Do Not Go Gentle
Page 49
“Who said anything about equal partners?” Jamie objected. “I’m the only one qualified to be a licensed private investigator.”
“Maybe so, but like you said,” Louie replied, “you can’t do this by yourself.”
Jamie looked at them and nodded. “Okay. What name did you come up with?”
“How does ‘Griffin, Lombardi & Lopes’ sound?” Darcelle asked.
Jamie rolled it around in his head for a moment, and then said, “Well, more like a law firm than an investigative agency, but that might not be all bad. How did Louie rate second billing?”
“He didn’t,” Daphné said, “but we all agreed that Griffin would come first, and he correctly pointed out that after that, alphabetically made the most sense.”
“Meh,” Darcelle, waving a hand side-to-side. “I’m not sold.”
Louie and Daphné blew raspberries at her. While Daphné was definitely watching out for her twin, she wasn’t about to coddle her either. After a moment, Daphné asked, “So, whaddya think, Unc?”
Jamie had looked at the three with a newfound feeling of affection and respect. “I think it sounds great.” He reached out and shook the hand of his new partners. Now, several hours, two cigars, and several glasses of Jameson’s later, Jamie felt even better about the outcome than he had when standing on his porch. He was down at least $20, but he felt as if he was way ahead of the game. The friendly banter and betting receded as Jamie took another slug of his Jameson’s and drew deeply on the last of his cigar.
“You know, Jamie,” Sully said in a slightly slurred voice. “Even Lenny is warming up to you since you’ve been helping the task force wade through the mountain of shit O’Neill dumped in our laps.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jamie replied, in a voice only slightly less slurred than Sully’s.
“Yeah. I know, I know,” Sully said, making a shushing gesture with his hand toward Frank, who had started to object. “Departmental affairs, blah, blah, blah. I think we can probably trust Kelly, Ruarc, and your other boys with this much—Len’s been eatin’ a lotta crow about how much grief he gave Jamie over stickin’ with this case. There’s a bunch of guys down at District C-11 who think they owe you an apology, Jamie.”
“Nah, no apologies needed,” Jamie said. “Except maybe from Lenny.” Everyone laughed at that, especially the cops. “What I had was pretty thin to start with. Even Cal argued with me about it.” At the mention of Cal, everyone grew somber, and Jamie raised his glass. “To Cal Cushing—the best partner I ever had,” Jamie said, and everyone joined him in downing the rest of their drinks.
Frank Griffin refilled his glass and passed the bottle around the table. Of the group, only Johnny passed. “I have an early morning meeting tomorrow, courtesy of Monsignor McMahon.”
“Ah, a parochial vicar’s work is never done, eh, Johnny,” Frank said without any real sympathy.
“Be that as it may,” Jamie said, pouring a small amount into his younger brother’s glass. “You need a touch more for one, final toast.” Johnny looked at his brother with suspicion. Jamie wasn’t above trying to slip extra drinks to his younger brother. When everyone’s glasses were filled, Jamie held up his glass again. “I just want to tell everyone how much I appreciate your support.” He grew serious. “I’ve come through dark times. While I know I’m not completely through them, I also know I’ve got people who love and support me. I know I don’t have to do this alone. I realize I can be a stubborn arsehole—”
“Hear, hear,” Paddy began, before silenced by a stern look from his father.
“Eventually, I do learn.” Jamie raised his glass even higher. “To family and friends—especially those who are no longer here with us.”
“Hear, hear,” everyone said, draining their glasses.
The game went on for another hour, and by the time Jamie staggered back to his house with Louie, he knew he had managed to overtax himself yet another day. He had been good about resting earlier in the week, but he’d probably balance the weekend by staying in bed or on the sectional with Finn MacCool and letting Eileen, Caitlin, and Riona mother him. Maybe some planning with Louie and the twins once their heads returned somewhere close to normal size.
It’s not the life I imagined, Jamie thought, sobering up a miniscule amount in the early morning cold. It can be a good life nonetheless. Get busy living, or get busy dying. Guess it’s time I get busy living.
Jamie prepared himself for lectures as they reached the door to his house and realized that with, all things considered, he was a very lucky man.
About the Author:
James W. Jorgensen has years of professional writing experience including technical and training documents, newsletters, user manuals and articles in industry magazines. He has also written fiction, including five unpublished novels and numerous short stories. He has also done paid freelance writing, mostly financial and technical projects.
In 2008, mister Jorgensen fell victim to a mysterious illness that was eventually diagnosed as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). The disease not only threatened to destroy his entire life, he also began to endure the stigma associated with CFS, which medical professionals as well as family and friends often refuse to believe is real. An estimated one million Americans have been diagnosed with CFS, with many more cases undiagnosed: more than 80% of people identified in community studies of CFS have not been diagnosed and are not receiving appropriate medical care. Researchers at DePaul University estimate that every year CFS costs the U.S. economy $17-24 billion.
Mister Jorgensen began Do Not Go Gentle as personal therapy. The idea came to him in early 2010 and he spent the next a year and a half developing the protagonist, who endures the same process of loss, grief and rebuilding a life as he did, then another year and a half writing and editing the novel. Do Not Go Gentle is the first in a series of novels featuring Jamie Griffin.
Visit him online at:
http://www.jameswjorgensen.com
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