with a look I never seen there before. “You okay?” he goes.
“No. I ain’t. I wanna know, Ray. I really wanna know.”
He pours me a fresh draft, sets it down, and fires up a smoke. “You’re a tough guy to figure. I never could. Not really. You only give what you figure you need to give, and that makes knowing somebody real tough. Still, you’ve always been a solid type and I like that. So, yeah, yeah, I liked you.”
“Yeah?”
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