* * * *
“I know you’re upset, Jamie,” replied Eileen, exasperation lacing her voice, “and I know it’s because you’re sick.” She sat in a chair beside her husband. They had been looking over their financial situation, which was turning grim. Eileen was the family accountant, and she was good at it, performing the basic bookkeeping for both their personal and her business accounts. “I’m not passing judgment here. I’m just pointing out the facts. First, you’ve run out of sick leave and vacation time, which means you no longer have an income. There’s not a thing you can do about that, my love—you’re sick. Second, even though we’ve got my income, it’s not enough. We’ve been slowly siphoning from our savings account and now our retirement funds. At the rate we’re going, we’ve only got a couple of months, three at the most, before we run out of money.”
Eileen was unhappy to have to admit that fact. While they did their best to save money, they had three daughters in school, one in college, and two in a private high school. Fortunately, they owed very little on their house or car and had almost no credit card debt.
Eileen looked at her husband. Jamie’s face was set in a grim look that combined anger and shame. She had come to know this look all too well in the past weeks. Jamie felt guilty that he was still unable to work and angry at the world for being in this situation. He said nothing, so Eileen continued. “Third, we’ve been cutting back where we can, but our core expenses—utilities, groceries, education, and household expenses are as low as they can realistically go. So there’s only one conclusion—we have to do something soon or we will be in serious financial doo-doo.”
Jamie arched an eyebrow. “Doo-doo? Really? Financial doo-doo?”
Eileen flushed. She rarely swore, and when she did, she preferred to use nonsensical terms wherever possible. “Sugar plum fairies. You know what I mean Séamus Edward Griffin, so don’t go giving me a hard time about my swearing.”
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call what you do swearing.”
“You swear your way and I’ll swear mine.” Eileen replied heatedly. “So, if you’re quite finished being a comedian, do you have anything useful to suggest?”
Jamie grew angry, even though he knew Eileen was right, even though he knew he wasn’t helping the situation. He picked up a handful of forms on the desk. “No, I don’t, but I don’t think this is the answer.” Jamie shook the forms.
“Then what is the answer?” Eileen cried. “We don’t have enough money coming in. I don’t know how much more plainly I can put it. We’re nearly broke, Jamie.” She took the forms from his hand. “Filing for disability is one of the only options we have left.”
“I don’t want to file for disability, damn it.”
“Don’t swear at me. I’m not the problem here.”
“And I am?”
Eileen slammed the forms down on the desk. “No, you exasperating man. The fact that you’re sick and they can’t find an answer is the problem. All we can do is make the best of a bad situation.”
They stared at each other for several seconds. Jamie and Eileen did not fight often, but like any married couple, they had their moments. Finally, Jamie sighed and rubbed his eyes. Then he put his hand over Eileen’s. “I’m sorry, my love. I truly am. You’re right, of course. We don’t have a choice, but these forms—there are so damned many of them. Fill in this, attach that, get a notarized statement from each of your physicians, your pharmacists, your family, your neighbors, everyone you feckin’ know.”
Eileen chuckled. “It’s bad, love, but not quite that bad. Nor do I think we have to do this alone.” She took both of Jamie’s hands in hers. “I was talking to Roxanne yesterday about our situation.”
“You told her about our finances?”
“Peace, man. Of course I didn’t tell her any specifics, but Jamie Griffin, if you think it’s a state secret that you’re sick and we’re in a bad way, I’ve got some very disappointing news for you, my dear.” When Jamie had the good grace to be abashed, she continued. “Roxanne talked with Bill, and he has a suggestion.” Bill Murphy was an attorney who lived next door with his wife and two children. Their eldest, Jennifer, was the same age as Caitlin, and the two girls were close friends. Consequently, Eileen and Roxanne had become close over the years, as had Jamie and Bill. “Bill said to tell you that there are attorneys who will take cases like this on a contingency basis.”
“A contingency basis?” Jamie asked. “Meaning we don’t pay anything up front?”
“Correct, and if they don’t win, we don’t pay the attorney anything at all.”
“And if we do win?”
“Then we pay the attorney a percentage of whatever disability benefits you receive.”
“How much of a percentage?”
“Anywhere from a quarter to a third of the benefits they obtain for us.”
“Are you feckin’ serious?” Jamie shook his head. “No way. I’m not going to give up that much money to some shyster.”
Eileen slapped her hand down on the forms again. “So you’ll fill these out then? You’ll make arrangements with the doctors, the insurance companies, the pharmacy, everyone required to fill out these forms in order to file for disability benefits? Can you then also deal with the legal tangle of requirements the disability insurance company will throw in your face once you do file these forms?”
Jamie sat in silence for several minutes. Eileen waited him out. She knew they had reached a point where she could no longer prod him. He would have to take the final step himself. Finally, Jamie exhaled loudly. “No, of course not. We both know I couldn’t have done that even when I wasn’t sick.”
Eileen put her hand on his cheek and raised his face. “I know that, sweetheart. I know. That’s why I insisted that we sit down and hash this out. We can’t afford to wait and see what happens any longer. It would be different if any of the doctors had an answer or even an idea. We might be able to buy time once they started working on curing you, but they have nothing, and it leaves us with no choice. If we file for disability and get it, then they finally figure out what’s wrong with you in six months or a year, you could go back to work. I’m sure the insurance company would be perfectly happy to stop paying benefits. Two-thirds of something is better than one hundred percent of nothing.”
Jamie smiled weakly. “You’re right. As always, you’re right.”
Eileen smiled back. “I’m not always right, you big idjit. I’m just never wrong, even when I am.”
They both laughed and hugged each other. Then Jamie nodded. “Alright then. I’ll call Bill and get some names of disability attorneys.”
Jamie watched as Eileen got up and walked out of the room. He picked up the phone to call his friend, but paused before punching any buttons. It’s all coming true, he thought bitterly. Every feckin’ thing from my nightmare. My life is coming apart at the seams and there’s not a thing I can do about it. Jamie entered Murphy’s phone number and waited for an answer.
* * * *
Riona Griffin let herself out of the house early on a cool, crisp October Saturday morning. She was going to a neighborhood clean-up project sponsored by her teen group, Sheret. Normally, she would have bounced into her parents’ room and insisted that someone get up and drive her to her meeting place. However, things were far from normal in their household.
Parents often think that children are unaware of adult problems. Nothing could be further from the truth. While children sometimes missed minor things, they were, by nature, curious, and even minor events rarely escaped their attention. While Riona and Caitlin did not get along well, they were still sisters, and they were both worried about their father and the situation in which the family had found itself. Consequently, they had been walking on eggshells, and by unspoken mutual assent, they also put aside their own sororal squabbles in the face of the more serious problems facing their family.
Riona was meeting Peter Franklin, a neighborhood boy Riona’s age. Even though he attended BC High (an all-boy
school) and Riona attended Elizabeth Seton (an all-girl academy), the fact that they only lived three houses apart on their street helped to offset the fact that they attended different schools. Peter’s mom, Angela, was one of her mom’s best friends, so Peter and Riona had grown up playing together. They had begun drifting apart until they both found themselves participating in Sheret. They were not as close as they once were, but still comfortable enough to agree to ride together on the T to their meeting place.
When she reached his house, Riona saw that Peter was waiting on his front porch. Tall for his age, about six feet, Peter was slender and dark skinned. While there were not a large number of African-Americans in their section of Dorchester, they weren’t an oddity either. Peter’s mom, Angela, was Cape Verdean, but very dark skinned.
“Hey,” she said in a non-committal greeting.
“‘Sup?” Peter replied.
“Same old. How about you?”
Peter shook his head. “Just trying to keep my head above water at school.”
They walked in silence for a while, then he asked, “How’s your dad, Ri?”
Riona sighed. “The same—still the same.”
“Bummer. Everything okay in your house?”
After a few moments, she said, “It’s tense, but we’re getting by.”
“Sorry, Ri,” Peter said. “I really am.”
“I know,” Riona replied. “Let’s do our thing today and let me get my mind off it.”
“Sure.”
They walked, and then rode in silence to their meeting place, a park not too far north of the JFK/UMass T stop. It wasn’t the greatest section of town, but during the daytime, it was no big deal for two people to walk. They reached the park without incident and split up without another word to join their respective groups of friends. It wasn’t like they were ashamed to be seen with each other, they just moved in different circles.
Riona bounded to greet her friend, Kelly O’Toole. Like Riona, Kelly was a musician and a basketball player. “Hey, Skins.” she said gaily. Kelly played the drums.
Kelly was about Riona’s height, and the two girls looked a lot alike. In fact, they sometimes convinced unsuspecting teachers that they were sisters. “Hey, Windbag.” Since, like her mother, Riona played clarinet, Kelly called her windbag, a wordplay of woodwind.
Sylvia Turner, a middle-aged woman who reminded Riona of a school librarian was the Sheret group leader. She handed them litterbags, gloves and litter sticks. “Here you go, ladies,” she said far too cheerfully. “Let’s go have some fun, shall we?”
As the woman left to torment other volunteers, Riona glared at her while putting on her gloves. “I may be cheerful in the morning, but she’s just putting on an act.”
“I know, right?” agreed Kelly. The two girls slung the litterbags over their shoulders and walked off together into the park. Their group had volunteered to clean up the park as one of their community service projects. Kelly made a face as they approached a pile of garbage. “Some people are such pigs, I swear.” She stabbed a moldy, half-eaten sandwich with the litter stick and placed it carefully in her bag.
Despite the gross nature of much of what they collected, the work went quickly. The girls had several classes together as well as band and basketball, so they chatted as they worked. Just after lunchtime, Ms. Turner blew a loud whistle, calling them back to a large black and white van parked near the center of the park. They gathered to dump their trash into central containers and to get some lunch—soda, sandwiches, and chips provided by Sheret. The day had warmed up and it was pleasant sitting on the grass in the sunshine, eating and relaxing.
They had finished their lunch and were turning in their supplies. The park was large, but with the dozen or so kids involved in the project, it had not taken too long to police it. Riona and Kelly chatted a little while longer as the group dispersed. Peter Franklin drifted toward the girls as his friends took off in their own directions. Then, Riona heard her name, “Riona.”
“Oh, wonderful,” she muttered under her breath to Peter. It was Ms. Turner.
“Riona. Come over here please. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
“Just shoot me now,” Riona whispered, but turned and displayed a bright smile as she walked to the group leader, beside the van. There was a short, slender man with dark hair and a beard standing and talking with Ms. Turner. Riona didn’t recall having seen him around before.
“Riona,” said Sylvia Turner. “Riona, you may not be aware of this, but Sheret actually belongs to a much larger group.”
“Really?” Riona tried to make it sound like she was interested.
“Yes, it’s a very worthwhile group, and I’d like you to meet the head of that group.” Ms. Turner’s face lit up oddly, as if she felt like she were in the presence of some celebrity. “Riona, this is Kohen ibn Ezra, the head of the Disciples of Endor. Sheret is one of their many outreach groups.”
“Pleased to meetcha,” mumbled Riona, shaking hands with the man.
ibn Ezra gazed at her frankly, in a way that made Riona uncomfortable. “It is I who am pleased to meet you, Ms. Griffin,” he replied, holding her hand just a moment too long for Riona’s liking.
“I was telling Kohen ibn Ezra about what a wonderful, hard-working volunteer you are.”
“No big deal,” Riona demurred.
“Oh, but it is a big deal, Ms. Griffin,” protested ibn Ezra. “We find so many young people unwilling to spend their time in service to others. Ms. Turner has mentioned you to me as someone who might be willing to assume additional responsibilities within Sheret.”
“Additional responsibilities?” Riona asked warily.
“Nothing too arduous, I can assure you,” ibn Ezra said with a laugh that sounded even more fake than Ms. Turner’s. “As you know, we have team leaders within Sheret, and Ms. Turner has put you forward as someone suited to filling such a role.”
“Really?” Riona couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the word, disbelief and all.
“Don’t act so surprised, Riona,” scolded Sylvia Turner in a light-hearted tone. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short. You’re a valuable asset to us, and I can’t think of anyone more qualified for the position than you.”
Riona struggled for the right words. “Well, I’m honored, but I’ll have to check with my parents first. They don’t like me making commitments without their permission.”
“As it should be. I understand completely,” said ibn Ezra. “I don’t think it will require a great deal more of your time—it will just be some additional responsibilities when you work with us.”
“Okay, well, like I said, let me talk it over with my folks.”
“No problem. Just let Ms. Turner know what you decide. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Griffin.” To Riona’s relief, he didn’t try to shake hands again. She turned and walked away with Peter.
Once they had left, Achan ibn Ezra turned to Sylvia Turner. “She is the daughter of Jamie Griffin, the police detective?”
Sylvia Turner’s face lit up with surprise. “Why, yes. Do you know Detective Griffin?”
ibn Ezra smiled coldly, but Sylvia Turner didn’t notice. “Only in passing. I’m sure he doesn’t even recall meeting me,” ibn Ezra lied smoothly, “but I am pleased to meet his daughter. Keep me posted on her progress—she seems to have a great deal of promise.” He turned and walked away, pleased to be able to tell the Qedesh that he had access to one of the troublesome detective’s daughters. I would imagine this will be a most excellent pressure point, he thought smugly. Most excellent.
Chapter Twelve
Jamie looked out of the window from his corner seat at Starbucks. It was another sunny, autumn day in Boston. Jamie sat in one of the padded chairs, with the neighboring chair reserved for his partner. Jamie had agreed to meet at the coffee shop, located at the furthest end of north Dorchester because he had an appointment with his union rep and Sully at the station today.
Jamie felt the fatigue gnawing
at his body like a predator. Even worse, the fatigue caused the headaches to increase, so now Jamie felt pain like iron bands tightening across his head from the front left corner of his right eye socket all the way back over the top of his head to the base of his skull. He ignored it at his own risk—continuing to push through this resulted in worsening of the fatigue and headaches, more balance and problems thinking. I’ve become a feckin’ mess, he thought angrily, sipping his coffee. I know Eileen’s right. I need to stop getting angry about this, but how the hell do I do that? Everything is crumbling around me while I nap.
Jamie heard someone coming over and turned to see Cal making his way over, drink in hand. “Hey. Did you get your usual double latte, half foam, half BS, no salt, shaken not stirred, coffee?”
Cal flipped Jamie off and dropped heavily into the chair.
“Wow. Someone’s cranky this morning.”
Cal took a drink of his coffee, and then sighed. “Well, this will help—a little sip of heaven.” He looked away, took another drink, and then looked back. “So, what have you been able to find out?”
Jamie grimaced. “Not much. Just bits here and there about the Mazzimah, a few former members of the Disciples who may be willing to talk to us, and absolutely zip on Samuel Properties. They appear to be a legitimate business, but we both got bad vibes from the fat man that day.”
“Agreed. You got some names for me on former cult members?”
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