He bent and began to twirl the dial on the combination. A few seconds later, he flipped it open, swung the door wide, and stood back, letting Mitch see inside.
“Get me ten thousand.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Stooping, the Archangel withdrew one bundle of bills, then turned and handed them over carefully. Mitch hefted them in his palm.
“There are one hundred hundreds in each package. Is that all you want? There are more packages here.”
“This is a lot of money for a cop like me. It’s all I want.”
“I don’t understand you. What do you mean it’s all you want? I’ve offered you millions. You can retire to Europe, to South America.”
“You could never understand me. You have no vision.”
“What do you want?” The Archangel’s teeth bared this time, in manic desperation.
“To burn you off the face of the fucking earth. Like a boil filled with pus. That’s what I want.”
“You’re crazy!”
“How does that help you?”
Mitch jerked the Sanyo into position, aimed it, and said again, “You have no fucking vision, Scopellini.” He pressed the trigger and the beam erupted from the barrel, the crystal blue death boring a smoking, bubbling hole in his chest. He left his finger on the trigger as the Archangel slumped to the floor, mouth and eyes open in death. Then he moved the beam up along the Archangel’s chest and onto his face, collapsing his perfect Roman nose into his skull.
The hole widened, the heat rolled off him in waves, and in the vacuum of the Archangel’s face, through his own misting, raging eyes, Mitch saw Mario Ciracella’s beaten and bruised face staring back at him. Dead.
It was then that he let the trigger go. Blinking, he gasped for breath, feeling drained.
Turning, he left the room, went down the stairs, walked into the living room, bent over the RDX. He checked his watch: 3:15.
He pressed the activator button. The digital began counting down. Ten minutes.
He was on the parkway when he heard the explosion. Glancing out his window, over his left shoulder, he saw the sky glow white and orange, and he felt tired.
It’s over, Mario, he thought. It’s all I could do. I don’t know what else to do.
I just don’t know.
And he cried.
41
Karoulis was in his office, smoking a cigarette, when Mitch walked in at 3:55 a.m. He smiled when he saw him.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.
“I’m glad I’m back, too.”
“Phone’s been ringing off the hook here. I’m not taking any more calls.”
“What do you figure will happen now?”
“Hard to say. Depends on how high his influence went—who was on his payroll. And since his payroll doesn’t exist anymore, it’s hard to predict whether or not people will be vocal or silent. My guess is pretty vocal.”
“What’ll happen to you?”
The captain shrugged. “Probably have to resign. We’ll see.”
“I’m sorry.
“Don’t be. I’m near retirement. It was my decision.” He paused. “Actually, I feel quite good about everything, all things considered.” He looked at Mitch. “Strange, eh?”
Mitch shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”
Karoulis exhaled a long cloud of smoke at the ceiling fan. “Maybe I’ll go back to Greece.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. We can use you here. I think we’re just starting.”
They eyed one another appreciatively.
“We’ll see. Let’s just let it happen, Mitch. For now, for tonight, I just want to feel good, like this, for a while.” He smiled.
“Want to go for a coffee?”
“Yeah. I do. That sounds perfect.” He got up from his desk.
“I know a spot not far from here. Over on Parliament. We can go there.”
Karoulis’s eyes softened. “Yeah. I know the spot. Good choice.”
“We can talk for a while.”
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
42
When he heard the front door click open, Mitch checked his watch: 11:10 p.m. He was lying on their bed, his arms folded up behind his head, waiting. His stocking feet were crossed. He hadn’t bothered to undress yet. In fact, he had spent most of the day lying there, thinking, since arriving home at noon. The note in the kitchen said that Barbie was sleeping over at Lottie Patel’s. He smiled when he thought of Lottie, of her missing front tooth. He liked her.
This, he thought, is it. This is where I find out the truth about my marriage. The dogs are gonna bark, one way or the other. I spent most of our life’s savings on this device under my shirt, just for a chance to finally know the truth. Just a bit of truth. Finally.
How many people get even that?
Mitch could hear Elaine taking her coat off and hanging it up in the hall closet.
His palms were sweating, his heart hammering.
The truth.
The truth was that he had married Elaine Barry ten years ago, that she had been a vivacious girl of twenty-four, that they had an eight-year-old daughter whom he loved more than his own life. That they had gotten ten years older. And they had weathered it. Even with his shitty cop hours, seldom home for dinner. Seldom home for anything, for that matter.
And the fluctuating interest rates, and the union demands, and the orthodontist, and Barbie’s birthday parties, and their lovemaking—a wind that blew both hot and cool—and morning coffee in the summer and burned toast in the fall...
And Mario...
He heard her coming down the hall.
The electrode tickled his side, a hound deciding whether to whine and sniff or howl at the moon.
The truth.
As the bedroom door opened, Mitch reached under his shirt as if to scratch and pulled the electrode from his side. He let it dangle uselessly, a muzzled dog.
Elaine looked at him, but said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She looked in the mirror and undid her necklace.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Can we talk about it in the morning?”
She unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it free from her skirt. Then she turned to face him. “Yes.” She was glad to see him. “I’m really tired. Jan is driving me crazy. What I want more than anything else is a shower and some sleep. Barbie’s at Lottie’s.”
“I read the message.”
“You look a bit tired, too.”
“Yeah. A bit.”
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
The truth was, Mitch knew, that this woman, who was once the girl he married, came home to him, from wherever, cared for him, talked to him, and slept with him. He liked to see her undressing in their room. He liked to listen to her. He liked talking to her. He loved their daughter.
It was enough. It was more than enough. It was the truth.
When she climbed into bed with him, he snuggled close to her, her back to his front, and cupped her breast as he always did. And they slept.
At work the next day, Elaine punched their joint account code into her computer to assess the balance. She needed money for a new winter coat for Barbie.
For long minutes, she stared at the screen. Eventually, she sat back in her chair and gazed out the window, reflecting on the ten thousand dollars that had reappeared in their account yesterday.
43
When the phone rang at 10 a.m., Mitch was slow in answering it. He left it off video. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mitch?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“It’s Angela. How are you?”
He smiled. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“Not so bad.”
“How’s Tony?”
“Better. He asks for you. When are you going to take him to ElectroWorld? You promised, you kn
ow.”
“I know. Tell him we’re going. Tell him we’re going Saturday. I mean, what the hell, eh?” He laughed.
“He’ll be too excited to sleep till then if I tell him.”
“Tell him anyway.”
“I will. I’ll mark it on the calendar.”
“Do that.”
“Actually, Mitch, I called because I’ve got a visitor here. Somebody who’d like to talk to you. He just got into town yesterday, and dropped over this morning.”
“Oh. Who?”
“Max Rosen. An old friend of Mario’s.”
“Max Rosen! From Greenland?”
“The same.”
“He’s there?”
“In the flesh.”
“Max is there?”
“Flip on your video. You can talk to him.”
Mitch flipped the switch. Angela’s face slipped out of the picture and a man’s face took its place. He had thin eyebrows, full, rounded cheekbones, a dark moustache, and a familiar smile. Mitch knew immediately why Mario and Max had been friends. He recognized the smile.
Mitch smiled back. He felt foolish at first. “Mario spoke about you, Max. You were his good friend. He made that clear.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I’m delighted to meet you. I wondered if you were a figment of his imagination for a while. I mean—Greenland!”
Max laughed. Even the tone of the laugh was familiar. “Yeah,” he said. “Greenland.”
“I’m sorry about Mario, Max.”
“So am I, Mitch. We all are. You were his best friend.”
Mitch said nothing.
“He said so in every letter. I’ve wanted to meet you. I knew that if he liked you, I’d like you, too.”
“I’m glad you called, Max.”
“I’m glad I called.”
“Are you in town for long?”
“We’re in town for good, Mitch. We’re moving back. Or, at least, I’m moving back. My wife is just moving.”
“I thought you loved it in Greenland.”
“I did. For a while. Then I got bored. Besides,” he said, “I’m not sure it’s a good place to raise a kid. I’m gonna be a daddy soon.”
Mitch smiled, kindly.
“You know?” Max said.
“Yeah. I know.”
Max shrugged. “So we’re gonna try it here. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get bored here, too. Maybe we won’t like it. How can you tell?”
“All you can do is give it a try.”
“Exactly.” He glanced sideways, presumably at Angela, then back at Mitch. “Besides, if you think it’s cold here...” And then he laughed.
“What are you gonna do? I mean, have you got a job or anything?”
“Not yet. But I’m looking. Something’ll show up. My father wants me to sell furniture with him, on the Queensway.” He rolled his eyes.
Mitch was thinking. “Can you and your wife come to dinner this weekend?”
Max smiled, shyly, but thankfully. “I think we could squeeze it into our hectic social calendar.”
“Let’s make it Saturday then. After I get back from ElectroWorld with Tony and Barbie. And bring Angela.”
“All right.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“Seven it is.”
“Great. And Angela’s got your phone number? Your address?”
“We’re staying with my parents till we get settled.”
Mitch smiled broadly. “Thanks for calling, Max. And thank Angela for me, too.”
“I will. She’s right here, listening.” He glanced at her. “She thanks you now.”
An hour later, alone, he set up his Quasar video camera on its tripod, focused it on the sofa, set the mike on the end table, pressed Record, and sat down. He made seven simple statements, spacing them about thirty seconds apart. When this was done, he got his Barking Dog from his duffle bag, propped the shiny rectangle in front of the TV, and attached the electrode to his left side.
He inhaled deeply, calming himself.
It didn’t work. He tried again. There...a little better.
He leaned forward, flipped the TV on, pressed Play on the attached video recorder, settled back, and waited for his own image and voice to appear. It began.
“I want to know if Elaine was at Jan’s last night,” he heard himself say. Ice formed in his left side, burrowing inward.
“I want to kill scum like the Archangel.” Nothing. True.
“I want to be a cop.” A tremor, a shiver of uncertainty. Indefinite.
“I want to be promoted next month.” Nothing. No reaction. The truth.
“I trust Karoulis.” Nothing. Mitch nodded with relief.
“I want a partner again.” There it was again: the shivery tickle of uncertainty. Good enough, thought Mitch. Good, honest uncertainty.
Mitch suddenly understood the pope.
“I want Mario back.” Not a tingle—the unwavering truth. Mitch swallowed, feeling cleansed. The catharsis seemed complete.
In ways that Mitch had never anticipated, his Barking Dog had indeed helped the world emerge in clear, vivid images. He finally knew what to do. It was so simple.
At 2:30 p.m. sharp, Mitch was sitting in his Chevrolet outside Thorncliffe Public School. When the recess bell rang, he stared at the door through which he knew Barbie would have to emerge. He got out of the car and stood there, filling his chest zestily and smiling.
There she was. She was with Lottie, smiling and giggling.
“Barbie!” he shouted, waving.
She looked up, puzzled, then smiled and waved back. “Daddy!” she cried, then ran to the steel wire fence that separated them. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way to work, sweetheart, and was just passing by,” he lied. “Wanted to ask you a couple of things.”
“What is it? Anything wrong?”
“No, no, nothing’s wrong. Say, you remember that guy that was shot out of the cannon at the circus you went to with your class?”
“Sure, I remember.”
“Well, we never did finish talking about him, and I got to thinking...What do you think he thinks about as he’s flying through the air?”
“What?” she said. “Daddy”—her eyes were rolling and a corner of her mouth was twisted wryly—“you are sometimes truly weird.” She placed her tiny hands on her bony hips in a stance intended to convey her mock concern and tilted her head on a jaunty angle.
“It seemed like a good question to me,” he said with equally mock seriousness.
“You came to school to ask me what I think the guy thinks about as he flies through the air? Really? I mean, really?”
“Best question I could think of,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Well...”
“C’mon, c’mon...I got to get to work.”
“I think he wonders if he’s going to land in the net. What do you think he thinks about?”
“I think he thinks about”—he looked from side to side, playing the game of imparting information that might violate the National Secrets Act—“what an absolutely, fantastically lucky guy he is to have a clever, beautiful daughter.”
She beamed and blushed simultaneously. “Daddy! You’re teasing me!”
“No. I’m not. It’s what I think. But enough of him. One more question, then I’ll let you go.”
“Yes?”
“Do you love me?”
Barbie clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes again. “You know I do! Silly...”
It was true. Mitch did know it. It was the one thing he knew without a Barking Dog—knew with a certainty that Pope Martin would have envied. It was the only thing, he had realized after listening to his own litany of statements this morning, that he had never doubted.
“I love you, too,” he said. And this, too, was true.
He waved to her as she stood, separated from him by the steel wire fence and years of innocence, and she waved back. From now on, he thought, I’ll try to be m
y own Barking Dog.
If I can.
I know, he thought. Yes, I know what he thinks about as he’s flying through the air.
*********
Blue Limbo
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