Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2)

by Derek Ciccone

  Gwen sent a suspicious look my way, as if to say, why would they need to say hello if you and Carter were down there visiting? This is where I could have brought up Syria and unfinished business and how hollow revenge can feel, but I chose not to further incriminate myself.

  “I was actually there once, but I had to leave before I ate. Something came up,” I said.

  “Something always seems to come up,” Gwen said, while examining me closely.

  “And you should see that Byron play golf. He’s better in a wheelchair than most people are on two legs,” my father exclaimed, and then detailed each hole they played together.

  As he talked … and kept talking … my mother performed the Warner family ritual, which occurs after returning to the homestead from any vacation or long road trip. She cooked up fried egg sandwiches for everyone. It really was good to be home.

  After the impromptu meal, Gwen and I retired to the colonial, and made our way up to the bedroom. I decided to get out in front of this, “I’ve been an idiot plenty over the years, but I’ve never lied to you before and I don’t plan to start now.”

  “You didn’t lie, JP—I didn’t really think you went to Charleston, and you never said you did. Carter cares about you, and I think he thought you needed to go wherever he took you, and that it was best I didn’t know where that was. I was fully aware of this when I encouraged you to go.”

  “Ask me anything about my trip and I’ll tell you every detail.”

  “I don’t want to know. That’s the past, and I’m only interested in right here, right now.”

  “Right now can wait. Tonight we’re going back in time.”

  I took her hand and led her outside and into the woods. I’d made my way over this terrain so many times since I was a child that it didn’t matter that it was steeped in darkness.

  I found the tree where we once carved JP and Gwen. True Love Forever, pulled down the attic-like staircase, and helped her climb into the tree house. I followed her in and closed the hatch behind us.

  The tree house was my idea, but Gwen’s carpenter father made it come to life, including all the modern amenities. And it took quite a bit of cloak and dagger to make sure she didn’t find out, as it was her Christmas gift. It looks like a college dorm room, including bunk beds. If our bedroom had grown into an adult, the tree house was a reminder of our childhood.

  Her breath was visible, and she stuck her hands in the pockets of her pea coat, seeking warmth. I turned on the heater, but it would take a few minutes to kick in. I put on some mood music with the iPod docking station. Our song: “Never Say Goodbye” by Bon Jovi.

  We picked up the kissing right where we’d left off. I began unbuttoning her coat. “Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile?”

  She grew frustrated with my clumsiness, and undid the buttons herself. She tossed it on the couch, and then pushed me down on the bottom bunk. She climbed on top of me, and we wrapped tightly around each other.

  I looked upward, and no longer had to search for her in the moon and stars. My angel was right above me, and she whispered, “Welcome home, JP.”

  Part Two –

  Old Newz

  Chapter 22

  New York City

  March 15

  Two weeks ago to the day, Nora Reign passed through this same lobby of her modest Upper West Side apartment building.

  She’d approached Luca Rebazzo, the security guard at the front desk. The short, balding man didn’t exactly strike comparisons to Hercules, but it always made her feel safer that he was here. The neighborhood was a long way off from the luxury apartment on Central Park West where she used to live. And lifetime away from her formative years in South Africa.

  When he saw her approaching, he spread his arms. “Ah, the beautiful Nora comes to warm my heart on such a cold day. What can I do for you?”

  She smiled—a rarity for her the last few years, and even more so in her current predicament. “Hello, Luca—I’m looking for the new Yellow Pages book. It was supposed to be delivered yesterday.”

  He looked incredulous—he wore all his emotions so comfortably on his face. “You gotta be kidding me, Nora.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I just broke my back hauling them outside.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve been working buildings in this city for ten years, and in that time, no resident, guest, or even a homeless guy off the street, has ever taken one. They’re a big shrink-wrapped pain in my rear, and the sooner I get rid of them the less I have to look at them.”

  “Well, I guess you just missed out on witnessing a first then.”

  “What do ya need, a plumber? I got a pinup board of recommendations by the residents—restaurants, carpet cleaning, plumbers, you name it.” He pointed to the cork bulletin board behind him that looked like it had been attacked by a swarm of business cards.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to look up a business—I want to stack them so I can reach up to clean my roof. I’ve got this spider web the size of a small automobile.”

  Luca looked quizzically at her. “We’ve got a ladder in the storage room.”

  “Sorry, I’m deathly afraid of ladders. Fell off once as a child and knocked my two front teeth out.” As if standing on a stack of phone books would be safer.

  “But why would you need this year’s version? Wouldn’t last year’s do the trick?”

  He sure was an inquisitive one. Just like Nora was when she first got into journalism, but he wasn’t making things easier for either of them. “When Tino and I broke up, after I found out that he’d cheated on me with half the city, I threw it out the window at him as he walked out of my life. It was the first thing I could find, and the damn thing was heavy—think I cracked the sidewalk.”

  He got a chuckle out of that. “I wish you’d hit that rat. I still can’t believe he got you hooked on that garbage, but you’re the one who got fired, and he’s still on the air.”

  She shrugged. “My reward is I’ve been sober for nine months now … and he’ll get his one day. You know, Karma, she can be a bitch.”

  “I thought payback was?”

  “And when they’re working together, it’s not going to end well for Tino,” she said with a smile.

  He nodded with a grin. “They’re in the dumpster out back. Take ’em all if you want.”

  Today, Nora walked through the same lobby. She could see the car headlights out the front door of the building as darkness was beginning to settle. Most people were coming home from work, but Nora was headed out looking for a job.

  Her hair was now brunette—the way she wore it during her first jobs at Reuters and the BBC, when she wanted to be taken seriously as a journalist. But then she joined a network for the American cable news, which didn’t seem to take the profession as seriously, and she returned to being a blonde, much like the woman she’d encounter tonight—Lauren Bowden.

  What she was about to do was very serious business, so it seemed appropriate to call on those serious journalism days, and darken the hair. She also wore her most professional combo of blazer, skirt, and heels. She felt alive for the first time in a long time, which was ironic, since the plan called for her to not be in a few hours.

  Luca did a double take when he saw her, a wide grin exploding across his face. “I thought I needed to turn the heat down in here, then I realized it was you, Nora. You got a date tonight?”

  She took in his smile, as it would be the last time she saw it. “Even better—I’ve got a job interview.”

  “Congratulations! Let me know how it goes,” he said, with genuine happiness for her.

  She forced one final smile back at him as she made her way to the entrance. There would be no need to fill him in on “how it goes” … the whole world would soon know exactly how it went.

  Chapter 23

  Rockfield

  The bell rang.

  I grabbed the books out of my locker, but before I
headed to class, I took a look at my fellow classmates—Cervino, Herbie, and Rich Tolland. I then made eye contact with Gwen, who was strolling down the hall with her friends Allison and Kristi, holding their notebooks by their side. It was the good old days at Rockfield High.

  But when Gwen smiled back at me, I snapped back to reality. The bell was actually coming from the front door, and this wasn’t high school. Much worse … it was a meeting for the high school reunion committee, hosted at the Delaney’s house.

  Gwen hurried to let in the guest. I braced, knowing what stood behind that door. But because the host had threatened me—I was to be on my best behavior tonight, or else—I held back my groan when Bobby Maloney entered.

  But the others present hadn’t taken that pledge.

  “Look who’s here … Bobby Baloney,” Vic Cervino said with a laugh, and the others joined in. I could feel Gwen’s eyes on me, and I didn’t even risk a smile.

  Apparently while I was out of the country, Gwen had lunch in the city with her old friend, Allison Stankiewicz, now Allison Cooper, who was in charge of our class reunion. And at some point during this lunch, Gwen agreed to host this high-powered meeting of the reunion committee. This was all fine and dandy with me, until I found out that my attendance was mandatory. I had tried to sneak away with Gwen’s father, who had taken her much, much younger brother, Tommy, to the latest animated Disney movie, but no such luck.

  Like a seventh-grade dance, the committee had separated by gender. On one side of the room, we males were discussing our brackets for the “March Madness” college basketball tournament, and plotting ways to sneak away to watch the games. On the female side of the ledger, Gwen appeared sincerely interested as she listened to Allison, Kristi Randolph, and Sarah Aronson describe in great detail the fascinating exploits of their children.

  At one point, I observed Allison picked up a copy of today’s Rockfield Gazette off the kitchen table, which featured a headline about recent sightings of dangerous fisher cats in Rockfield. Her look turned melancholy—reunions have a way of reminding us of the things we hadn’t accomplished, which was one of the reasons I don’t care for them.

  “Fisher cats … Yellow Pages … just how we drew it up in college, huh Gwen? Not exactly the New York Times and Dunn & Hill.”

  “Since you took my journalism class, Ms. Stankiewicz, you should know full well that local issues always hold the most importance. The presence of fisher cats possibly threatening the town’s children, should be held with much higher priority than something that happened in some embassy in some country you’ll never step foot in,” said the familiar voice.

  Murray Brown, my mentor, the founder of the Rockfield Gazette, and our high school English teacher back in the day, had quietly entered during the commotion. He was also our class adviser, which explained his presence at the meeting.

  Murray might have been in his eighties, but he still was the most youthful one in the room, as inquisitive and energetic as ever. Along with being the most dapper—wearing his trademark red suspenders and matching bow tie.

  “I wish I could say that about my profession, but I don’t think it applies to advertising,” Allison replied.

  “Poppycock—the Yellow Pages remains the most important local search engine. If your furnace went out this winter, it would be the first place you’d turn. Not to a sleek advertisement for an automobile you can’t afford.”

  Now that Murray had arrived, the meeting could officially begin. And it began by going through the list of those who’d been contacted, and how many had responded. Even by small town standards, the fifty-three people in our graduating class was a miniscule number—forty-six had been reached, and of those, thirty-five had committed to attending.

  We then went over the details, including the rental of the Hastings Inn in town, which would include discounted rooms for travelers, and the securing of Lefebvre Park, for a family picnic the following day.

  Kristi Randolph, who had the same bubbly energy and blonde curls from when she sat next to me in kindergarten, had set up a Facebook page to post information about the reunion for class members. I thought this was a good idea … until I found out that she had posted numerous embarrassing photos from our high school days. It was the early 90s, so fluorescent colors were the rage. As were the regrettable fashion choices of acid wash jeans, spandex leggings, and slap bracelets. Gwen seemed to have an affinity for hot pink, hair scrunchies, and hoop earrings the size of a Ferris wheel. Seeing myself in my baggy overalls with one hook undone, it was hard to imagine that one day I’d grace the cover of GQ.

  There were photos of us hamming it up in the school hallways, parties at The Natty, and even a few classics from the beach trip we made the day following graduation. There were plenty from the prom, including one of me and Gwen slow dancing like we were the only ones in the room. It was like we were hanging on for dear life in the photo, as if we knew a storm was heading our way.

  When pictures were revealed of Cervino performing his infamous “Cervy Shuffle” at a school dance, it inspired Sarah Aronson to flatter him with imitation. The group urged her on “Go Sarah … Go Sarah!” But someone should have reminded her to first set down her wine glass. The sound of breaking glass ended the dance, and turned the rug the color of Merlot.

  She began apologizing profusely, but Gwen wouldn’t hear it. “Don’t worry about it—I’m just glad you didn’t pull a hamstring. And besides, Allison owes me some free carpet cleaning—we’ll see if they’re as good as she claims.”

  “General Washington’s Carpet Cleaning … my top client.”

  “I love them!” Kristi chimed in. “I used the one out of Ridgefield—they got out a stain I never thought anyone could get out in a million years.”

  During my teenage years, in the few times I had pondered where I might be in twenty years, not once did I think I’d be standing around with my fellow classmates discussing carpet stains. Murray must have been equally distressed, as he let out a yawn and declared that he must be going.

  He smiled as he made his rounds of goodbyes, while mentioning that he looked forward to the next meeting. There would be more? When he got to me, I said, “You’re making a fast getaway. Hot date?”

  He grinned as he whispered, “To quote the real George Washington, I can never tell a lie—I want to catch the second half of the games. A little birdie told me that Kentucky is tied with Villanova at the half.”

  I smiled back. I knew I should have been suspicious of the multiple trips he’d made to the bathroom, when he was really just checking the scores.

  The meeting was adjourned, but that didn’t mean the party was over. We returned to segregation—the women remained upstairs to continue their quest to determine who has the cutest children, while the men ventured down into Mr. Delaney’s man cave to watch the basketball games.

  I had to admit, that even though I approached the meeting with cynicism, I actually had an enjoyable time strolling down Memory Lane. It was an overall nice evening, and even Maloney stayed off my nerves—with an assist from Rich Tolland, who served as buffer between us most of the night.

  Just as I stepped into the man cave, my phone began beeping like something was wrong with it. I pulled it out of my pocket to find that it was overloading with messages—I didn’t even know this many people had my number. I read the first one from Byron. Are you watching GNZ!? OMG!

  Moments later, I realized I had been a little premature in declaring it a good night.

  Chapter 24

  The last time I’d seen Nora Reign was in a hotel room in Brussels. It was a room she was sharing with Tino Fernandez. Ironically, she was now sitting in the seat Tino normally occupied on their nightly show.

  And she was pointing a gun at Lauren Bowden.

  Nora and I had come up through the ranks together—I never saw her as a competitor, but as a member of the small, isolated fraternity of war correspondents. The stories we covered were often emotional, and that led to those emotions sometime
s spilling over. We were never in love—Nora referred to our time together as “keeping each other warm”—but our bond was deep. Or at least I thought it was. I never saw her again after that night, but the drug rumors soon began to spread throughout the fraternity, and it wasn’t really surprising when she was let go by her network. As far as I knew, she hadn’t worked since.

  I wondered what events had sent Nora down this path. Was it that Tino was just so irresistible? Or maybe it was the lasting scars from when she’d been taken captive in Samawah, while covering a story? I knew the feeling all too well—I still occasionally woke up thinking I was back in that dilapidated house in Serbia with a knife to my neck. The removal of Qwaui and Az Zahir didn’t change that.

  But whatever it was, it didn’t look as though it would have a happy ending.

  Nora looked directly into the camera. “I am here to deliver a message from Huddled Masses. I do so because our previous warnings were not heeded.

  “Whenever a society—especially one that is supposed to be of the people and by the people—becomes run by an all-powerful minority, which enslaves the masses, a revolution is inevitable. We represent the enslaved—your tired, your poor, your racial minorities, your homosexuals, your sick, your unemployed, your addicted … your Huddled Masses. We had hoped that this could be done without any further bloodshed.” Her South African accent always made her words sound sophisticated, even the crazed lunacy she was selling at the moment.

  She handed a piece of paper to Lauren, who looked remarkably calm, considering. With a point of the gun, she was urged to read. Lauren kept looking back at the floor behind her, and I wondered if that’s where Tino had been displaced to.