Sullivan's Law

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  “Who won?” Carolyn asked.

  “They finished building it, but I still don’t know if I won the bet or not. The coaster is supposed to be up and running in three weeks, then we’ll have to wait and see what the critics think.” Paul ran his fingers through his hair, his face flushed with childish excitement. “Anyone want to see?”

  “I love roller coasters,” John said, rushing over and watching as he spread out the drawings on his desk. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a four-dimension roller coaster.”

  “What does that mean?” Rebecca asked.

  “Unlike traditional coasters where trains only parallel the track,” Paul explained, “riders race in vehicles that can spin independently, three hundred and sixty degrees forward or backward on a separate axis.”

  “Look at this, man,” John said, pointing, “it’s a twenty-foot-wide wing-shaped car. You go down headfirst, face-down. This right here is called a vertical skydive. Then you’ve got a twisting front flip, three back flips, and four raven turns.”

  Paul smiled. “I’m impressed, guy. You really know your roller coasters.”

  “You bet,” the boy said, leaning over so he could see better. “This is how I first got intrigued with gravity. How old was I, Mom?”

  “Second grade, I believe,” Carolyn said, glancing over at the professor. “He had the same problem you must have had, Paul. He was too small to ride on them, so I didn’t want to spend the money to get into the park. We’d find a place outside the fence and sit there for hours watching.”

  “What are you going to call it?”

  “All the good names are taken,” Paul said. “You know, Colossus, Medusa, Talon, Twister, Vortex. Besides, I just put it together as a hobby. They’re going to call it Super X. I preferred Ultimate X, but I think they’re trying to compete with Bolliger and Mabillard, the guys from Switzerland. They designed the Superman coasters and are reported to be the best in the business.”

  “You mean you didn’t get paid for this? It must have taken you years to figure all of this out.” John looked over at Rebecca. “He used physics. See, I told you it wasn’t boring.”

  “The company paid me,” Paul said. “That didn’t mean I got to name it, though.”

  “There’s this computer game,” John told him. “It’s called World’s Greatest Roller Coasters in 3D. There’s another one called Roller Coaster Tycoon, but this one is better. You get to build the coaster, the park, even the concessions.”

  “I’ve seen the last one you mentioned,” Paul told him. “It’s interesting. They never had things like that when I was growing up.”

  The girls as well as Carolyn peered over John and Paul’s shoulders. “I’m never going to get on that stupid thing,” Lucy said, punching her father’s arm. “Dad says I’m a chicken. He tricked me into going on Superman Ultimate Flight. I was so scared, I almost died. You guys think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. They took me to the hospital in an ambulance.”

  “You didn’t almost die,” her father said. “You fainted. I promise, you don’t have to ride on this one. Half the adults I know wouldn’t ride on the kind of coasters we’re building today.”

  “Wow,” Rebecca said. “I’m not afraid. I can’t wait to ride it.”

  “Great,” Paul said, “because you’re all invited to come as my guests to the opening. The park’s closed to the public, kind of like a private party. You can go on all the other rides as well.”

  Carolyn’s cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping into the kitchen.

  “Ready for another mindblower,” Brad Preston said. “I’ll let Hank tell you. I’ve got him on a conference call. Where are you?”

  “At the neighbor’s house. What’s going on?”

  Hank spoke up, “The clerk at the Seagull may have been Eddie Downly.”

  Believing she hadn’t heard him correctly, Carolyn closed the door. “Repeat what you said.” Once he did, she placed her forehead against the wall.

  “If Downly was the clerk at the Seagull, then he had to be working for Harrison,” Brad said. “Who else but a deputy chief would be able to spring a scumbag rapist like Downly and make it look like an accident? That means it was an inside job. Try to find this Downy guy with the parking tickets. The whole thing was a setup. We’re being played for fools on every corner.”

  While Brad was merely reacting, Carolyn was thinking.

  “Don’t go through the roof, okay?” Hank said. “Metroix was pumped full of morphine when he picked Downly out of the photo lineup. Not only that, Downly wasn’t the first man he identified. How many guys do you know with tattoos on their knuckles, for Christ’s sake?”

  “He was your probationer, Carolyn,” Brad said. “What did the tattoos say?”

  “The left hand said ‘love’ and the right hand said ‘hate,’” she told them. “Fast Eddie either tried to have them removed, though, or whoever tattooed him was an amateur. I only know what they spelled because he told me. The letters are almost impossible to read.”

  Carolyn’s mind was still churning when she returned to the living room.

  “Something wrong?” Paul asked. “I was going to have a glass of brandy. Want to join me?”

  “You’ve been a wonderful host,” Carolyn told him. “It was very kind of you to invite us to the opening of the ride you designed. I’m sure John and Rebecca will be counting off the days. We need to get home, though. Something’s come up regarding one of my cases.”

  John caught the tail end of her sentence. “You’re not going out tonight, are you? I thought you didn’t want us to be alone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” his mother reassured him. “I need to review some things.” She thought of Daniel. “Did you have a chance to look at the papers I gave you this morning?”

  “It’s good work,” the professor said, walking them to the back door. “Some of it’s engineering, the rest physics. I didn’t have a chance to study it in depth. You only gave me the papers this morning. I faxed them over to a colleague at Caltech. He called me before dinner and asked what kind of credentials this person has. There’s a slot opening up next year in the physics department.”

  “None,” Carolyn said, tossing her sweater over Rebecca’s shoulders.

  “A doctorate in physics might not be necessary.”

  “You don’t understand,” Carolyn told him. “He doesn’t even have a high school diploma. All he has is a GED.”

  “Impossible,” Paul said, his eyes expanding. “This is a joke, right?”

  “No,” Carolyn told him, not in the best mood after what she’d heard about Eddie Downly. “I didn’t give you permission to fax or share this man’s work. Call whoever you sent it to and tell them to destroy it. I gave you the originals. May I have them back, please?”

  “Certainly,” Paul said, leaving and returning a short time later with the stack of papers.

  Carolyn saw John and Rebecca making their way across the lawn. Lucy wasn’t around, so she assumed the girl had gone to her room. She quickly leaned over and kissed Paul on the cheek. “That was rude of me,” she said softly. “I apologize. The papers are evidence in a criminal investigation. I shouldn’t have given them to you. I thought you’d be able to tell me if they have any value.”

  “They definitely have value,” Paul Leighton answered. “And the person I faxed them to is not only a trusted friend, he’s a fine physicist. I’ll follow your instructions, but if you want, I can arrange a private consultation at the university.”

  The night air was chilly. Carolyn wrapped her arms around her chest to stay warm, then called out to John and Rebecca. They were passing under a light on the right side of the professor’s garage. She didn’t want them to go inside the house without her. “Wait right where you are,” she shouted. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

  “We need an engineer as well as a physicist,” Paul explained. “The problem with something like an exoskeleton is that you can’t always tell if a prob
lem has been solved until you build it and test it.”

  “I’ll have to get back to you next week,” Carolyn said, tucking the papers under her arm as she hurried across the lawn to her children.

  “There’s someone in our house!” Rebecca said, her voice shaking. “Look through the window. You can see his back in the mirror.”

  “Get down,” Carolyn shouted, whipping her Ruger out of her purse. Shifting the gun to her left hand, she grabbed her cell and hit the auto dial for 911. Before she started speaking, she recognized Frank as he walked into the hallway leading into the kitchen. She told the emergency dispatcher to cancel the call, then disconnected. How did he get a key to the house? She’d changed the locks years ago.

  “It’s Dad,” John said, walking around in a circle. “I’m not going inside, Mom. He’s probably strung out and came here to hit you up for money.”

  “Maybe he wants to see us,” his sister argued. “He’s not a monster. He won’t hurt us or anything.”

  By the time they unlocked the back door and went inside, Frank was sprawled out on the living room sofa watching TV. He pushed himself to his feet. “There’s my girl,” he said, smiling as he held his arms open for his daughter. “Come here, gorgeous. What happened to your ankle?”

  “I tripped,” Rebecca told him.

  “Give Daddy a big hug.” Once he released her, Rebecca took up a position beside him, glaring at her brother.

  “Aren’t you even going to say hello, slugger?”

  “Hello,” John said flatly. “Now leave. This is our house. Mom pays the bills. How can you walk in here like you own the place?”

  Carolyn sat down across from her former husband. Frank had dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were concave. His pants appeared several sizes too large. He must have lost twenty pounds since she’d last seen him. She was certain he was under the influence. “How have you been, Frank?”

  “Things are tough. I thought I might crash here on the sofa, if that’s all right.” He glanced at a cell phone on the coffee table. “I’m waiting for an important call. A lead on a job.”

  Carolyn laced her hands together. She knew he was lying. He must be waiting for a call from a drug dealer. It was a delicate situation. Rebecca now had her hand on her father’s shoulder. “I’d prefer you didn’t stay, Frank. Get in touch with me next week and we’ll talk about scheduling a visit so you can spend some time with Rebecca.”

  “I have my school picture,” the girl said. “I told Mom to send it to you. She said she didn’t have your new address. Want me to go get it?”

  Frank ruffled her hair. “Sure, pumpkin. I’d love to have your picture.”

  Rebecca picked up her crutches and headed off to her room. John was standing by the doorway, a sullen look on his face. “Mom asked you to leave.”

  “Hey,” Frank said, “there’s nothing to get worked up over. God knows what your mother’s been telling you about me.”

  A tense silence fell over the room. Carolyn and John remained motionless. Rebecca returned, handing her father the picture and a thick stack of letters. “Are all these for me, angel?”

  The girl looked anxiously over at her mother. “Mom said they were returned from your old address.” She saw the cell phone when her father picked it up. “I thought you didn’t have a phone anymore, that you couldn’t afford one.”

  “I meant a regular phone.” He rummaged around until he found a pen and then tore off a scrap of paper from a magazine, scribbling down some numbers. “Now you can call Daddy anytime you want.”

  John went to his room in the garage and slammed the door. Carolyn pretended to watch TV until Rebecca got up to go to the bathroom. “What you’re doing is cruel,” she whispered. “Rebecca loves you. So does John. He’s angry because he knows you stopped seeing them rather than pay child support.”

  “Shit, woman,” Frank told her, flopping back against the sofa, “you sent the dogs after me. I can’t pay child support until I get a job. I can’t get a job if I’m in jail, know what I mean?”

  “How did you get in?”

  “I crawled through a window,” he said. “I remembered the alarm code.”

  Rebecca came back into the room. “He can’t stay tonight,” her mother said. “You’ve got his number. You can call him tomorrow.”

  “Well,” Frank said, his lip curling in anger as he stood to leave, “I guess I’ll be on my way. You’re cold, Carolyn. What’s the big deal if I sleep on the sofa? All I’m asking for is one lousy night. My car’s almost out of gas and I’m a little short on cash right now. Besides, my daughter wants me to stay.” He began swaying, grabbing hold of the back of the sofa to steady himself.

  Carolyn caught the scent of alcohol. When he got high on cocaine, he started drinking to come down. He staggered toward the door. Rebecca started crying. “He shouldn’t drive,” she told her mother. “He might have an accident.”

  Removing a twenty-dollar bill from her purse, Carolyn walked over and pressed it into his hand. Frank leaned down and tried to kiss her. She gently pushed him away. If she pushed too hard, he’d fall over backward. “The money I gave you is for cab fare,” she said. “Your twelve-year-old daughter is smart enough to know her father is too drunk to drive. I’ll call the cab now. It should be here in five or ten minutes.”

  “Thanks, baby,” Frank said, shoving the twenty in his pocket.

  Somewhere buried inside the slovenly, reeking shell of a man standing in front of her was the handsome, kind, and genuinely talented writer Carolyn had married. Here and there, she caught glimpses of his former self. He was still young. Most novelists didn’t surface until they were in their mid- to late forties. Frank could teach again if he pulled himself together. He had a degree. Perhaps he could find his way back before it was too late.

  “Get sober and find a job,” she told him, speaking low so Rebecca wouldn’t hear. “I’ll put the child support case on hold for a few more months so you don’t end up with an arrest record. You were a good teacher, Frank. You’ve got the rest of your life to work on your writing. It’s not easy finding a publisher for your first book. Even Hemingway and Fitzgerald were rejected at one time.” Her choice of authors had been a mistake. Both men had been alcoholics. “You’re not only destroying yourself, you’re hurting the children. If you keep using drugs, you’re going to die.”

  Carolyn watched through the screen door as he made his way down the walkway to a battered black Mustang convertible, then fumbled around for his keys. The canvas top was torn so severely that he’d stopped using it. The red seats had stains and mildew on them from exposure to the elements. She had given him the car as a Christmas present twelve years ago, making the monthly payments out of her paycheck. The spiffy new convertible had made him so happy. Every Saturday, he would put on his bathing suit and wash and wax the car in the driveway. He’d looked so much like John in those days—tall, tan, and muscular. She had always been afraid that she’d lose him to another woman. The affairs really didn’t matter. She’d lost him to cocaine.

  Carolyn went to the kitchen to call a cab. She would have to get locks installed on the windows. She wondered if Frank had been the one who’d vandalized her car, angry that she’d filed a formal complaint against him for nonpayment of child support. It wasn’t worth the aggravation. From what she’d seen tonight, he’d have to undergo months of rehab before he could hold down a job.

  When Carolyn went outside to check on him a few moments later, he’d already sped off. She stood there a while, the wind blowing her hair back from her face, sad that what had once been so good was now seemingly lost forever. Turning back toward the house, she saw a small white object on the sidewalk. Picking it up, she cupped her hand over her mouth. Inside the house, she opened her purse and slipped Rebecca’s school picture inside a side pocket.

  She found the girl in the hallway, looking out the window through her tears. “Don’t cry, honey,” Carolyn said, lifting the items out of her hands. “I gave your father som
e money. He’ll be fine.”

  “No, he won’t,” Rebecca shot out, sliding down the wall as she sobbed. “I might not be as smart as John, but I’m not stupid. I saw him drive off from my bedroom window.” She threw a wrinkled up piece of paper at her mother. “I tried to call him. It’s not a working number. He lied to me. He doesn’t ever want to see us again. John was right. All he wanted was money.”

  Carolyn sat down on the floor and rocked her in her arms. What could she say to comfort her? Her father could have an accident and be dead within an hour. She should report him to the police for fear he might kill an innocent person. “Sleep in my bed tonight,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’ll make us a cup of hot chocolate. Maybe we’ll stay up late and watch a movie.”

  Carolyn found John studying at the kitchen table. “He broke out a window in the dining room,” he told her. “I taped up part of a cardboard box until we can get another piece of glass installed. Why didn’t the alarm go off?”

  Carolyn stood at the sink, staring out into yard. Too much time had passed now for the police to stop him. She would check for accidents in the morning. She hoped he’d run out of gas. “I had the locks changed. I forgot to change the alarm code.”

  “Dad’s brain is fried,” John said. “How did he remember?”

  His mother sighed, turning around to face him. “I used our anniversary. He gave your sister what he said was his cell phone number. She called it and found out it wasn’t a working number.”

  “Bastard,” he said, standing and grabbing his books off the table. “Do me a favor, okay?”

  “What?” Carolyn said, filling up two cups of water and placing them in the microwave for the instant hot chocolate.

  John walked toward the door leading to the garage, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Forget the anniversary. I wish you’d never married him. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a father.”

  Chapter 20