“I’m not going to lay in the bed all the damn time, Margie. I’m fine. I got things to do.” He used his muscled arms to help pull himself up the stairs toward the bedroom.
“You shouldn’t drive, you know that. What if you have another seizure and get someone else killed?”
He reached the top landing with her trailing behind him. “Oh, but it’s okay if I get myself killed?” he asked. “Jesus. I’m fine, I’m on the anti-seizure meds. I have shit to do.”
“Rest tonight, please, Tommy. Maybe I’ll go to Diane’s later to give you some peace and quiet.”
He turned and glared at her, suspicious that she might be off for a rendezvous. “I thought you were worried about me having another seizure? Who the hell is going to be here to stop me from choking on my puke?”
She appeared rattled by his question. “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll stay if that’s what you want. Whatever helps.”
The afternoon drifted into evening, as she occasionally appeared with full trays and disappeared with empty trays, doting on him to the extent he would allow. He lay in the bed, bored, fidgeting with the remote control and switching from one program to another.
He thought he heard her on the phone talking to someone, and quickly reached over and picked up the extension on the night-stand next to him, replacing it upon hearing the dial tone. He felt foolish. He tried not to let his mind drift to what she could be doing behind his back; to give her the benefit of the doubt. Who could blame her if she did cheat on me, the way I used to be. He wanted more than ever to make things right, at least for the time he had left. Bobby’s moving out. Maybe we can retire down South too.
Night came, and she took longer than usual preparing for bed. He could hear her customary gargling—an attempt to rinse the alcohol from her breath. He had already showered and shaved, applying the aftershave that he always used to wear during their better times. After sleeping most of the afternoon, he felt rested. Here goes nothing.
She pulled back the sheets and eased in next to him. As was her habit, she turned on her reading light and picked up a magazine from the night table.
He slid over closer to her. “Listen, why don’t you give that a break, for once. Let’s talk. Let’s watch something on TV together. Turn off the lamp, Margie.”
She looked at him, discomfort and surprise on her face.
He wondered if she thought he was going to confront her. “Let’s talk about good things, like the old days, and the future,” he added.
She looked at him a moment, then replaced her magazine and switched off the light. In the process, she moved slightly away from him and folded her hands on her abdomen in the dark. “Okay, Tommy. What do you want to talk about?”
“Well,” he started. “Bobby’s not here much anymore. Gone again for the weekend. We’re getting to be quite the empty-nesters, aren’t we?” He slid a little closer to her and placed his hand on her thigh.
She didn’t react to the gesture. “What do you think, Margie? Maybe we go for a fresh start—try to get the old magic back?”
She hesitated before speaking. “Tommy, you just got out of the hospital. You’re not well. Why don’t you rest? Let’s wait until you’re fully recovered.” She patted his hand.
He could sense her discomfort with the idea, and the sting of rejection began to anger him. The thought of her past affair with his late partner came back to him, upsetting him further. “But if it was Paulie, no problem, right?”
She recoiled at the statement. “Don’t you dare,” she said sharply. She reached over and turned on the light. “How dare you!”
He was tempted to bring up his suspicion of her affair with his brother-in-law, but he checked himself. Don’t show your hand. Verify, then act.
He climbed out of the bed and grabbed his pillow. “I’m gonna sleep in my office...for good,” he said as he left the room.
He walked down the hall, pausing at their son’s empty room. He stopped and went in. Moonlight shone through the window and illuminated Bobby’s well-made bed and the mementos and artifacts of their life together on the shelves and walls. He looked at a large picture of them both standing in a stream, fishing poles in hand, wearing vests and hats adorned with lures. Another photo showed them in the woods, kneeling next to a dead buck, Bobby unsmiling and holding its head up to display the rack. Pictures of Bobby wearing football and hockey uniforms, striking standard sports poses, unsmiling. I never really picked up that he wasn’t enjoying those things like he should have been. He did it all for me. I wasted his life, trying to live vicariously through his youth.
As he descended the stairs with a pillow and a blanket from the linen closet, he knew that he had crossed another bridge in his life, at least regarding his marriage. He felt as if he had been guided down a road during the past year, walking past everything he had known on his way, each thing crumbling to dust as he passed it by.
9 Lawyer Up
Carson and Jackson watched Lukas through the one-way mirror. He sat in the empty interview room, waiting and watching the clock on the wall. “They can’t help but keep checking that clock,” Carson said, laughing.
“I love making them wait, that must really suck,” he continued. “You think this turkey is cooked yet, Jackson? Go back in and tell him it’ll be just a little longer.”
“As far as I’m concerned he is. I’d like to get out of here,” Jackson answered, before doing as he was told.
Carson waited another twenty minutes, then entered the interview room from the hallway. He sat down across from Lukas and stared menacingly over the table. He tried to avoid looking toward the one-way mirror, knowing Jackson was behind it. “Thanks for coming in, Taylor. I see you’re healing up nicely, at least enough to talk. Who bailed your ass out, anyway?”
“I’m sure you have that information,” Lukas responded quietly.
Carson sized him up. He’s not stupid. Got some education. Not your normal street black. He decided to switch strategy. Good-cop time. “Listen, Lukas. I can tell you’re a smart guy. We have ways of making things work out here. You want something to drink or eat?”
“I’m good. Let’s get this done so I can leave.”
Carson shifted impatiently. “Like I said, you’re smart. We can work things out without all the court bullshit. Your uncle is gone, nothing can bring him back. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you wrapped up in all this...”
“Don’t talk about my uncle. You didn’t know him. He was a far better man than you.”
The shot agitated Carson. “Yeah, I can tell by his rap sheet. Regardless, he loved you and wouldn’t want you getting mixed up in this priest business. Not for protecting a whitey, right? C’mon, man. Be smart. Cooperate about Borata’s involvement and all this other business goes away. He’s sick—he’ll die in jail. He won’t be able to come at you.”
Carson sat back to gauge the effect of his words. Lukas was silent, and Carson knew the wheels were spinning. He’s evaluating his options. Good. He decided to add more pressure. “This all goes away. I can make sure nobody hassles you and your group going forward. We can all decide to live in peace and harmony, right?”
Lukas continued his silence. Carson leaned in and whispered, low enough that the microphones in the room wouldn’t pick it up. “And I have ways to put you guys in business. You’d do very well, I promise. New motorcycles, the whole deal.”
Lukas sat up straight and looked directly at the mirrored wall. “So, what you’re saying, Detective Carson, is that you’re a corrupt cop who can help us to make a lot of money by participating in illegal activities?”
Carson erupted in anger. “You know damn well that’s not what I said, you fucker. Here I am trying to work with you, and you pull that shit, trying to ruin my reputation and career?”
“Don’t you have to read me my rights?” Lukas asked calmly.
“You’re damn right I do now. I’m done trying to work with you.” He read Lukas his Miranda rights and waited for a response.
> “I want a lawyer. Can’t afford my own.”
Carson laughed. “Good, that’s what I was hoping to hear. Because those public defenders are a bunch of law school reject screw-ups. Our district attorneys eat them for lunch. You’re looking at serious jail time, pal. Want to reconsider working with us? Last chance...”
“Lawyer.”
As if on cue, a knock came at the interrogation room door. “Come in,” Carson barked.
An officer opened the door, and a woman in a tailored suit walked in, briefcase in hand.
Carson tried to hide his reaction. Oh shit. Jeanine Franconi.
“Detective Carson,” she said confidently. “Up to your old tricks, I see. Hassling the poor working people? Beats all that danger in chasing real criminals, right?”
“What’re you doing here? This guy can’t afford you. Still using your clients to make the payments on that sports car and mansion you live in up in the hills?” Carson asked.
“It’s not your business who’s paying me, Carson. Let’s just say it’s being taken care of by a friend. Let’s get out of here, Lukas.”
Carson remained silent as they prepared to leave. On the way out, she paused and said to Lukas, loud enough for Carson to hear, “Good thing your neighbor-lady upstairs grabbed her camcorder when she saw these guys pull up out front. This one’s a slam-dunk for us.”
She turned and smiled at Carson. “Have a good day, Detective. We’ll expect the charges to be dropped by the end of the day. We’ll let you know about our suit against the city and police department because of your behavior.”
On his way out, Lukas turned toward Carson. “And, by the way, Tommy Borata is also a far better man than you,” he added.
In the parking lot, Lukas asked, “Is that for real, what you said?”
“No,” she answered. “I went around your neighborhood to check for security cameras and talked to some of the neighbors. I did talk to a Mrs. Irving, whose window faces the street in front of your place, and she seems to be quite a busybody. She said she saw some of it, so that was enough for me to go on. Carson is dumb. I’ve used similar tactics to bluff him before, but only when I knew he was pulling something shady. According to your neighbors, you’re a solid citizen, Lukas.”
“I’m trying. I’m sure trying,” he answered.
10 Chemo
The subtle, methodical ticking of the infusion console contrasted with the jagged sawtooth snores coming from the man next to Tommy. I don’t know which is worse. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, then opened them again, rechecking the clock on the wall and the level of fluid in the bag that was emptying into the vein in his arm. He looked down at the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor tattoo on his forearm. It seemed more faded each time he had to endure these treatments. His skin seemed paler and more shriveled, his former muscle tone slowly being eaten away.
He looked over at Molletier, sitting in the station previously occupied by his late friend Moses. Shutting his eyes again, he imagined himself back in time, hoping he could open his eyelids again and find Moses sitting in the chair, trading verbal jabs as they had often done. He imagined everyone he had known before in that pod, during his last rounds of chemo. They had a strong camaraderie—they were all strong together in the face of the inevitable. Now they’re all gone, except me.
Another loud snort startled him, and he looked over at Molletier. He was sitting in the padded recliner, head back and mouth wide open. His black top-knotted wig was slightly askew. As Nurse Carmen walked by to check their consoles, Tommy asked, “Can’t you do something about this guy’s snoring? Isn’t there some kind of drug?”
Carmen took a seat in the empty recliner on his other side. “Get some sleep, Tommy. You have another half hour or more. Don’t forget your headphones next time.”
“How the hell can I sleep with him sawing logs over here? He’s on a maintenance dose, isn’t he almost done? You got a rag you can put in his piehole until then?”
Carmen laughed and smiled at him, and it brought an immediate lift to his spirits. “How’s things at home, Tommy?”
“Wonderful,” he said sarcastically. “The old lady’s got some side action going on, apparently. So I’m looking to move out. Other than that, aces.” She looked at him sympathetically, and he felt bad about introducing negativity to the little time he got to spend with her. “But Bobby and I are doing great. Better than ever, in fact.” He forced a smile at her.
She reached over and put a hand on his knee. “Hang in there. We’re gonna get you through this round of chemo, then test for the mutation so we can get you onto the Forbaxatel. From there it’ll be easy street. You’re a good man, Tommy. You’re gonna be okay. No matter what.”
“Promise?” Tommy asked.
“Promise.” She rose and winked at him before moving on. He watched her make the rounds, caring for each patient as if they were her own family, as Molletier’s snoring continued. He scanned the surrounding seats in his pod, again wishing his old crew were all there. The only other occupied recliner contained a young boy, who stared straight at him. The boy was thin and pale, completely bald, with brilliant blue eyes that gave his appearance an alien quality. He wore a black bandanna featuring skulls and crossbones around his forehead. Tommy nodded, and the boy remained still, continuing to look at him without expression.
Tommy tipped his head back and gazed at the ceiling. The white aluminum gridwork held aged acoustic tiles. He wondered if they contained asbestos. Pretty stupid thing to worry about, at this stage of the game. He looked back over at the boy, who continued to stare, unblinking. Tommy closed his eyes again until nausea threatened to overtake him. His chills began to worsen, and he pulled his blanket tighter around him.
He checked again, and the boy was still watching him. He began to get annoyed. “What’s your problem, kid?” he asked. The boy remained still. Tommy waved a hand. “Hello? Anyone in there?”
“Why don’t you give her a kiss?” the boy asked.
“What?” Tommy responded.
“You heard me. Why don’t you give her a kiss? You know you love her. That’s your problem, old man.”
“Whoa. Easy, kid. Don’t be so hostile.” Tommy grew uncomfortable, surprised that the kid was intimidating him. Molletier continued to snore, now a more rhythmic drone.
“When she comes back, why don’t you kiss her and stick your tongue in her mouth. Then you can put your hand in her shirt and squeeze her big tits.”
“Jesus. What are you, ten years old? That’s not nice. Don’t talk like that, kid. C’mon.”
“Why don’t you shut up, mister? What are you doing, sitting there feeling sorry for yourself? You’re like ninety. You lived a long time and got to do all kinds of shit. I’m only eleven. Not even twelve yet. Only tits I’ve seen is in pictures. That’s probably gonna be it for me. I won’t be squeezing any melons.”
“Where you looking at pictures like that? You’re too young.”
“My dad has a bunch of porno books in his closet. He thinks I don’t know.”
“You shouldn’t be looking at those...”
Tommy was interrupted by Nurse Beulah. “What are you two boys talking about?” she asked.
The boy pointed at Tommy. “Something’s wrong with that old guy. He keeps bothering me. He’s talking about doing dirty stuff with that other nurse over there.”
“What the—wait a minute...” Tommy sputtered.
Nurse Beulah laughed. “Nice try, Terry. I know this gentleman better than that. Tommy is a good guy. And I also know about your overactive imagination.” She made some adjustments to the console, patted the boy on the head and moved on.
“What the hell was that?” Tommy asked the boy.
“Don’t screw with me, Tommy. My dad’s coming back soon, after his goddamn conference call is over, and he believes everything I say. He’s got a guilty conscience, and I’m milking it for all I can get.”
Tommy looked at the boy in disbelief. Molletier sputtered and coughed, ch
oking on a particularly violent snore. He sat up, blinking. “Good morning, sunshine,” Tommy said, happy for the interruption.
“Nothing good about this,” Molletier responded.
“You’re lucky, it’s just maintenance. Enjoy the remission, Sensei.”
Molletier didn’t respond. Carmen came over and began to disconnect and clean him up. “You two are both about done for today,” she said.
“Thank God,” Tommy said.
“That old guy said he wants to give you a big kiss,” the boy interjected.
Carmen looked over at him while she began to remove Tommy’s line and wipe his forearm with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. “Really?” she asked.
“Yup, I swear,” the boy responded. “He said a lot more than that, but I’m not allowed to say it.”
Tommy started to correct him when Carmen leaned in and pressed her lips against his. They were soft and warm, slightly slippery from her lip gloss. He closed his eyes, and it seemed an eternity before she withdrew. He wanted to pull her back in immediately, as he hadn’t experienced anything like that in a very long time. His heart raced dangerously.
They both looked at the boy, who appeared excited, and he finally smiled.
“See, I know how to make my patients happy,” Carmen said to Tommy as she straightened up, motioning to the boy.
“You sure made this one happy, Carmen,” Tommy responded. She smiled and moved on, and he looked over to Molletier, who was shaking his head. “You ready to get out of here, Sensei?”
They both rose and prepared to leave.
“Hey, Tommy. How about a shake from the cafeteria for your boy over here?” Terry asked.
“I guess you earned that,” Tommy answered. “What flavor, kid?”
11 Impromptu Dojo
Sensei Molletier walked down the ranks of the two lines of students. They stood in rigid fighting poses as he checked the sturdiness of their form and made slight adjustments to their positioning. “Strong in form, strong in mind,” he barked. He threw punches and kicks at their frozen arms and legs to demonstrate his point. He looked fearsome with his eye-patch and black instructor’s uniform, his black belt decorated with bright gold Korean lettering.
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