by A. R. Case
“Nobody wiped my ass when I was sixteen, Crank.”
The old man stopped. Tony saw his shoulders rise up and fall with a sigh. But he didn’t turn around. “Score’s even, Boots. Brigands owe you nothing.” Then he walked away.
Fritz whined at Tony’s feet. With a pet and a scratch, Tony said goodbye one last time.
Jonathan hated hospitals. He hadn’t liked them before actually needing to be in one and really hated them now. They smelled. He always got lost and mostly, they weren’t quiet. At least the ER was never quiet. Then again, the quiet was scarier.
After finding out the flash drive was missing, Jonathan searched the house to see if anything else was missing. It wasn’t. Not Mom’s engagement set she kept in the brown jewelry box on her dresser, or the TV, or his iPod, or anything else remotely valuable in the house. Which, because he distinctly remembered putting it back in the jar with the rice, meant someone knew what it was and moreover, knew Jonathan had picked it up. That scared the crap out of him. He’d called Scott after the discovery and told him everything.
Scott suggested they back everything up to the cloud, that way if the laptop went missing later, there’d still be a record of everything. He also suggested Jonathan call the cops. Jonathan wanted nothing to do with that. First of all, he told Scott, those assholes had called his dad who was now harassing his mom and second, who else knew who he was?
Of course, Scott said that the security guards or the sign company guy could have told someone. But somehow, Jonathan knew that they wouldn’t have. Sure Fat Jimmy could and probably would have, if he remembered Jonathan’s name, but since his mom had a completely different last name, there was no way anyone could have found him by his name. And Kevin and Tony were cool. They didn’t seem the type to rat out a kid. So it had to be the cops.
They poked holes in the theory until his mom got home. Immediately she noticed his mood and insisted he come to the hospital after school instead of going home.
He blamed it on the answering machine messages, of course. She’d taken it in today while he was at school and on her break at five had told him the lawyer was checking into getting another restraining order.
A long sigh leaked out of him. More restraining orders weren’t the answer. Like they really worked against cops. He let his head fall back against the cinderblock wall of the break room. He was bone tired. There had been little to no sleep last night as he lay awake thinking of who would come after him if they found out he copied the drive information. Then he got up about three a.m. and checked the files. They were accounting records and photos of parties and girls. Many of them didn’t look old enough to be hanging out with the guys in the photos, some of them looked younger than Jonathan, which was just creepy. A few of the pictures were more than just a guy in a suit with the girls. Those Jonathan skimmed over. It was one thing to look at a Playboy or something like that, but to actually see two people going at it was just gross. And grosser still was seeing the fat old guys with someone that should be in school with him. It made him ill.
As if he wasn’t a fucking dweeb already, now he had trouble looking at the girls in the halls of his school for fear he’d see a face that was in one of the pics. He didn’t tell Scott about those. He probably should, seeing as it was his dad’s cloud account they loaded the pics to, but really? How do you talk about shit like that?
He got up and did a circuit to the vending machine and back to stretch his legs. It passed the waiting room where there were various people sitting around sick, or hurt and it sucked. He really didn’t understand why there were five people to handle insurance, but only two full-time nurses. The interns and doctors had other shit to do, but all these people saw were the claim processors sitting around gabbing. He didn’t blame them for being pissed.
A commotion at the doors snagged his attention. A paramedic crew wheeled in a cart with what looked like a hand injury. The guy had an ice pack and a heavy bandage, already soaked through with blood, wrapped around his hand and was holding it up to keep it from bleeding faster. They’d already strung him up with an IV of blood, not saline and were talking fast to the staff that came to rush him through intake.
They passed off a cooler and Jonathan shuddered. It was probably the other part of his hand. Gross. He was supremely happy his mom wasn’t one of those people who encouraged their kids to go into medicine. He knew he didn’t have the stomach for it.
Things got busy real fast, so instead of walking back to the break room through the chaos, Jonathan grabbed a seat in the waiting room until it died down and he could slip back in. He saw his mom taking care of another patient and giving orders. He caught her eye and motioned that he was going to wait things out where he was. She nodded and sped on doing what she was doing. It was pretty cool seeing her in crisis mode. She didn’t second guess herself here.
He’d just settled into a magazine, when he saw Tony walk up to the intake desk. He caught the tail end of the discussion. “…being prepped for surgery. If you’ll have a seat we’ll keep you informed.”
Tony looked ill. He was head to toe leathers, but he didn’t look very badass right now. Jonathan waved to get his attention so he’d sit by him.
“Hey Jonathan, you okay?”
“I’m waiting for my mom. You waiting for someone here?”
Tony cursed and ran his fingers through his hair. “My crew chief called in sick last minute and left the site with Andrew.” He waved his hand, “You didn’t meet him. Great kid, but fuck stupid when it comes to watching a crew. One of the contractors got his hand caught on an install. I’m here waiting to see if we’re going to get our asses sued.”
He slumped down in a chair a seat over from Jonathan. “Fuck.” He scratched at his beard which wasn’t very clean cut today. Then he looked at Jonathan. “So, how’s your day been?”
Jonathan laughed. “Better than yours.”
“I should have been there, but...” He let out a sigh. There was a lot on his head. He stopped what he was going to say. “So, your mom ground you to the hospital after last week?”
Jonathan debated telling Tony the truth. “Not really.” He finally said. Then he used the excuse his mom expected. “Dad’s been harassing us ever since they gave him a call.”
Tony blinked and tilted his head.
“He’s back in Ohio.” Jonathan found himself telling Tony the whole story, about the divorce, the court dates, social services, well, not everything about social services and especially not about being hospitalized because of his dad, but almost everything else. He finished with, ”And the kicker, he’s a cop so…” Jonathan waved his hands in a circle.
“So they gave him a courtesy call.”
“Yup.”
“Your week has sucked.”
Yup. It had. “Any word on who was that guy…in the water, I mean?”
“Ricky Giofreida.”
“Wow, can you say Italian?” Jonathan’s imagination started ticking. “Mobbed up?”
Tony snorted. “No.” then he added, “Not really.”
What did he mean “not really”? Jonathan asked as much because it was his ass that really needed to know how “not really” mobbed up Ricky Giofreida was.
Of course, Tony only shrugged.
This wasn’t getting Jonathan anywhere. “Are only the local cops involved?” he asked, remembering his father complaining about a case they’d had in Dayton where the F.B.I. came in to investigate a crooked accountant who was working with a lawyer to move money around and across state lines and then overseas.
That got Tony’s attention. He looked at Jonathan. “There’s an FBI agent involved.”
Jackpot! He knew it. That flash drive was the key. He’d figured this out. Ricky Giofreida was an informant who’d gotten offed by the mob. The flash drive probably had incriminating evidence against a crime syndicate and… Then he had a really scary thought. If the
police were in on this, who could he trust?
Chapter nine
Tony watched the kid’s face work through a bunch of stuff. Mostly he could guess where his head was at, being a kid once himself. But there was a lot more under the surface that Tony had no clue about.
Who was he kidding though. He was thirty-seven years old and still didn’t have a fucking clue. If he had just blown off contacting Crank, he’d have been on the job site this afternoon and Jerry wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Of course, Jerry might have been sent home, too.
This week and last had been a bitch. Jerry was going through a bad divorce and his head wasn’t on straight. Twice in three days, Tony sent him home because he could smell alcohol, not just the stale cigarette and beer smell on the clothes, but on his breath. Doing what they did during installation was dangerous enough without adding alcohol to the heights, electricity, heavy equipment, and sharp edges. He suspected Jerry had been drunk but the guy was already in an ambulance on route to Atlanticare before Tony had got on site. Andrew was still there with the remaining two crew members buttoning down the job before dark. He had to trust that it could be handled because there was no way Chris was going to come to a site, or sit in a hospital waiting on a drunk contractor.
“Have you ever met a mobster?” Jonathan asked, out of the blue.
“Probably.” AC used to be rank with them when his father ran with the Brigands. For that matter, the Brigands were definitely considered part of the FBI’s wanted for racketeering list, so by birthright, Tony was a mobster and Jonathan had unofficially met one by default. The thought made him chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
A lot of things, mostly him being a mobster. He searched around for a kid-appropriate comment. “There’s this place I eat at. I swear the owner used to be a lawyer for the mob. He’s got connections everywhere.”
“Really?”
“Maybe. The real story probably goes like this, he was burnt out from wheeling and dealing on Wall Street, found a passion in cooking and retired to AC because it’s cheaper than New York. Then, because he was such a good people person to begin with, his friends followed. Not very exciting is it?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Real people are mobsters, or vice versa. I get it.”
“Really? Because most people don’t. They think there’s this great divide between good people and bad people and by the way a person looks, or the kind of car they drive or don’t drive makes them one way or another.”
“I’m sure lots of people think you’re a bad guy.”
Even his brother thought that. “True.”
“You’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t be talking to me.”
“You’re the one who waved me over. That makes you the good guy here.”
Jonathan frowned instead of smiling like Tony thought he would.
“Hey.” Tony tapped him on the shoulder with his knuckles. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Yeah, that face looked like nothing was on his mind. Right. Tony had a bridge in Brooklyn for sale, too.
Jonathan’s mom stuck her head out. She saw Tony and couldn’t hide the shock. “What are you doing here?”
“One of my contractors hurt his hand on the site. Just making sure he’s okay.”
“Severed?”
Tony nodded. “Did he say what happened? Andrew didn’t see how he could have gotten his hand caught but…”
Susan tightened her lips. “It will be in the report. Your insurance company will probably let you know.”
“He drunk?”
She frowned at him but didn’t deny it. “I cannot say anything to you. But I would suggest getting your insurance on this. They’ll want the report when he files.”
“Thanks, you almost done?” Jonathan asked.
Susan looked around the waiting room. “The night nurse just clocked in and I need to cover eval for one of the interns who got pulled into surgery. Did you want to go to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich or something? I’m going to be at least an hour more.”
Jonathan frowned, “I suppose. Did you eat yet?”
Susan shook her head. “I’ll eat when we get home. It’ll be fine.”
Tony heard himself pipe up, “I’ll take the kid to grab some food. It would kill an hour or so.” He turned to Jonathan, “I’ll show you that eating place.”
“Really? Cool.”
His mom’s eyebrow rose. Mama Bear was awake. It was cute and drew Tony’s attention to her eyes. They were an odd shade of blue, almost green. With the red hair all tied up she should have just looked normal, but the combo of the knockout eyes, pale skin and curves he tried desperately not to re-check out, was really getting to him. So he cut her off before she could object. “Irish Pub, hearty food, low prices, it’s not a big deal. I could bring you back a Corned Beef special or salad or something? My treat.”
He really hoped he managed that with a modicum of cool, not desperation. What he really wanted to ask again was if she’d changed her mind about going out and, if she had, whether he had a shot.
Jonathan put on a poker face. “I kind of hate those sandwiches in the machine, Mom.”
Tony fought a grin. Kid had her number. “I don’t even know you that well, Mr. DeSantos.”
“You haven’t even tried to get to know me.” He dove in, both feet.
Her face twisted, but she was almost smiling.
He grinned back showing off what his mom called “that damned DeSantos dimple” which used to get him out of a lot of trouble. For that matter, it got him into trouble too. Every DeSantos male had one. Gio was born with two. “The place is just up on Saint James, two blocks off the boardwalk.”
“Are you sure it’s not expensive?” She sounded skeptical.
“It’s a rare find, family owned and operated. Fish and chips with soda is about ten bucks.”
“Oh.” He could see the wheels in her head turning. Considering she was a single mom and currently embroiled in custody crap, she probably thought five bucks for fish and chips was too much, but for a restaurant just off the Boardwalk, it was a steal. Moreover, the kid really could use some time away from stress.
There was a lot more going on than just typical teenage tension and probably more than finding a dead body last week. Usually those kinds of things either stuck hard or rolled off. From the way Jonathan had been almost joking with him and Kevin back at the shop, he guessed that it hadn’t scared the pants off him that bad and was already working its way into the bad memory category. Of course there was the crap with his dad that Tony just learned about, which would mean the kid needed a change of pace even more.
“If Jerry was drunk on the job, I’m not facing a lawsuit, so it’s my treat.” He said.
That cute eyebrow went up again. “You’re terrible.”
“Yup.” Why deny it?
“Please Mom… You could meet us there after you get done and have a real dinner. For me?”
His mom glanced back at the doors to the ER. “I need to get back.” She looked Tony right in the eyes. “I’ll let you take him there. But, remember this one thing, if anything, Any. Thing. happens to him other than a great time and a good meal, you will answer to me.”
Firebrand momma bear. God that was hot. Tony swallowed and reminded his dick to stay put. “Loud and clear, ma’am.” He tacked on the last just to see her reaction. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to phase her. Crap.
“Awesome! I’ve got my backpack with me so we can go now.”
His mom disappeared into the ER doors. Tony tried to not look at her ass, but failed. “I’ve got to check on Jerry’s status real quick okay?”
“Sure. Cheryl’s the blonde older lady, she’d know right away without having to make you wait.”
Tony looked at the kid, wondering what his angle was. Maybe Jonathan was just a really great kid, giv
ing his mom a break. Or maybe he was trying to set Tony up with his mom, and hell, he wasn’t going to argue with that. But one thing Tony had learned very early, everyone had an angle.
Susan was thankful she brought a pair of jeans in her backpack everyday. The last thing she wanted to do was show up at a restaurant in her scrubs. She kept the top on though because the plain white tee shirt she had underneath was somewhat see through and the pink bra she’d thrown on without thinking this morning practically glowed through the material. Why couldn’t she buy normal beige or white?
In rebellion against John, one of the first things she took back of herself was splurging on an expensive, but great fitting, bra from the mall lingerie store. Then one of the discount store bras she’d bought around the same time gave up a strap during a double shift so she went to wearing the expensive ones more than three times a week. What sold her was the fact that it stood up when all the cheaper ones frayed, lost elasticity, or just plain didn’t feel as nice as the fifty dollar version. Gradually her entire foundation wardrobe got replaced with quality and color.
She made a mental note to actually look at the beige ones next month when she went shopping again.
A small voice inside urged her to ditch the uniform, flaunt the bra and let her hair down. She quelled that as much as she could because, seriously, a big bad biker dude and a girl like her? What would he see in her, a mom who never even wore real makeup anymore? How could a sweep of mascara in the morning compare to the women she saw around her everyday?
An older lady, who beamed with happiness, greeted her at the door. Her smile and verve won Susan over as she pointed out a few of the more memorable pieces of Irish-related memorabilia on the walls, in displays and actually embedded into the heavy varnish of the bar. The walls were dark wood with brass accents and the whole place had a cozy old-world feel that wrapped around Susan. She could really like this place, she decided. It was just a little kitschy, like most older Atlantic City places, but really, truly had an Irish-American feel. The hostess befriended her like an long-lost relative, especially when she discovered that Susan’s roots were predominantly Irish. It was a little overwhelming for Susan, but it was like walking into a loud family. You just belonged whether you talked or not and they wouldn’t let you feel any different.