Nasty Cutter

by Tim O'Mara

I had a lot of answers for that, but I kept them to myself. Let her figure out if she deserved shit for her behavior while working a story. I was pretty tired of the argument. Does telling a lie make you a liar? I don’t know. Maybe we should ask the next politician we run into. Or the next car salesman. Or the next cop.

  Before I could explore the moral consequences of truths and half-truths, I heard someone yelling from across the waiting room.

  ‘This is your fault, you son of a bitch!’

  I turned to see Bobby Taylor hustling his way over to Allison and me. I stepped in front of her instinctively before realizing, at his size, he could probably barrel through the both of us if he wanted. I was glad he was slowed down when an older man grabbed him by the elbow. They both stopped about three feet in front of me. Judging by the resemblance, I guessed the older man who intervened was his father.

  ‘Bobby,’ he said. ‘Not here. Not now. We don’t need this.’

  Now I was pretty sure it was the father, since he wasn’t arguing against the potential for violence, just the time and location of it. A very worried-looking woman made her way up to the two men and stood behind them in silence.

  Bobby Taylor pointed his finger at me and puffed out his chest.

  ‘I told you I didn’t want that bitch reporter of yours talking to my brother,’ he said, breathing heavily. Then he noticed Allison and said, ‘I suppose that’s you?’

  ‘It is,’ she said, stepping around me. ‘How’d you know about the bitch part?’ She sized Bobby up. ‘But I certainly don’t belong to Raymond. If you’re going to yell at someone, it should be me.’

  ‘My god,’ Bobby said. ‘You people are unbelievable. Billy was admitted less than two hours ago and you’re already here, chomping at the bit. I guess this makes your fucking story even better now, huh?’

  The woman behind him rubbed his upper back. ‘Robert,’ she said softly. ‘There is no need for that type of language.’

  As big as he was, Bobby Taylor looked just a bit smaller when flanked by his parents. He took a few moments to gather his composure. Mr Taylor gave Allison and me a look that said he might have been sorry he had stopped his son.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said to the two of us. ‘Do you people have no respect for the injured? Or their families?’

  Allison took a deep breath. ‘With all due respect, Mr and Mrs Taylor,’ she said, leaving out Bobby, ‘Raymond and I were already out here when my editor called. It may sound disrespectful to you – and I’m sorry for that – but your son’s accident is news. The fact that it’s me here and not one of my colleagues is pure coincidence.’

  ‘Your editor have the hospital on speed dial?’ Bobby asked.

  ‘What usually happens in a case like this,’ Allison said, ‘is that when a patient of importance is admitted to a hospital, someone calls the paper. It could have been an EMT, a police officer, someone who works at the hospital who recognized Billy’s name.’

  ‘Another vulture,’ Bobby said. ‘I suppose whoever called your paper’s gonna get paid? Maybe get a pair of free tickets to the next Billy Joel show?’

  Allison turned to me and then to Bobby. ‘Why did you say this was our fault? I was told Billy was in a car accident.’

  Bobby laughed. ‘Like I’m gonna talk to you. Serve you right if you read it along with all your readers in tomorrow’s paper, bitch.’

  ‘Robert,’ his mother said. ‘Come with me. Your father’s right. Making a scene does nothing to help your brother.’

  Bobby pointed at Allison now. ‘She did nothing to help my brother. She sold him a set of lies and he bought them and … now this.’

  Mr Taylor patted his son’s arm. ‘Go over and sit with your mother, Bobby. I’ll deal with these people.’

  ‘Don’t you tell them anything, Pop. And remember, I’m waiting to hear from Dr Strong so we can get Billy transferred out of this place.’

  ‘Go,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right there.’

  Bobby made sure to give both Allison and me a stare before he allowed his mother to lead him toward the exit. Maybe they’d go outside for a walk. He certainly needed one.

  ‘You are Ms Rogers,’ Mr Taylor said.

  ‘Yes. I interviewed Billy yesterday for a story I’m working on.’

  ‘Robert told us all about it, as you can imagine. We were all upset when William told us he had agreed to speak with you. We – the family – had thought the whole incident was behind us. William told us about the story you’re working on, and we want no part of it. We’ve had a bad history with … people in your profession.’

  ‘I think that’s the closest I’ve ever come to being called a whore, Mr Taylor.’

  ‘Don’t think the word didn’t cross my mind.’ He looked at me. ‘And not just because you’re a woman.’

  Allison smiled. ‘No, just because we get paid to screw with people.’

  ‘That has been my family’s experience, yes.’

  ‘Mr Taylor, I’m not here to defend what I do for a living, neither to you nor your son. I’m here to do my job. I was with Billy yesterday to do my job. I was out here on the Island today doing my job.’

  ‘Billy said you are going to interview the Miller girl, as well.’

  ‘Yes. It’s her story, too.’

  ‘She’s a little liar, that one. Ruined my son’s life.’

  ‘Your son confessed to sexually assaulting her.’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me what my son said. I was there.’

  ‘And you didn’t believe your own son’s story?’

  ‘I didn’t know—’ He stopped. ‘Robert was right. I shouldn’t have told you anything. Just talking to you people makes me crazy.’

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’

  ‘No you’re not. You get people to say things, twist their words to suit your needs, and then put it out there for the whole world to see. You cash your checks and move on to the next headline.’

  ‘Is that what you think I did to Billy, Mr Taylor?’

  He stared at Allison for a few seconds then turned to see where his wife and son were. They were still by the exit door, arms around each other.

  ‘I’m done talking to you, Ms Rogers. I’m sorry if my son or I said anything to offend you.’ No he wasn’t. He gestured with his head somewhere over our shoulders. ‘Go get your story.’ He paused before walking away and joining his family. ‘I’m sure it’ll be a good one. Sell lots of papers.’

  When he was out of earshot, Allison turned to me.

  ‘How could this possibly be my fault?’ she asked. It wasn’t like she was asking me; it was more like the question was addressed to the universe.

  ‘Maybe they think Billy’s accident was a result of him being upset about yesterday’s interview.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘I don’t know what I think, Ally. I was there. He didn’t seem too rattled by your questions. Certainly not upset enough to make this happen.’

  A look approaching gratitude flashed across her face. Then it was gone. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. ‘I’m calling Walter back.’

  ‘I thought he didn’t know anything.’

  ‘I bet he knows the press liaison for the hospital.’

  ‘It’s after six,’ I said.

  She gave me a look like I just didn’t get it and walked away, leaving me standing there by myself in the busy waiting area of the emergency room. Being alone, and given time to consider where I was, triggered enough memories to make me feel a little light-headed. All hospitals had the same smells and sounds and feel. None of them designed to put people at ease. I made my way to the first water fountain I found and took a few deep sips, followed by a few deep breaths. I was beginning to feel better but still felt shaken. Grown man that I was, I headed toward the exit. I ran into Allison still on her phone.

  ‘She’s got me on hold,’ she told me. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Out.’ And I went. I stood outside the sliding do
ors for about a minute then I stepped over to the first bench I could find and sat down. After regaining most of my composure, I remembered I was supposed to call Edgar – or he was supposed to call me – about his lawyer acquaintance. He picked up after two rings.

  ‘Yo, Ray,’ he said. ‘What’s the haps?’

  ‘Someone’s feeling much better,’ I said.

  ‘Just got to The LineUp, and I’m having my first beer away from home since my accident. Feels pretty darn good, I tell ya. Sorry I didn’t call you sooner, but …’

  ‘Don’t go feeling too good, Edgar. Too much too soon and all that.’

  ‘I hear ya, Ray. I’m having two and then heading home. I’m still kinda tired.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Hey, did you get in touch with the lawyer you kinda worked with? The one who works with the guy who knows about Nazi-looted art?’

  ‘Laura Feldman? Yeah.’ He paused for what I imagined was a much-enjoyed sip of beer. ‘I did. She said she can meet you outside her offices tomorrow morning.’

  I didn’t know I was going to meet with her.

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday,’ I said.

  ‘She’s a lawyer, Ray. They don’t look at weekends like us normal folks.’

  ‘She say what time?’

  ‘Nine o’clock. She’s gonna be with her family for a bit, then her hubby’s gotta take the kids off to lessons or the museum or something.’ Another pause. ‘You’re gonna like the husband, Ray. Kenny knows even more about audio than I do.’

  ‘I didn’t think that was possible.’

  ‘I know, right? He used to work at BB King’s, now he’s at Merkin Hall. He also has one of the coolest goatees.’

  ‘That’s good to know, Edgar. Can you text me the address?’

  ‘As soon as we hang up, partner.’

  He had a habit of calling me ‘partner’ when he knew he was helping me out. It didn’t bother me because he was often helping me out.

  ‘Thanks, Edgar. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘That’d be good, man. Have a good one.’

  It was getting a bit chillier, the sky more dark than orange now, so I decided to go back inside and see how close Allison was to heading home. She must have been reading my mind because, as soon as I stood up from my bench, I saw her exiting the hospital. We met halfway.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ she said.

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I just got off the phone with the hospital press relations person and it turns out we worked together years ago in the city.’

  ‘Is that the unbelievable part?’ I asked.

  ‘No. She was able to tell me – but not on the record – that the EMTs who brought Billy Taylor in said he reeked of booze and there was the unmistakable odor of marijuana coming from his car when they pulled him out.’

  ‘Alcohol and pot? A combination Billy said he’s avoided for the past twenty years.’ I gave that some thought. ‘You think that’s why the Taylors are blaming you?’

  ‘What?’ She was using her outside voice. ‘That my interview pushed him off the wagon? That the big bad bitch reporter lady bullied their son into a liquor-and pot-fueled accident?’

  ‘Hey, lighten up. I’m not saying I believe it. I’m asking you if you think they believe it. All of the Taylors seemed to be looking for someone to blame and that someone was you, Ally.’

  That quieted her down for a bit. I couldn’t recall Ally soul-searching before, but the pained look on her face made me think she was doing just that. When she didn’t speak for almost two minutes, I decided it was time I did.

  ‘Listen, Ally,’ I said. ‘You know I didn’t want you to interview Billy.’

  ‘You made that rather clear, yes.’

  ‘But there’s no way in the world this is your fault. People drink and smoke because they choose to, not because someone made them do it. Sometimes addicts just relapse. They don’t need an excuse.’

  That look of gratitude slowly came back to her face.

  ‘Even someone who’s … limited like Billy Taylor?’

  ‘Even someone like Billy Taylor,’ I agreed. ‘You said it yourself: he’s a grown man and capable of making his own decisions. That’s what happened here. Nothing more and nothing less.’ I reached out and touched her arm. ‘You’re just not that powerful.’

  She gave me a small smile. ‘You’re not just saying this because you’re feeling sorry for me? Or because you want to end our last argument?’

  ‘Both of those are excellent reasons for saying what I said, but, no. I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re good here, Ally.’

  ‘Thanks, Ray.’ She threw her arms around me in a hug. After a ten-count, she said, ‘Then you wouldn’t mind driving back to the city?’

  ‘You too tired to drive?’

  ‘I gotta write up what I got on Billy Taylor. It’s not gonna be much, but it’ll make it to the paper’s website and it might be the only thing we have for press tomorrow.’

  I looked at her and shook my head. Her ability to rebound was remarkable. Instead of commenting on that, I said the second-kindest thing I could think of:

  ‘Give me the keys.’

  The first would have been ‘I love you.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  We were driving for almost half an hour when Allison remembered she was in possession of my father’s notes on the Taylor case. It was still early so we decided to head to my place and look over the legal pad.

  ‘You know,’ I said. ‘I bet if we called Edgar he’d come over and see what he can get from my dad’s computer.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘You think he’s available?’

  ‘We’re talking Edgar here, Ally. He’ll be available. I just spoke with him, actually.’ I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell, and handed it to Allison. ‘He’s in my contacts.’

  ‘Of course he is.’ She found his name, pressed the screen, then put him on speakerphone. A few seconds later we heard, ‘Ray. What’s up? You forget something?’

  ‘It’s Allison, Edgar. Ray’s driving.’

  ‘Hey, Edgar,’ I said.

  ‘Where are you two?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re coming back from the Island,’ Ally said, leaving out the reason why. ‘We need your expertise.’ She knew how to speak Edgar’s language.

  ‘At your service,’ he said. ‘What can I do you for?’

  Allison explained how, in addition to some antiquated disks, she had my father’s old computer and that there might be some files on it that she’d need his help to access. Edgar asked what kind of computer it was, Allison told him, and Edgar said he was looking forward to it.

  ‘So,’ I said, in that loud voice I used when on speakerphone. ‘You wanna meet at my place in an hour? We’re gonna order in some takeout.’

  ‘Polish?’ he asked.

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Cool,’ he said. ‘But I think we need to meet at my place.’

  ‘Why?’

  I heard him let out a deep, frustrated breath. ‘That’s where all my equipment is,’ he said. ‘I don’t wanna lug it all over to your place because I’m not sure what I’ll need exactly. What kind of disks are we talking about?’

  Allison and I looked at each other. I said, ‘We’re not sure. The floppy kind?’

  ‘Exactly. I know I have the technology, I just need to see what you got.’

  ‘We’ll bring the food,’ Allison said.

  ‘I’ll see you in an hour.’ He hung up.

  ‘That was easy,’ Allison said.

  ‘You had him at “I need your expertise.” The Polish food just sealed the deal.’

  The three of us were in Edgar’s living room: Ally and I on the futon couch and Edgar on a separate chair sitting in front of my father’s decades-old computer. The food we hadn’t finished was sitting on a counter in Edgar’s kitchen. Edgar lovingly petted the grayish-beige of my father’s old Macintosh Performa 6300 and said, ‘It’s like being in a museum
or traveling back in time. I haven’t touched one of these babies since my first years with Transit.’

  ‘Can you do anything with it?’ Ally asked.

  ‘Not with this computer, nope. These old Apples were good for their time, but, this one, with all the moisture in your mom’s basement, and all the time it spent down there, it’s pretty worthless.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ I asked.

  ‘I have some conversion and retrieval equipment that’ll help me migrate the data from whatever was backed up on these’ – he held up the floppy disks – ‘to my laptop. This is not the first time I’ve been asked to do this. At least these were stored in plastic.’

  I shook my head. ‘You’re amazing, Edgar.’

  ‘Tell me that when I’m done, Ray.’

  He left the room to get what he needed. Allison and I turned our attention back to my father’s more basic technology: his legal pad. Its pages were crumpled at the edges, hard and brittle, and gave me the impression I was holding a piece of history. I carefully turned each of the pages. Out of the eighty pages available to my father, he had written on only about a dozen of them. Allison was right: my father’s handwriting looked very much like my own. Part script/part print, often illegible. Was it genetic? What other traits did I inherit from my father?

  I got goose bumps holding these pages my father had written. We didn’t have family videos to look back on after he died, only photographs. Somehow holding this work he’d done was like holding part of him. I’m not the sentimental ‘Let’s take a trip down Memory Lane’ kind of guy, but these were my father’s words, in his handwriting. Holding them was like holding a part of my father. They were important to him all those years ago and might prove to be important now.

  ‘Ray?’ Allison said. ‘You still with me?’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Oh, yeah. It’s just …’

  She put her hand on my leg. ‘Take your time, tough guy. Let me know when you’re ready.’

  ‘I’m good.’ I looked at the first page. ‘This seems pretty straightforward. It’s a list of people interviewed by Marty. We got all this from Marty’s computer. It’s all in the police report. These here,’ I pointed to the three names with stars next to them, ‘might be the ones my dad thought were most helpful?’