by LOU HOLLY
“Uh, OK. Pat?” Joey’s hand went to his back pocket. “What’s da beef here?”
“You come sniffing around my wife when I was gone?” Trick surprised Joey with a hard uppercut to the stomach, doubling him over. “You pull that knife and I’ll snatch the eyes right out of your head.”
Trick grabbed him by the hair as Joey put his hands up and wheezed, “Wait, wait.”
“You didn’t wait too long, Joey. Started coming around soon as I was locked up.” Trick gave Joey a right cross, knocking him on his ass.
“Stop, stop! Nothin’ happened!” Joey wiped blood from the gash under his eye with the back of his hand. “I jus came around ta see if she needed some help.” Joey pulled his knife. “Dat’s all.”
“You weren’t going to mention it though. Were you? Didn’t think I’d find out.” Trick kicked Joey on the forehead, laying him out. “Don’t ever come anywhere near Ginger again, you fuckin’ lowlife.” Trick threw Joey’s driver’s license at him and walked away, wishing he could solve all his problems that easily.
CHAPTER 42
Toying with the paper wristband, that had Ginger’s room number on it, Trick rode the elevator up to the seventh floor. The metal doors parted and he stepped into the hallway, remembering the last time he came to visit Ginger in Christ Hospital. How beautiful she looked, her disheveled hair against the mint green pillowcase as she held newborn Pat close, his little blond head resting on her chest.
A chubby young nurse’s aide smiled at Trick who looked lost carrying a bouquet of flowers. He walked around looking at numbers on doors, some closed, some open, revealing family members sitting and standing, some with heads hung low. Pushing open the partially closed door, shock hit him when he saw Ginger lying on the first bed, her mouth open, tubes in her arms. Her half open eyes rolled to the side to see Trick holding a dozen roses surrounded with baby’s breath, wrapped in green tissue paper. He thought he saw a hint of a smile as she lay there motionless.
“Don’t get up,” Trick joked, hoping it would lighten the mood and hold back his tears.
Ginger tried telling him something but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He grabbed a chair and pulled it close to her bedside.
No more than a hoarse whisper came from Ginger, who repeated, “Take good care of Pat … tell him every day how much I love …”
Her eyes closed and Trick wondered whether she suddenly fell asleep, passed out or worse. He dropped the flowers on the floor and ran to the nurses’ station. “Hey. Who’s in charge of Ginger Halloran?”
A woman of middle-eastern descent with thick black hair and thicker eyelashes said, “I’m Doctor Fahri. How can I help you?”
“What’s going on with my … Ginger? I was just with her three days ago. How could she get so sick, so fast?”
“Are you family?”
“Yes, she’s the mother of my son. She looks so weak. What’s being done for her?”
“We’re doing everything possible for Ginger. But we’ve run out of reasonable options. I’m afraid I have bad news. Would you like to come into the conference room?”
“No, please … tell me what’s going on.”
“Ginger has pancreatic cancer. I’m sorry but this type of cancer usually has a poor prognosis, even when diagnosed early. It typically spreads rapidly and is seldom detected in its early stages. Signs and symptoms might not appear until it is well advanced, when surgery is no longer an option.”
“Oh, God. No.” Trick leaned against a wall.
“The cancer has spread to Ginger’s liver and other areas. I wish there were more we could do. Give her anything she would like, candy, ice cream … whatever will make her happy.”
“You’re saying she’s dying?”
“I’m afraid she doesn’t have much time.”
“I don’t get it. A month ago she thought she just had the flu or something. She was up and around a few days ago.”
“Some cancers metastasize at a very rapid rate. I’m so sorry.”
Trick went back to Ginger’s bedside, picked the flowers up from the floor and set them on the bed. He sat thinking about young Pat. His son didn’t deserve any of this. He was just a little boy, never did anything to harm anyone.
Visions of Ginger’s younger girlish face kept Trick company as their first conversation replayed in his mind. He recalled the first time he took her to dinner, admitting he was a coke dealer and that she seemed unfazed. Only to realize two dates later that she thought he worked for Coca-Cola.
Trick lost track of time, lost in daydreams, lost youth, lost innocence. Ginger stirred, opening her eyes again and seemed surprised to see him, as though she didn’t remember talking with him only an hour earlier.
“I was dreaming.” Ginger smiled slightly. “You and me were at the Cape Cod Room, drinking piña coladas.”
“You want a piña colada?”
“What?” Ginger weakly shook her head, “Don’t be silly. I can’t have a drink. I’m in the hospital.”
“You want a piña colada?” Trick repeated.
A pretty young black lady pushing a cart with covered trays entered the room and cheerily asked, “How y’all doing? Would you like to feed Ginger?”
“Can someone else take care of that?” Trick replied. “There’s something I got to do but I’ll be right back.” He stood and patted Ginger’s foot through the bed covers. “See you soon.”
Riding the elevator down alone, Trick let out the tears he had been holding in. Back in his car, he drove to the McDonald’s drive-thru just down the street and ordered two large Cokes. He pulled away, opened his door and poured the drinks out onto the asphalt parking lot, then put the lids back on. He then drove to Petey’s Bungalow across the street from the hospital and walked in with the paper cups.
“Two piña coladas, easy on the rum. Put them in these.” Trick slid the empty cups toward the short burly bartender who had more hair on his arms than the top of his head. “And give me a Chivas neat while I’m waiting,” he added. “Got any twenty-four-year-old?”
“Twelve. That good, pal?”
Trick nodded and took the glass barely out of the bartender’s fingertips. He brought it to his lips, smelled the oaky aroma and swallowed half of it in one gulp.
The bartender returned with the piña coladas and Trick downed the rest of his blended Scotch whiskey. He put the plastic lids back on, tore the paper off the straws and pushed them through the small slits in the lids. “How much do I owe you?”
“$6.50. But, hey, I can’t let ya walk out with those. Ya gotta drink ‘em here.”
Slapping a fifty-dollar bill on the bar, Trick looked him in the eye. “Try and stop me.”
Without looking back, Trick hurried out and got in his car, half expecting the guy to come out the door after him.
He returned to Ginger’s room to find her alone again. She seemed a little stronger after her meal and pushed herself into a sitting position. “You get me a shake?”
“Something better.” Trick handed her a drink and sat next to her. “Till the world is through with us,” he said, tapping his cup against hers.
Taking a sip through the straw, Ginger managed a smile and sang in a raspy voice, “If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.”
Trick turned his head and blinked back tears.
“I’m not going home anymore, am I?”
“I don’t know. Try to think positive.” Trick kissed her hand. “I’ll always love you.”
“I know, Pat, I know,” Ginger said softly. She winced in pain and grabbed her side. “I need to know that Pat’s going to be OK. Please promise me you’ll do everything possible to straighten out the mess you’re in and keep him safe. He needs you now more than ever.”
Trick knew he couldn’t honestly say everything would be all right. He didn’t want to lie to Ginger but felt he didn’t have much choice. He couldn’t send her to her grave worrying. “I’ve got everything straightened out. I worked out a deal with the
cops.”
“Thank you. It’s not going to be easy for him.” Ginger’s eyes rolled back. “You’re going to have to love him enough for both of us.”
“There’s nothing more important to me than our son. I’ll do everything humanly possible.” Trick caressed her face. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything.”
“Karen has a key to my apartment. I left the money you gave me in Pat’s lunchbox. The title for my car is in my top right dresser drawer, bring it to me.” Tears rolled down Ginger’s sunken cheeks and her voice broke. “I want to see my son one more time.”
A short while later, Ginger was asleep again. Trick got on his knees next to her bed, put his hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Please God, I never asked for much. Please help Ginger. Don’t let her suffer. Please.”
***
Trick walked into the condo for the first time in a week to an annoying ring. He went straight to the bedroom and picked up the phone on the nightstand. “Yeah, who the fuck is it?”
“Is that any way to talk to your benefactor?” Starnes growled back. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be in the can. And where the fuck you been? I been callin’ over there the last couple days.”
“None of your damn business. Look, I’m not in any kind of mood for your bullshit right now.”
“Bullshit? Don’t get cocky with me, you paddy nigger. Meet Moogie over at El-Mar bowling alley tomorrow morning at 10:00. Yous two are gonna go pay someone a visit.”
Pulling the rigged mirror off the wall, Trick reached in and pulled out his pistol. “I’m not going anywhere with that asshole. Find someone else.”
“You and me had a deal. I got you out, mudder fucker. Now you’re gonna do what you’re told. You know what happens to welchers? Huh?”
“I don’t have rules anymore.” Trick never felt so low. Hitting bottom changed something in him. He survived things most men hadn’t, things a lot of men couldn’t. Knowing his situation couldn’t get much worse made him feel strange, almost giddy. After everything he went through, he was still here. Left with only choices. Nothing seemed to matter much anymore. Just his son. “The only rules I have are the ones I impose on myself.”
“What kind of crazy-ass shit you talkin’ about? You understand what’s goin’ on here? I’ll fuckin’ kill ya!”
Trick opened the chamber, counted six bullets and snapped it closed again. “Do what you got to do, boy. I’ll see you around.” He hung up the phone and caught his reflection in the mirrored wall. He sat on the bed and put the barrel to his temple. He suddenly felt tired, very tired. He wanted to sleep, a good long sleep.
CHAPTER 43
“Sorry I couldn’t be there when you got locked up at Oak Lawn. I was in Florida golfing,” Trick’s lawyer, Paul Grande, said, tapping his Monte Blanc pen on his desk mat. “I have to tell you though, I’m amazed you were released at all, bond or no bond. You could get pulled in any minute on a parole violation. Go hug your son or do whatever else is important to you.”
Trick rubbed his face. “I can’t believe they’d pull a reverse sting on me. DeLorean just beat a case like this last year. It’s entrapment.”
“Every case is different. DeLorean had a ton of dough to fight his charges. Besides, even if you did beat the Intent to Purchase charge, there’s still the two ounces they found in your car. That’s all they need to send you away for a long time.”
“Well.” Trick’s face and shoulders dropped. Life seemed to ebb from him. “Looks like I’m fucked.”
“Did you talk with anyone while you were in Oak Lawn lockup?”
Trick splayed his fingers and shook his head. “Just some biker looking dude.”
“How much did you tell him?”
“Not too much I guess.”
“I hope not.” Grande pointed his pen at Trick. “That’s one of the cops’ methods. They put an undercover officer in with you, usually unshaven, bummy looking. They know when someone’s in that kind of predicament, they tend to talk out of nervousness. Think they’re talking to someone else in trouble. The cops can’t use what they heard in open court but they can tell the judge in his chambers. That’s where everything is decided. It’s all done beforehand regardless of what goes on in the courtroom, barring some big surprise or you come up with enough dough to grease the wheels. And right now with this Greylord investigation going on, forget about that. They’re locking up judges and lawyers right and left.”
“You’re telling me it’s already been decided what’s going to happen?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. You’re going bye bye. I’m here to try and keep your sentence down as much as I can. Hopefully shave a few years off but we’re looking at twelve to twenty-five. They’re not going to settle for any less than twelve. If you cooperate I can definitely get you no more than that.”
“Forget about me cooperating.” Trick waved both hands away. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t be too quick to turn down a deal, especially if you haven’t even heard the terms.”
“I’m not a rat.”
“Just go talk to Detective Frank Murray. That’s all I’m suggesting. Hear what he’s offering.”
“Murray?” Trick cocked his head. “Not Carlsbad?”
“That’s right. Murray oversees all the big drug cases in the area.”
Trick stood and squinted. “I don’t think so.” He searched Grande’s eyes. “But if I did, you’d go with me, right?”
“You don’t need me there. This is all off the record.” Grande handed Trick a plain white business card with black lettering. “Call him.”
CHAPTER 44
“Pat, I don’t want you to be scared when you see your mother.” Trick parked near the corner on 93rd Street and unbuckled his son’s seatbelt. He walked around the Hertz rental car and let Pat out as the siren from an ambulance roared past toward the emergency entrance. “She’s very, very sick.”
“Does she have a belly ache?” Pat hopped to the ground.
“Worse.” He took Pat’s hand and walked south on Kostner Avenue toward the hospital entrance. The southerly wind brought the aroma from Mama’s Cookies factory in Ford City where Trick worked as a teen, leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth. “Your mom has cancer.”
“What’s cancer?”
“It’s a serious disease.” Taking short steps, putting one foot in front of the other reluctantly, Trick never felt as sad as he did at that moment. “Mommy has a very bad kind of cancer.”
“When is she coming home?”
“Oh, Pat. I … I don’t know what to tell you.” Trick found it difficult to continue with the lump in his throat. The tenderness of Pat’s hand somehow made him feel sadder. “She might not be coming home.”
“Can I live with her in the hospital if she don’t come home?”
“No. You can’t do that. Little boys don’t live in hospitals.”
“You’re not supposed to step on the cracks, Daddy,” Pat said, walking carefully. “Step on a crack, break your mama’s back.”
“Sure, Pat.” Trick continued, avoiding the separations in the concrete. “Your mom misses you very much. If she cries, that’s OK. She might be so happy to see you that she can’t help herself.”
“It’s all right.” Pat watched the sidewalk warily. “I saw mommy cry lots of times.”
The fragrance of flowers coming from the gift shop masked antiseptic odors as they walked through the revolving door and up to the visitor’s desk hand in hand. After getting clearance to continue further, they stepped into the elevator. Riding up, Trick said, “Mommy has tubes in her arms. It’s to make her feel better. It might look weird but it helps her. Do you understand?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I won’t say stupid stuff.”
Once in her room, Pat ran to his mother’s bedside, but when he saw her, he screamed and ran back out.
Trick could see a noticeable difference in Ginger’s appearance from just two days earlier.
/> Ginger’s weak voice broke when she cried out, “What was I thinking? This isn’t how I want him to remember me. I shouldn’t have been so selfish.”
“Selfish?” Trick tried his best to console her. “There’s nothing selfish about wanting to see your son. I better go after him.”
Trick walked out of the room to find Pat plastered against the wall in the hallway. His little face looked white. Trick got on his knees and put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Pat, sometimes we have to be brave. Even when we don’t think we can.” He put his cheek to Pat’s and spoke softly. “Mommy loves you and misses you so much. You think you can be a brave soldier for her? She needs you to make her feel better.”
Trick could feel his son’s tears as Pat whimpered. “She doesn’t look like Mommy. She’s skinny and little.”
“She looks smaller but her love for you is as big as ever. Do you need a little time or do you think you can go back in now?” Trick pulled his face back and looked his son in the eye. “Mommy needs you, more than anything else in the whole world. Seeing you is better for her than any medicine.” He pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and gave it to Pat.
Pat wiped his face, blew his nose and handed it back. “I can be a brave soldier,” his voice quivered.
“All right then. You want me to carry you?”
“I’m not a baby anymore.”
Unfortunately, Trick knew this was true. His son was never going to be a normal little boy again after this. He would be forced to grow beyond his years in a matter of days. He followed close behind Pat who walked anxiously, as though trying not to step on cracks.
Pat walked up to his mother but stayed a few feet away. “I’m sorry I screamed. I got scared.”
“That’s all right, Pat. Mommy understands. I’m kind of scary without my makeup.”
Pat giggled and cried at the same time. He stepped a foot closer. “You’re still the prettiest mommy.”
“Oh, sweetie, thank you.” Ginger put a hand to her sunken cheek. “Are you behaving yourself at school? No more punching?”