It bothers me that he knows that.
It bothers me that he knows everything.
"No work to do," I tell him, "so I'm taking a personal day."
He nods, motioning toward the flashing sign just as it changes to walk. "Go on then, Hatfield. Just stay out of trouble."
I quickly walk away from him, grateful for the dismissal, knowing he could be a pain in the ass and keep me if he wanted to. I glance behind me, seeing the man disappear from sight, heading in the direction of the tattoo shop.
He's going to talk to Kevin.
I'm not surprised, but I'm not worried, either.
I have nothing to hide. Like I told him, my hands are clean.
There's something about a flea market that makes me feel at home.
Maybe it's the laid back atmosphere.
Maybe it's because everything's so cheap that even I can afford to buy something.
The people are nice and don't bat an eyelash when someone who looks like me browses through their shit. They don't watch me like I'm not good enough to be there, don't look at my kid like she doesn't belong, either.
It's a cool morning but the sky is clear, the sun out and shining bright as I stand in the middle of the old garage in Hell's Kitchen. Booths and tables span every inch of the space, packed full of antiques and collectables, knick-knacks and fucking paddy-whacks, everything imaginable under one roof. I stroll through the crowd, Avery right beside me, while Lexie insists on leading the way. I keep my eye on her, making sure she doesn't get too far ahead... making sure she doesn't bowl over any old ladies along the way.
Wouldn't be the first time.
"Slow down, Little Miss."
She slows down for half a second before rushing ahead again. Avery jumps in, stepping in front of me when I groan, and casts me a smile. "Don't worry, I've got her."
I start to say she doesn't have to do that, but my words fall on deaf ears, because she's already slipping through the crowd, disappearing before I can stop her. Part of me screams to follow the second I lose sight of my daughter, but I keep from hurrying after them, telling myself to chill out.
I invited Avery here with us.
Invited her around my daughter.
I trusted her enough to come into our lives.
I trust her to look after Lexie.
I make my way through the crowd, hearing Lexie's loud, excited voice above the other chatter, and follow the sound straight to a table in the corner.
Where she stands with Avery.
Where she's clutching a gigantic Godzilla toy, still in the package, the hideous, plastic action figure damn near as tall as her.
"Look, Daddy!" Lexie screeches the moment she spots me, dragging the thing along with her as she runs to me. "A dinosaur!"
"Technically, it's a lizard monster, uh... thing." I'm not sure what the hell it really is. It looks kind of like the shit I drew yesterday, honestly. "You need to put it back, though."
"But—"
"Put it back where you found it," I tell her again. "It's not yours."
"But—"
"You heard me, Little Miss."
She stares at me like she'd like to duct tape my mouth shut to keep me from saying some shit like that again.
"Actually, it sort of is hers," Avery chimes in, her voice hesitant. "I just paid for it."
My eyes dart to her. "You did what?"
"I paid for it," she says again. "It was no big deal... she liked it so I figured there was no harm getting it for her."
Sighing, I run my hands down my face before reaching for my wallet, pulling it from the back pocket of my jeans.
"How much was it?" I ask. "I'll give it back to you."
"It was fifty."
I damn near choke on thin air at that. "Fifty what? Cents?"
Her sheepish look tells me no, I'm not that lucky. The son of a bitch was fifty bucks.
"It's a collectible," she says quietly. "It's still in the package."
"You know she's going to open it, right?" As soon as I say that, Lexie starts ripping into the cardboard, just like I knew she would. "She's going to destroy it in some Cloverfield-esque massacre like she does all her toys."
Avery watches Lexie as she demolishes the packaging, ripping that shit to pieces to yank out her brand new dinosaur. After a moment, Avery shrugs, glancing back at me. "She really likes it, though."
I shift through the cash in my wallet, seeing how much I have, when Avery reaches over and snatches it all from hand. I watch her warily as she forces the bills back in before folding it up. Reaching around me, she shoves it in the back pocket of my jeans.
"It's a gift," she says. "From me."
"You shouldn't have."
"But I did."
I want to argue the matter but keep my mouth shut instead. Lexie and Avery both look really fucking happy, and I can't be the dick that takes that away simply because my pride doesn't like me to admit that my daughter wanted something and I couldn't afford it.
There's no time to dwell on it, though, before Lexie is off again, finally freeing Godzilla from the packaging. I clean up the cardboard mess she made as Avery slips away to keep up with her.
Whatever havoc those two are off wreaking, I probably don't want to be a part of it.
I find a few cassette tapes. Avery shows back up with some secondhand books. Lexie makes out like a fucking bandit, walking away with more stuff than she probably should. It's pushing afternoon already when we leave the flea market, strolling along the sidewalk on our way to the subway to head back to my neighborhood. Lexie skips along in front of us, Godzilla tucked under her arm, the massive tail dragging the ground.
Sighing, I reach over and wrap an arm around Avery, pulling her to me, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you."
"For?"
"For coming with us," I say. "For buying her that."
"Not a big deal," she says again. "It's just money, right?"
I laugh dryly. "Right."
There's a commotion right in front of us then, some young guys rushing out of an alley. There's two of them, dressed in black, hoods up over their heads. Bandanas cover part of their faces. I know the look. They're up to something.
Letting go of Avery, I take a quick step, my hand coming to rest on Lexie's shoulder and yanking her to a stop before she runs into their backs, knowing damn well she's too distracted by her new toy to notice. I glance down the alley, making sure it's safe, when my eyes fall upon a massive mural covering the sides of the brick buildings. Nothing new in the city, of course. You'd be hard pressed to find a building not tagged in this part of town. But what stalls me is the spray painted image, dead center, surrounded by other elaborate, colorful monikers.
A shadowy figure looking down, a top hat perched on its head. It's a barely defined silhouette in black paint, like a void in the otherwise vibrant rainbow of graffiti. My chest tightens, my muscles taut, my head swimming as I stare at it in shock for seconds that feel like minutes… like hours… like days. The new, black-stained canister lies on the asphalt beneath it, the paint so fresh it's glistening. I can smell it above the city stench.
Those little motherfuckers.
"Watch her," I say automatically, letting go of Lexie, leaving her there with Avery as I dart away, breaking into a sprint to catch up with the guys. They're walking along like they have not a care in the world, laughing and chatting, like they're sure they got away with what they did.
They hear my approach, turning around as their conversation stalls, confusion on their faces. Before they can say anything, I grab ahold of the first one I reach, my fist clutching his jacket as I yank him toward me. I glance between the two of them, my heart racing, adrenaline pumping through my veins. They're just kids… sixteen, maybe seventeen, no older than that… but they have that look in their eyes, that look that says they've been through more shit than most guys.
"Which one of you did it? Huh?" I look between them, trying to swallow back my anger, but it makes my voice
shake. "Which one of you assholes painted it?"
The kid grasps at my hand, trying to pry it off, as his friend gets between us, shoving me away. The second his hands connect with my chest, I see the black paint staining his fingertips, streaks of it on his palm. I snatch ahold of his wrist, yanking his hand up, shoving it toward his face as he yells, "What the fuck is your problem, man?"
"My problem is this," I growl, hitting him with his own hand before shoving him away, making him stumble a few steps. "What business do you have tagging that building that way? Huh? Who the hell do you think you are? What gave you the right?"
People around us are looking but I can't find it in me to care. All I care about is what they just did, wondering why the hell they would do it, what they were thinking. They back away, their confusion morphing with anger, before they turn around and take off running. I almost follow, I take a few steps, but something stops me. Something locks me in place. I watch as the kids cut down another alley, nearly plowing someone over as they make their escape, disappearing into the afternoon crowd.
Dropping my head, I look at my hands. My hands, so clean, with not a stitch of color on them anywhere. I can't even remember the last time they'd been stained with paint.
Clenching them into fists, I close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, before I turn around and walk away.
I don't see Avery and Lexie until I reach the alley, finding them standing not far from the mural. Avery's eyes are on it, slowly scanning it, while Lexie plays beside her, still distracted by her new toy.
Avery glances at me when I approach. I see the questions in her eyes, but she restrains from letting them flow from her lips for the moment.
"Sorry," I mutter, looking away from her. I'm not sure why I'm apologizing, or if she'd even possibly understand. "I just…"
"Was it him?"
I cut my eyes back at her. "Who?"
"Hatter."
Shock freezes me in place as I stare at her, stunned to hear that name come from her lips. Hatter. "How do you…? How would you even…?"
She rolls her eyes. "I grew up in this city, Reece. When I was a kid, that… thing… was everywhere." She motions toward the fresh painting on the brick wall. "Drove people crazy… it used to pop up overnight, like out of nowhere. It was like a calling card or something, I don't know…"
"A moniker," I say.
"Yeah, that." She looks back at it. "It was the guy's signature or whatever. They called him Hatter."
I stare at the moniker, my eyes scanning the outline of the thing. It's mediocre at best, the kid who painted it an amateur, a generic imitation. It wouldn't fool an artist, not a real one, but I can see how some might think it's the real thing. It's the equivalent, though, of finding a Van Gough at a garage sale. You know that shit's got to be fake, but for a split second, just a glance, you stall and wonder if maybe… just maybe...
Maybe it's really him.
"It wasn't him," I mumble, looking away from it as my stomach twists in knots so tight I feel like I might fucking puke right here. "It was just some stupid kids."
"Why'd you chase them?"
"Somebody's gotta teach them."
"What, that vandalism is wrong?"
"No, that thievery is." I shake my head, turning away from the replication. "Nobody likes a cheap knock-off. If you're going to be an artist, you've gotta do your own thing. Be your own person. Create what's in you instead of impersonating others. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I call bullshit. It's one thing to be inspired by something. It's another thing to fucking copy it."
She raises her eyebrows, like she's surprised by my outburst. "And that's what you told them?"
"That's what I wanted to tell them."
"So what did you tell them?"
"That they were assholes."
I don't know what to expect… maybe for her to be irritated, maybe even disturbed by my behavior… so the last thing I anticipate is for her to burst into laughter. She wraps herself around my arm, slipping one of her hands in mine as she leans her head against my shoulder, her eyes drifting to the graffiti again. "So what do you think happened to him?"
"What do I think happened to him?"
"Yeah... Hatter." My heart almost stalls when she says the name again. "I know he got caught, because my parents got a restitution check."
Just as I'm starting to relax again, those words hit me.
"They were the recipients of one of those," she continues, nodding toward the graffiti. "I was fifteen or so when it happened… he covered the front of the dance studio. I thought it was gorgeous but my father obviously disagreed. They got a check in the mail a year or so ago, a couple hundred bucks to compensate them for graffiti removal."
"Interesting."
"Yeah, I tried to talk them into keeping it, but no dice," she says with a laugh. "It's kind of sad, you know… not saying it's cool to vandalize, but it's art… it was that guy's art, and as quick as he did it, it got wiped back away, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," I say.
"So I just wonder what happened to him. He kind of just disappeared."
"I guess it's hard to say," I tell her. "Maybe he saw the error of his ways."
Or maybe he's just still paying for all those mistakes.
"You ready, Little Miss?"
Lexie sits in the hallway, toys scattered all around her on the wooden floor. The sun has set, darkness falling outside already as it pushes seven o'clock. If we don't get a move on, we're going to be late getting her home today.
She glances at me, frowning, as she continues to play. "Not yet."
"Then you need to get ready," I say. "We've gotta get going."
"Why can't I stay?"
"Because it's Sunday," I tell her. "You have to go home today, you know that."
"Why do I have to?"
Because your father's a fuck up.
Because your mother's a bitch.
Because the court said out of the two of us, you're better off with her somewhere.
"Because your mother loves you," I say, "and it's her turn to spend time with you now."
Lexie makes a face but doesn't question it anymore, leaving her toys scattered all around as she puts on her coat. I grab her pink backpack, slinging it over my shoulder, and take her hand as we head for the door.
"Wait!" She yanks away from me, disappearing to her bedroom before I can ask what's wrong. She returns after a second, dragging the massive Godzilla along with her, and takes my hand again. "Okay, now I'm ready."
We head down, and I'm distracted as Lexie chats away, paying not a bit of attention to my surroundings until I look up when we step outside of the building. I pause right in front of the entrance, spotting the man approaching.
He's here for me.
Of course he is.
You'd think I'd be used to it now, Officer Warren showing up unexpectedly wherever I am. My home, my work, my usual hang outs... he talks to my friends, he questions my coworkers, and if my family hadn't written me off, he'd probably hound the fuck out of them, too. He gets paid to babysit me, so to speak, and has for the past five years.
I can't wait to fire the son of a bitch.
It's been a long time coming.
Despite it being late on a Sunday, he's dressed in his usual work clothes, the word 'probation' mocking me in bright yellow on his black coat. The entire neighborhood can fucking read it.
Not like most of them don't already know...
"Hatfield," he says, nodding in greeting as he approaches.
"Officer."
He turns to Lexie, his usual grim expression cracking with a grin. "Hello there, sweetheart."
Lexie just stares at him.
She doesn't say a word.
He's a stranger to her.
After a moment of awkward silence, I clear my throat. "Is there something I can do for you?"
He looks away from my daughter, focusing back on me. "We found something this weekend, some graffiti..."
<
br /> He doesn't have to finish his statement. I know where it's going. "It wasn't me."
"Yeah, well..."
I hold my hands out, pulling Lexie's up with mine, to show them to him. "You can check me. There's no spray paint on my hands or my clothes. You can search if you want. You'll find nothing."
"I just have to ask," he says right away. "You know that."
"I know." I step away from the apartment, still holding onto Lexie. "If you'll excuse us, we've gotta get going. She's supposed to be home soon."
He waves me away. "Do what you have to, Hatfield. Don't let me stop you."
He lingers there even after I start to walk away. It won't surprise me if he heads upstairs after I'm gone, finding a way into my apartment to look through my things. I don't have time to worry about it right now.
Can't be late.
We make it to the Upper Westside without a second to spare. Lexie grabs her backpack from me and runs up the steps just as her mother opens the front door of the brownstone. I stay on the sidewalk, waiting for her to go inside, but her mother steps in front of her, blocking her path. "Oh, God, what in the world is that hideous thing?"
I'm an asshole.
I know.
My instinct is to tell her it's just her reflection.
But I keep my mouth closed, knowing it'll do nothing but make this whole thing worse. We have a tenuous civility that's damn easy to break, and for the sake of Lexie, I try to keep it together.
I try my damnedest.
It doesn't always work.
Lexie holds up her new toy, grinning. "Daddy's friend bought me a dinosaur!"
"Daddy's friend?" Rebecca looks from our daughter to me before focusing on the toy. "What in the world would he do that for?"
Lexie giggles. "She's a girl, Mommy, not a he. And she likes dinosaurs, too! She told me so!"
The shift in Rebecca's demeanor is subtle but enough for me to catch it, her shoulders squaring and back straightening, like she's preparing for an attack. I don't have it in me to fight with her, though. She quickly shoos Lexie inside, waiting until she's gone, before turning around to face me. She takes a small step out onto her porch and pauses there, hands on her hips, eyeing me intently.
The Mad Tatter Page 15