Vigilante Angels Trilogy

by Billy DeCarlo

  Carmen straightened, and Tommy looked for any signs of bruising on her. “I have to say so. There’s been a change in him lately. He’s much mellower and nicer around the house. Must be getting old,” she laughed.

  Tommy feigned resentment. “And what’s wrong with getting old?”

  “Not a damn thing, Tommy. Beats the alternative, right?”

  Carmen started to move away when Moses asked, “Ain’t you going to hook up Tommy?”

  She stopped and turned to face them. “Good news, Moses. Your buddy got a pass for a while. Seems like he might be in remission. I hear it has a lot to do with the nursing care at this place.” She winked at them and walked away.

  Moses reached out and gripped Tommy’s shoulder. “Damn. That’s great!”

  Eddie perked up and offered his congratulations, and Helen said, “At least one of us is getting better.”

  Tommy could see Herb squeeze her frail, translucent hand. He heard the fear in her voice and saw it reflected in Herb’s eyes, as well as Eddie’s. He felt horrible for them, and guilty all over again. He knew they were all happy for him, but at the same time, they all wished it could’ve been them. “Thanks, guys. Eddie, where’s the kid today?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Got school,” Eddie answered. “Hey, what’s wrong with both you guys’ hands? Your knuckles are all busted up.”

  The busybody in Helen perked up, and she leaned forward to examine them as well.

  Both men looked at their hands as if noticing the injuries for the first time. They spoke simultaneously to offer jumbled excuses about household maintenance and car repair.

  “Looks to me like you fellas both got into a fight,” Helen said.

  Nurse Carmen was patrolling nearby and examined both of them. “Damn if she isn’t right. You boys been fighting each other, or beating up on your old ladies?” she asked.

  Tommy kept his cop cool and laughed it off despite his concern she would correlate their injuries with her husband’s. “Hell, if it was me and him going at it, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” he said, jerking his head at Moses.

  The group gave a nervous laugh, and Moses nodded his head. “That’s right.”

  Tommy continued. “We’re both man’s men, not some doctors with dainty hands. We were working on getting Moses’ car up and running.”

  “Oh, when did you pick up a car, Mos?” Carmen asked.

  Moses looked at Tommy. “Ah, picked it up from a neighbor, needs a lot of work...”

  Helen and Eddie both looked at him with suspicion.

  Tommy changed the subject. “Well, you fools aren’t getting rid of me that easy. We all know how it goes; this is just a timeout, and I’ll be back in the chair after a while. Besides, we’re like a family here, so I’m not going anywhere. Even if I have to start putting on one of those white dresses and taking care of your butts myself.”

  “Now that I’d like to see,” Beulah said as she passed by close enough to hear the comment.

  They all went about their business. Tommy looked over at Moses, who was slumped in his seat, his eyes downcast.

  He noticed Tommy’s gaze and offered a false smile and a thumbs-up. “You got this licked, my brother.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Tommy replied. “I know the drill, though. My old man went through it years ago. Medicine wasn’t then what it is now, but it still seems to be the same old cycle. You get notified, panic, get sicker, go through this shit.” He waved at the equipment surrounding them.

  “Then you get this ‘remission, ’ and everyone gets all happy and full of false hope. It’s like the disease almost has a heart. It gives you that last happy, almost-normal time, an oasis in the middle of it all, then it comes back with a vengeance to claim its prize.”

  Moses looked down at his shoes. “Already done used up my oasis,” he said.

  Tommy realized he’d let his thoughts run away with him, without considering the effect of his words on the others. They looked demoralized.

  “Ah shit, that’s just me being a ray of sunshine as always. Good news is, the cure is coming soon for us. They’re making progress, I’ve seen it in the news.”

  They smiled and nodded to each other in agreement.

  It became quiet as the room moved in its usual symbiotic pace. His friends in the unit all looked older and sicker. Tommy watched them all sleep as the machines ticked and dispensed poisons into them. Moses snored lightly next to him. Emotions swirled through his mind and body. He became angry that good people had to endure this punishment, while the evil ones in the world seemed to be too often rewarded.

  Overcome with sadness, he got up to leave. “I gotta go. Have a happy Thanksgiving everyone,” he whispered to them.

  Carmen and Beulah were tending to other patients and didn’t see him pass through the door alone.

  MARGIE REACHED OUT with a shaky hand and pulled her glass closer. When she let go, it continued to slide toward her on the wet kitchen table. “Come to Momma,” she said with a laugh.

  “You better give it a rest. You’re past your usual limit, and you gotta drive home.”

  “Shut up, Diane. You’re my sister, not my mother. And I’m a functional drunk, you know.” She glanced over and saw that the words had stung, and regretted them. “I’m sorry, sis. Too much stress lately. I love you, you know that.”

  “So, I thought you were leaving him?”

  “That was the plan,” Margie said. “Now he’s sick, how can I do that?”

  Diane poured herself another half-glass of scotch. “Might as well ride it out, I guess. How long are they giving him?”

  Margie twisted the tumbler as she spoke. “You know, the usual. A few years I guess. They just told him he’s in remission, so who knows. Knowing that tough old bastard, he’ll outlive me.”

  She drained her glass as her sister got up and walked into the bathroom. After hearing the door shut, she reached over and poured a small splash of scotch into her glass. She began to replace the bottle and then added to her drink. One for the road.

  She thought about the past. She remembered being in love, optimistic about the future, seemingly without a problem in the world. With a rugged husband and delightful, happy little boy. There seemed to be two lives—that one, and the other which came out of nowhere and presented a starkly contrasting darkness. And then a reprieve; happiness returned again for a while in the form of forbidden love, before abruptly departing, giving way again to darkness.

  She heard the toilet flush and threw the contents of the glass down her throat.

  “What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?” Diane asked.

  “The usual. I guess it’s a break from the monotony of life, but I do enjoy cooking the meal. Might as well enjoy it; it won’t be long before Bobby moves out...and Tommy is gone. Then maybe I’ll be eating here.”

  “You’re always welcome, sister.”

  They heard the front door open. “Is that you, Jack?” Diane asked.

  “In the flesh.” Diane’s husband entered and gripped her in a prolonged embrace. They began kissing demonstratively.

  Margie cleared her throat. “Jesus, get a room.” Jack looked over Diane’s shoulder and winked at her.

  Diane turned to her. “Can’t anyone be in love? Try it sometime, sis.”

  Margie got up. “My turn to hit the little ladies’ room. This stuff goes right through you.”

  “Um, use the upstairs one, please,” her sister asked. “My stomach was upset if you catch my drift.”

  “Well, that sure kills the mood,” Jack said.

  Margie climbed the stairs and paused outside the hall bathroom. She reconsidered and entered the master bedroom instead, then shut the en-suite bathroom door behind her. She looked at herself in the mirror. Old, ugly, fat. She pulled back on the skin of her face with both hands to remove the wrinkles, and for a moment saw the young Margie from so long ago. She lost her grip, and the mask of reality returned.

 
She opened the medicine cabinet and selected a pill bottle. Holding it up to the light to read the label, she murmured her approval, and then opened it and took one. Mmmm. A bottle of cologne caught her eye. She opened it, closed her eyes, and waved it beneath her nose.

  She allowed herself to drift back in time, the familiar fragrance transporting her. It opened a tunnel of memories, and scenes that were long past paraded through her mind.

  She leaned back too far in her enjoyment of it and lost her balance, crashing backward into the towel rack. She grabbed it for balance, ripping it off the wall as she fell to the floor. The cologne splashed on her as she maintained her grip on it.

  “What the hell, are you okay up there?” she heard her sister shout.

  “I’m good, I’m good, no worries, be down in a minute.”

  She scrambled to her feet and replaced the cologne, then flushed the toilet and hurried out of the room and back down the stairs. Grabbing her purse and coat from the rack by the door, she shouted to her sister, “I’ve got to go, sorry. I love you,” and went through the door.

  11 Thanksgiving

  Tommy took in the scene in his home and reflected on how fortunate he was. Margie was bustling in the kitchen, singing to herself for the first time in a long time. He drew in long, deep breaths of aromatic turkey and thought about how nice it was to be able to think about food without vomiting. The Giants were on TV and winning for a change. Bobby was dozing in the recliner with a blanket over him, a full beer on his tray table.

  Tommy reached for his glass of iced tea, dotted with beads of sweat, and drank half down in a single chug. He let the taste linger in his mouth, thankful he could taste again, eat again, drink again. He wondered what the other patients were doing, and hoped they weren’t too sick from treatment to enjoy their Thanksgiving meal.

  “Hey, lightweight. You going to drink that thing?” he asked his sleeping son.

  Bobby rustled and rolled on his side, facing his dad, who he knew would persist if he didn’t answer him. He yawned and reached for the beer, then checked the TV for the score. “Damn, Giants are winning.”

  “Yup. God bless America,” Tommy responded.

  Bobby pulled the lever on the side of the recliner and sat up, stretching. “How’re you feeling, Pop?”

  “Aces. Can’t wait to eat.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Margie, it’s halftime. You need help?” She declined, and he turned back to his son.

  “What’s new? You been following the news? That shit with the priest? You working it at all?”

  “Father Tarat?” Bobby answered. “Yeah, we’re investigating it. There’s a lot of people on it, including the Feds.”

  “Same old bullshit. The church covers it up, pays off the families out of its big fucking treasure chest.” Tommy’s voice rose with his anger. “Then they move these sick bastards somewhere else to do it again.”

  “Best keep it down. You don’t want to piss off Mom with another one of your anti-Church rants. Keep it calm for dinner at least, okay?” Bobby asked.

  “That’s it, that’s what feeds it all,” Tommy said. “People afraid to deal with it, sweep it under the rug, pretend it isn’t happening. I should’ve specialized in busting these creeps instead of dealing with the punks on the street. How would you feel if you were one of those kids he abused? Or if it was your kid?”

  Bobby readjusted his blanket. “I’m sure it sucks. I hate it too. The whole church thing was always creepy to me. You guys made me go against my will, remember?”

  “Yeah, when you went, that is,” Tommy said. “I remember we caught you using the collection money we gave you to buy hot dogs to cook in the woods instead.”

  Bobby laughed. “I got away with it for a long time. You always asked me what color robes the priest was wearing, thinking you were keeping me honest. I knew damn well you had no idea since you always bragged that you only went to church for weddings and funerals.”

  “You ever think about getting out from behind the desk and getting involved in some of this stuff?” Tommy asked.

  “Dad, we talked about this...I told you. I am involved with some of this stuff. I’m not a fucking secretary...”

  “Watch the language in there, boys,” came Margie’s melodic warning.

  Bobby continued. “It’s all different now. Not all police work happens on the street. I’m doing my part like you did. I’m tracking things from my end—Internet traffic, things like that. Maybe someday you’ll understand and be proud.”

  “I’m always proud, son...” Tommy replied.

  “I think we’re all set, boys, come on over and let’s eat,” Margie called from the dining room. They both got up and moved to their spots at the table.

  Margie asked them whether either wanted to say the words. She paused a moment, got the lack of response she expected, and moved on while they all bowed their heads.

  When she finished, Tommy spoke up. “And please Lord, look over my fellow patients in the Big C unit, after the souls of my parents, and my friend and partner Paulie. Amen.”

  “Oh!” Margie exclaimed in shock. Bobby was also taken aback and looked at his father.

  “Just adding in a few words for those we lost,” Tommy said. “Let’s eat.” He eyed Margie as she filled her large water glass from the magnum of wine. She didn’t return his gaze.

  They passed serving dishes, piled their plates high, and ate to the melody of silverware sounding on china.

  “How’s other things?” Tommy asked his son. “You got your eye on anyone special yet?”

  “Don’t even go there,” Bobby answered.

  “Tommy, you know to leave him alone about that. Everything in its own time,” Margie gently scolded him.

  Tommy was feeling playful, on top of his growing angst about his son growing older and living at home without anyone else in his life. “C’mon, kid. What, she’s black? Jewish? It’s okay. Everyone’s welcome here. Bring her over, we can handle it. I’m a changed man, you know.”

  Bobby slammed his bottle of beer down to the table with a loud clunk, and it spewed foam from the top like a grade-school volcano project. “Really?” he asked. His expression was taut.

  “Please! Don’t spoil the day!” Margie begged.

  “Okay, okay, new subject. Jesus,” Tommy said, and went back to eating. Margie rose and dutifully mopped up the beer, and then grabbed the magnum and refilled her glass.

  They discussed less dramatic topics, sprinkled with compliments about the meal. Margie had gone quiet after a while, and Tommy looked over at her.

  She quickly wiped her cheek and scraped back her chair. “I’m going to get dessert ready,” she said.

  “You okay?” Tommy asked her.

  “Yes. Damn onions get me every time,” she answered, unconvincingly.

  “C’mon, kid,” Tommy said to Bobby, “Let’s clear the table while she’s doing that.”

  After clearing the dishes, they sat at the dining room table for coffee. Margie was quiet and withdrawn. Bobby fiddled with his phone.

  “It’s still early. How would you two like to go somewhere with me?” Tommy asked.

  Bobby looked up. “Where to?”

  “A friend from the hospital asked for help. He gives out meals over at the shelter every turkey day. He asked if anyone who might have time could stop by to help out.”

  “I have to meet friends later for a few beers,” Bobby answered. “But I can go for a while.”

  “You fellas go ahead,” Margie said. “I’m going to put on a movie and relax.”

  AS THEY NEARED THEIR destination, Bobby broke the silence in the car. “Wow, I didn’t ever think I’d see you in this part of town unless you were working.”

  “Things change, son. People change. I’m learning more now than I ever did on the force. Back then I was only getting one point of view, blinded by the machismo of the job and the people I was working with. I’m seeing things different now that I’m on the outside.”

  Bobby put his hand on
his father’s shoulder. “That’s great, Dad. I’m proud of you. Maybe there is hope for civilization.”

  They both laughed as Tommy parked the car. They got out and entered the shelter, which was warm and smelled of good food. The mood was bright and happy, despite the obvious dire straits most of the occupants were in. People were eating at long rows of folding tables, smiling.

  “This way,” Tommy said. He walked to the front of the hall, where Moses was scooping food from industrial-sized pots onto the plates of a long line of eager customers.

  He greeted his busy friend, who hadn’t noticed their approach. “Well, if it ain’t Chef Boyardee,” Tommy yelled above the din. “This here’s my boy, Bobby.”

  Moses smiled and shook Bobby’s hand. “Must’ve been a tough tour growing up under the General here,” he said to Bobby.

  “You have no idea,” Bobby replied.

  “Slap on a couple of aprons, fellas, and get busy back here serving our customers.”

  They spent time spooning food onto the plates of grateful, hungry citizens. It energized Tommy to help the needy families. Citizens. They’re citizens. I used to look down at them as trash, and a nuisance. As lazy and entitled, when they were suffering.

  Throughout the evening, they rotated through different responsibilities. Tommy found himself busing tables and took time to engage the diners. He noticed Moses and Bobby ducking out for a break as the crowd thinned inside the shelter. Good, maybe Mos can get through to him.

  Tommy sat with a family in holiday attire and asked the children what they wanted for Christmas.

  “Just some nice sneakers,” said the young boy.

  “A new dress for school,” said his sister. “And maybe some candy,” she added after a pause.

  That son-of-a-bitch priest, molesting beautiful kids like this for all these years. He suppressed his anger, picked up their trays, and looked to see if Bobby had come back in. “You folks have a good evening. Be careful going home.” He stopped at the next table to sit with an elderly man who was eating alone. “How you doing tonight, pal? Can I get you anything else?” he asked.