Nancy came from the kitchen with a sack of cat food. ‘When you drop off Sue Ellen,’ she said, ‘take the cats.’
‘Hello, dear,’ he said.
‘Ha. Talk to your daughter about her math grade.’
‘Bye, dear.’
‘I mean it,’ Nancy said. ‘I don’t want her out on the street.’
‘Because of seventh-grade math?’
‘It’s a slippery slope.’
Kelson and Sue Ellen drove toward Taqueria Uptown. Plows had scraped the ice off the streets and dropped rock salt, which crunched under the tires and clicked against the bottom of the car.
‘Should we get it over with?’ Kelson asked at a stoplight.
‘I like irrational numbers more than rational ones,’ Sue Ellen said. ‘I hate exponents.’
‘What’s to hate about exponents?’
‘You don’t know?’ She rolled her eyes at him.
‘When did you start rolling your eyes?’
‘I’ve always rolled my eyes.’
‘No you haven’t.’
‘Light’s green.’
Kelson accelerated fast enough to spit rock salt at the car behind them. ‘I’m glad we took care of that,’ he said.
‘I have it under control,’ Sue Ellen said.
‘Famous last words.’
‘I’ll study. Harder.’
‘That’ll make your mom happy.’
‘And you?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘me too.’
Once a week, Kelson and Sue Ellen ate at the counter at Taqueria Uptown. The counterman – in a white apron and a black baseball cap – welcomed them like old friends. But he never told Kelson his name and gave no personal details about himself at all. He stood nearby, though, and listened in on a game called Stump Dad that Sue Ellen invented. She insisted on playing the game – which involved asking odd or uncomfortable questions that, because of his brain injury, Kelson couldn’t help but answer – when they sat at the taqueria counter and often when they rode together in the car.
‘Pollo en mole,’ Kelson told the counterman.
‘Guacamole and chips,’ Sue Ellen said. ‘And a lime soda.’
‘Claro,’ the counterman said.
When the man took the order to the cook, Sue Ellen stared at Kelson. He knew what was coming. ‘Let’s eat first, OK?’ he said.
‘You aren’t ready?’ She had a teasing smile.
‘I think it would be nice to sit together quietly.’
‘OK.’ She folded her hands on the countertop.
Kelson glanced at her from the corners of his eyes.
The counterman brought her lime soda.
‘Thank you,’ Sue Ellen said.
As Kelson and the man watched, she opened her straw, crumpled the wrapper, and set the balled paper by her glass. She dipped the straw into the soda and drew a long drink. For a moment she looked like she would burp. Instead, she said, ‘Do you like breasts?’
‘Dammit,’ Kelson said.
‘Don’t swear.’
‘Yes, I like them. Very much. Now ask something less inappropriate.’
‘OK. If I order a potbellied pig and have it delivered to your apartment, what will you do?’
‘Pork sandwiches.’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘It’s tasty.’
‘You’ll upset Charlie.’
‘You’ve named your imaginary pig?’
‘The cats get lonely when you’re working. They need a pig. Amber has breasts.’
‘Good for her,’ Kelson said. ‘You’re dizzying, by the way. Who’s Amber?’
‘A girl at school with breasts.’
‘A friend of yours?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘Because she has breasts?’
Sue Ellen drank her soda and said nothing. A television – bracketed to the ceiling, tuned to a telenovela – played at the far end of the counter. But the counterman kept his eyes on the two of them.
Kelson said, ‘What does your mother say about Amber?’
‘She says it’s when, not if,’ Sue Ellen said. ‘For most girls.’
‘She’s an expert on these things.’
‘Breasts?’
Kelson nodded. ‘Breasts.’
Sue Ellen drank her soda. ‘Would you want them?’
‘On me? No thank you.’ He asked the counterman, ‘You think our food is ready?’
‘No, señor. Pollo en mole takes time.’
Sue Ellen said, ‘Did you know potbellied pigs have sensitive skin? They can get sunburns.’
Kelson nodded. ‘That’s called bacon.’
‘They’re very social. In the wild they forage in groups. D’you know what you call a group of potbellied pigs?’
‘A wienie roast?’
‘Ha ha.’
‘A pack?’
‘Closer.’
‘A pack of hotdogs?’
The counterman shook his head at him. ‘Potbellied pigs are gentle creatures.’
Kelson glared at him. ‘You know this, how?’
‘A group of potbellied pigs is called a herd,’ Sue Ellen said. ‘They’re as gentle as cows.’
Kelson still looked at the counterman. ‘The two of you are in this together, aren’t you?’
‘No, señor,’ the man said, and he went to the kitchen to check on the food.
‘Huh,’ Kelson said.
Sue Ellen drank her soda. She stared down at the counter.
‘What?’ Kelson said. ‘I wouldn’t really eat a potbellied pig. Not knowingly.’
But she surprised him. ‘What happened at that house?’
‘What house?’
She gestured at his bandaged arm.
‘Renshaw’s condo?’ He screwed his mouth. ‘He shot me. He shouldn’t have. Obviously. But he did.’
She nodded. ‘DeMarcus saved you?’
‘Yeah, he did.’
She looked down again. ‘How did you let it happen?’
‘I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t mean to. I misjudged the risk – maybe.’ He considered the sensation he’d felt as Renshaw’s gunshot penetrated his arm. As he fell to the floor in the hallway. As Renshaw grinned at him with his skinny teeth. ‘It felt like an accident,’ he said. ‘Like driving through an intersection and suddenly a truck comes through the side of your car. Like waking in the middle of the night to the smell of smoke.’ He gazed at Sue Ellen. She held her soda straw between her fingers. Her hand trembled. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
The counterman brought out two plates and corn tortillas in a warmer. He set the food on the counter. ‘What did I miss?’ he said.
‘Me almost dying,’ Kelson said, because he had to say.
Sue Ellen looked up at the man with wet eyes.
‘Oh,’ the man said, and he slipped back to the kitchen.
For a while, Kelson and Sue Ellen ate without talking. Kelson tore chicken from the bone with his fork and knife. He sopped mole with a rolled tortilla. Sue Ellen ate the chips from the edges of her plate, working toward the middle. The counterman came out and silently refilled her soda.
After she ate her last chip, she watched Kelson eat. ‘You know, potbellied pigs are good at sensing danger,’ she said. ‘They save people. A family had a pig called Lucky. They lived in a mobile home. When it caught fire, Lucky screamed and saved them.’
‘The pig screamed? Where did you hear about this?’
‘It’s a “Fun Fact.” I read it online. If we had a pig, maybe you wouldn’t get hurt so much.’
Kelson stared into her eyes. ‘Is this what the pig thing is about?’
Sue Ellen looked away.
‘You’re scared?’
Kelson forked a bite of chicken into his mouth – giving her time.
Using her knife, Sue Ellen scraped smudges of guacamole to the center of her plate.
Kelson asked, ‘Is this about me?’
Staring at her plate, Sue Ellen said, ‘If I say it is, can we get a pig?’
&nbs
p; TWELVE
That night Kelson woke twice from his sleep.
The first time, shortly after midnight, Payday was standing on his pillow mewling in his ear. ‘Stop screaming,’ he told her, and brushed her from the bed. ‘No fire.’
The second time, around four o’clock in the morning, Payday and Painter’s Lane slept at the foot of the bed. The wind outside had silenced, but icy snow ticked against the windows. Kelson got up to see. The building across the street was dark, all but a high window where a single light burned. The street below was whitening again under the streetlights. He said, ‘Nothing could be more beautiful.’ Painter’s Lane slunk down from the bed and came to him. She rubbed against his ankle. A shiver ran up his leg. ‘Nothing could be,’ he said.
In the morning, he wrapped his bandaged arm in a towel and showered. He fried an egg for himself and scrambled one for each of the cats, mixing it with dry kibbles. ‘Who says I’m irresponsible?’ he said. He set the dishes on the dining table next to his plate, picked up the cats, and put them by their food. ‘Who says I take unnecessary risks?’
After he ate, he stood by the window again. The sidewalks were already shoveled clear.
He called Jose Feliciano’s number. When the bull rider answered, Kelson said, ‘All right, three hundred bucks a day. It doesn’t get you much.’
‘Yeah? I told you something’s wrong.’
‘Nothing’s wrong – or almost nothing. I talked to a woman who said Wendy got blamed for something she shouldn’t have, that’s all. So I’ll look into the patient who just died – Jennifer Kowalski. Anyway, the ICU chief says Wendy’s off the hook. They’ll take her back.’
‘How about the other dead people?’ Jose said. ‘I got my winnings, hombre. You look at them and give me the bill.’
‘Why do you want to spend your money on this?’
‘I told you – it’s what I see. It’s for Carlita. You know anything better to spend it on?’
‘Maybe, yeah. Why not take your worries to the cops? They work for free.’
‘Never.’ As if Kelson insulted him. ‘You know what cops do with people like me? They dunk our heads in canals and hold us under.’
Kelson said, ‘That’s not fair—’
‘Don’t talk to me about fair. I know fair. Fair is Carlita alive with my sister and her husband. Don’t talk unless you can do that.’
‘I understand.’
‘And don’t tell me to go to the cops.’
‘OK.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ll give you your three hundred bucks’ worth,’ Kelson said.
‘Yeah, do your job. I’ll pay. If you treat me like a son of a puta in a sombrero, you’re the same as them.’
‘I don’t know there’s a job to do, though.’
‘I won eighteen thousand at the Wrangler Classic. Thirty-six thousand at the Tacoma Invitational. A thousand at the Bad Boy Mowdown. I won all that in one month – the month before I broke my back.’
‘I hear you.’
‘I can pay for things I care about. I care about this.’
‘How much of your earnings did the hospital bills eat up for your back?’ he asked because he couldn’t help himself.
‘I’m a good man,’ Jose said. ‘I get up after I’m broken. How about you, amigo?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kelson said. ‘I’m still figuring it out.’
‘Look at the hospital. Let me know what you find, OK?’
Kelson said he would call that evening.
So he zipped himself into a heavy coat and tugged on a wool hat. He went down to his car and wiped off the snow. Twenty-five minutes later, he drove up Elston Avenue toward Lakeside Tow.
The driveway into the business cut through an open gate in a chain-link fence topped with coils of barbed wire. Signs said Lakeside Tow in big yellow letters, Security dogs on premises in bigger red letters, Towing and Recovery in black cursive. A permanent placard said Drivers Wanted.
As Kelson turned toward the driveway, a green Land Rover barreled out. Kelson swerved, and his car hit a patch of ice. His rear tires slid, touched pavement again, and straightened. His car stopped just short of a curbside fire hydrant.
He yelled – then recognized the driver of the Land Rover. Rick Jacobson, Director of Security at Clement Memorial Hospital, son of Jeremy Jacobson. The man in the passenger seat looked like a younger, longer-haired version of the driver – probably the brother who appeared with Rick in the pictures in Dr Jacobson’s office.
‘What the hell?’ Kelson said.
He started to climb out of his car. But the Land Rover sped from the driveway toward the end of the block.
‘What the hell?’ Kelson said again. He backed from the curb and pulled into the towing company lot.
A dozen cars were parked there – mostly beaters people had abandoned or had too little cash to spring from the pound.
At the far end of the lot, there was an old brick building. Someone long ago painted it white. In front, a thick red arrow pointed at a metal security door. Kelson got out and pushed a button on a battered intercom next to the door.
When it buzzed, he went into an office.
Faded red outdoor carpet peeled at the corners of the room. The closest thing to art was a No Smoking sign. The air smelled of cigarette smoke. ‘And engine oil,’ Kelson said.
‘What’s that?’ said a squat man in a knitted turtleneck. He sat on the other side of a pass-through window. A sheet of bulletproof glass would slide across the opening if the hour got late or a customer acted spooky. At a quarter to ten on a bright January morning, the man looked at ease.
Kelson reached a hand through the window. ‘Sam Kelson,’ he said.
The man shook his hand vigorously. ‘David Hennessey.’ He laughed for no apparent reason.
Behind him, on a dirty white vinyl sofa, two old dachshunds gazed at Kelson. Their mouths and eyes drooped. ‘Your security dogs?’ Kelson said.
‘Everyone calls them Ma and Barker,’ the man said. ‘If thieves can’t take a joke, fuck ’em. You got a car you need to pay for?’
‘No,’ Kelson said. ‘I have a question – a couple questions. Those guys who just pulled out of here?’
‘Assholes,’ the man said. ‘Some guys got no decency. They come in here like knuckleheads when I’m in mourning.’
‘For Jennifer Kowalski?’
The man’s hand drifted below the pass-through counter. ‘You with those guys?’
‘They almost drove me into a fire hydrant,’ Kelson said. ‘And there’s no need to shoot me.’
The man’s smile turned cunning. He pulled a big revolver from under the counter, flashed it at Kelson, and tucked it away. ‘Just so you know.’
‘Nice,’ Kelson said. ‘Is it legal?’
‘In Chicago? Hell no. Not for a felon. What do you want with Jennifer? A damned shame. She was a friend – my best friend.’
‘The worst kind of loss.’
‘It was no surprise,’ he said. ‘She had two heart attacks last year. Had to happen sooner or later, I guess. The third was the charm.’
‘She had two heart attacks? Was this in anyone’s records?’
‘Not that I know. Maybe they weren’t heart attacks. But she had the signs. I told her to go to the ER. I told her I’d drive her myself. She said she’d get over it. A while ago, she stopped taking her diabetes medicine. Wrecked her kidneys.’
‘I heard about the kidneys,’ Kelson said.
The man looked puzzled. ‘Who are you? Jennifer didn’t have lots of friends – just me and her music pals.’
‘A couple nurses from the hospital where she died asked me to look into her.’ He pulled a card from his wallet and gave it to the man.
‘Those guys that were just here, they’re from the hospital too,’ the man said. ‘Asked if Jennifer had insurance. Acted like they cared about her till I told them Lakeside Tow doesn’t insure. What kind of hospital sends out guys two days after a woman dies? They never heard of a ph
one? They never heard of time to grieve?’
‘Is that all they wanted to know about?’ Kelson said. ‘Insurance?’
‘They asked about Jennifer’s sister. Next of kin. They want to know what to do with the body. I told them the sister lives in Salt Lake City. Married a Mormon. Then they got pissy. What’s that about?’
‘That’s it? Insurance and the sister?’
‘Isn’t that enough? At this point, I started playing with my revolver under the counter. Maybe they thought I was jerking off. The older one asked me, please don’t mention they came about the money and the sister and all. I could’ve shot him in the nuts.’ He sighed. ‘What did your nurses want you to look for? They worried about their paychecks too?’
‘They thought something happened to Jennifer at the hospital that shouldn’t have. I guess you could say they were her friends too – at least at the end.’
‘Hell, she could use a couple,’ the man said. ‘I don’t know what anyone could’ve done to save her. Maybe she got fed up with it all. Makes me sad. It didn’t seem she wanted to save herself.’
THIRTEEN
After lunch, Kelson went to his appointment with Sheila Prentiss at the Rehabilitation Institute. Dr P mostly did talk therapy, but today she shined a penlight into each of Kelson’s eyes and measured his blood pressure.
‘Remarkable,’ she said.
‘I take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’?’
‘How did you let this happen?’ she asked.
‘That was Sue Ellen’s question too.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘Something between I don’t know and I screwed up.’
‘You can’t afford this kind of thing,’ she said. ‘Your brain injury – the trauma you suffered – makes you susceptible to re-injury and complications. This latest incident—’
‘I slept through most of it, to tell the truth.’
‘The blood loss alone could’ve reversed the healing you’ve experienced. It could’ve caused new damage. I want you to take an acuity test before you leave today.’
She asked him to divide fifty-four by six. She had him recite the months backwards. When she told him to touch his forefingers to his nose, he tapped his nose with the finger on his good side, then flapped his bandaged arm at her and said, ‘Whose acuity are we measuring?’
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