Already Gone (10 page)

I follow Gabby down a short hall into an open room with high ceilings and metal shelves along the walls. The air smells sweet, like sawdust and wood stain, and the only light comes from a mounted security box in one corner.

Gabby steps past me and flicks a switch.

Several rows of lights flicker to life above us.

The room is filled with stacks of wood and half-built furniture. There are hand tools hanging on pegs along the wall, and reams of cloth and upholstery scattered across work benches.

“This is it,” he says. “What do you think?”

“Impressive.”

I follow him around the workshop while he points out all the different tools and the stacks of tables and chairs along the wall, some finished, some not.

“All this stuff is custom made. Good quality, too. It’ll last, believe me.”

“Looks like it.”

“Got a couple kids working for me during the day. They’re both younger than you. Musicians, I think, potheads, but good kids. Hard workers.” He points to a door at the back of the shop and says, “That’s my place.”

“Your office?”

“My home.”

“You live here? In the building?”

“Sure,” he says. “It’s not as quiet as the yard, but there’s no traffic at night. After five o’clock, I’m the only living soul for two miles in any direction. It’s like living in the country without the country.”

“What about the yard? Did you sell it?”

Gabby shakes his head. “I’ll never sell that place. I just wanted a change of scenery.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You want to see where I live?”

We walk through the door in the back of the shop then up a steep flight of stairs to the second level. Gabby is telling me what the building looked like when he moved in, but all I can think about are the two guys who cut off my finger. They’re here somewhere.

I do my best to be patient.

With Gabby, that’s important.

When we get to the top of the stairs, Gabby opens the door and says, “This is it.”

It’s like stepping into Oz.

Hardwood floors, handwoven rugs, and full-length windows overlooking a jeweled city skyline. It is the opposite of what I’d been expecting, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say.

Gabby smiles. “What do you think?”

I move toward the windows and look out at the wall of city lights and say, “It’s amazing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Gabby comes up next to me and puts his hands on his waist. “You get a little older, and you start appreciating the beautiful things in life.”

“It is beautiful.”

The two of us stare out the windows for a while, neither of us saying a word.

Then Gabby speaks.

“This place used to be a crematorium.”

And all at once, I remember where I am.

I turn away from the window and look at Gabby.

“Got the old oven downstairs,” he says. “The damn thing still works, too.”

“Downstairs?”

“The basement. Here, take a look at this.”

He leads me around the corner and points out a large arched metal door hanging on the wall.

“I popped it off the front of the oven and cleaned it with a pressure wash. It took forever, but once I polished her up, I thought she might look good on a wall.”

“Like art.”

“Exactly.” Gabby grins, shows teeth. “Art.”

I stare at the oven door, and I can’t help but think he’s right. It does look good. It’s morbid and dark, but there’s something fascinating about it, too.

Something almost beautiful.

Gabby finishes the tour on the roof.

He wants to show me his birds.

“Racing pigeons,” he says. “It’s a hobby, and a little side business of mine. Something to do in retirement.”

I laugh under my breath.

“What’s so funny?”

“You being retired. I can’t picture it.”

“Can’t stay young forever, Jake. You might not see it, but things have changed out there. The world is different, and there’s no place for guys like me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The players are all different. Now it’s the people in the suits who control everything. They talk and they negotiate and they make deals. They’re the ones you have to worry about, not the guy running things from the back booth at the neighborhood bar.”

“You were always more than that.”

“Was I?” Gabby shakes his head. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a package of sunflower seeds and pours a few into his palm. “These days I’ve got my shop and I’ve got my birds. That’s enough for me. The rest doesn’t matter anymore.”

I watch Gabby open the cage and lay the seeds across a long wooden feed tray. I think about what he said, and as I watch him, I have a hard time not believing him.

He looks happy.

I think back over all the time I spent with him as a kid, and I can’t remember ever seeing him smile.

I wait until he closes the cage. Then I motion to the birds and ask, “What kind of business is this?”

“A small one,” he says. “I’ll rent the white ones out for weddings. Some people like to release birds, and you wouldn’t believe how much they’re willing to pay to do it.”

“I thought you released doves at weddings.”

“Doves don’t have the homing instinct. You release doves and all you’re doing is feeding the hawks.” He taps the wire on one of the cages and the birds shuffle inside. “These guys here, they’re smart. They know what’s out there, and they always find their way home when things turn bad.”

He looks at me, and something passes between us.

Neither of us says a word.

Gabby turns back to the cage and starts making soft clicking noises at the birds.

I look out at the city lights and wait.

“The little one doesn’t have a tongue,” Gabby says. “Someone cut it out.”

At first I think he’s talking about the birds.

But he’s not.

“The big one had some fight in him when we brought him here, so I split one of his fingertips down the middle with a wood chisel and pried the bone apart with a shim. That settled him down.”

The inside of my mouth turns sour.

I swallow hard.

“I haven’t said a word to either of them, so they’re scared. I wanted to let you ask the questions. Are you okay with that?”

I tell him I am.

“Good, because he’s ready to talk.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Gabby turns back to the birds. He takes a deep breath, holds it, then says, “I’m not going to kill anyone, kid. That’s where I draw the line these days.”

I’m not sure whether to believe him or not, so I do the smart thing and keep my mouth shut.

Gabby looks at me and smiles. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll talk. And if he doesn’t…” He holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers. “I’ve got a lot of shims.”

I follow Gabby downstairs and through the workshop to the cement loading dock behind the building. There is a man in a heavy black coat sitting on a folding chair next to a split metal door. When he sees Gabby, he stands and presses a call button on the wall.

A few seconds later, I hear a motor, far away.

When it stops, the man pulls a canvas strap on the door, and the two sides split apart, opening onto a freight elevator.

“We don’t go down together,” Gabby says. “They only see me when it’s necessary.” He taps the side of his head with one finger. “Fuck with their minds a bit.”

I stare at the man in the black coat standing outside the elevator. “Are you sure you retired?”

Gabby laughs, and once again the sound surprises me.

“That’s Kevin. He’ll take you inside and bring you back up when you’re ready.”

I nod.

“You okay with this, Jake?”

“I’m fine.”

“Because if you’re not, I can step in and—”

“I said I’m fine.”

Gabby watches me for a minute, silent.

“Just anxious,” I say. “Too many things in my head. I can’t keep them straight.”

Gabby stands in front of me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “The only thing you need to think about is your wife.”

The words are like an electric shock, and all my doubts over what I’m about to do burn away.

“Don’t lose your focus. Don’t forget why you’re here.” He pats my cheek, once, hard. “We’ll talk when you come up.”

I feel like I should say something, but there’s nothing else to say. It’s time.

Gabby looks past me and nods toward Kevin, then he turns and walks back into the workshop.

I step into the elevator, and Kevin slides the doors shut. There is only one button on the keypad. He presses it, then steps back and leans against the wall.

Nothing happens.

I say, “We’re not moving.”

“Give it a minute.” He points to a black camera lens above the door. “They can be slow.”

I look up at the camera. “Someone’s watching us?”

“The elevator is controlled from the basement, unless you have a key. They like to see who is coming.” He nods toward the lens. “Go ahead, smile.”

I don’t smile.

“How long have you worked for Gabby?”

“Three years,” he says. “Came here on a bus from Iowa. I figured this place couldn’t be any worse.”

“Were you right?”

“Hell yes. Iowa, are you kidding? Even when he had me out at the yard, it was better than Iowa.”

“You’re not out at the yard anymore.”

“Nope, not anymore.”

I watch him, trying to guess his age. He looks young, probably under twenty, and I’m not surprised. Gabby has always recruited street kids. He takes them in and gives them a job and a place to stay, but more than that, he gives them a place to belong. He gives them a family.

A lot of them don’t stick around for long, but the ones who do are loyal forever, and Gabby knows it.

Sometimes I wonder if I was any different.

“What about you?” Kevin asks.

“What about me?”

“How long have you known the old man?”

“The old man?”

Kevin clears his throat and stands a bit straighter. “Mr. Meyers. How long have you known Mr. Meyers?”

“Gabby,” I say. “I’ve known him all my life.”

He nods. “I guess that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“What he did down here.” Kevin pauses. “He made this one personal. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I stare at him for a moment, silent, then the elevator starts to move and I look away.

We go down, slow.

All at once, my legs feel weak.

I lean back against the elevator wall and look down at the streaks of dried paint on the floor. There’s a tiny voice inside my head, screaming at me, telling me this is a mistake and to go back up and get in my car and go home. It tells me to forget all about this place and to rebuild my life before it’s too late.

But I know it’s already too late.

Kevin doesn’t say anything else, and I’m glad. I don’t want to talk anymore.

Instead, I listen to the hum of the motor and feel myself fall.

There are two men waiting outside the elevator when it stops, both wearing handguns in shoulder holsters. Neither of them says a word when Kevin slides the door open and we step out.

The basement is large and filled with furniture and cardboard packing crates. There is a desk in the corner with a monitor showing the inside of the elevator.

The air feels heavy and wet.

I look around. “Where are they?”

Kevin walks to the desk and grabs a key ring off the monitor. He motions for me to follow and leads me around a stack of shipping pallets to a long metal door. He unlocks the door and pushes it to the side. The door opens, scratching along a rusted track in the ceiling.

I step closer, and the smell hits me in waves, warm and ripe, each one stronger than the last.

Blood, vomit, and piss.

I cough and put a hand to my mouth.

Kevin watches, but he doesn’t say a word.

I clear my throat and move toward the open door. The smell gets stronger with each step, but this time I’m prepared.

The room is dark except for two beams of light shining down from a pair of industrial-sized security lamps mounted in the ceiling. The beams spotlight a man sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Everything else is in shadow.

The man at the table is sitting with his back to the door, his head hanging limp to one side. I move closer and notice the thick leather straps around his shoulders and arms, pinning him to the chair.

There is a pool of blood on the floor under him. It runs in long streams toward a sunken drain a few feet away. Just past the drain, I can see the shadow of the crematory oven, dark and open.

I try not to look at it.

“Is he awake?” I ask.

“He can be.”

The air in the room is hot, and I feel a slow line of sweat run down the center of my back. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, afraid to stop moving. Then I start toward the man at the table.

Halfway there, I notice the little one sitting in the corner with his arms stretched over his head. His wrists are bound tight with wire and held up by a link chain that disappears into the shadows above him. The left side of his face is broken. His eye is swollen shut.

I stare at him for a moment before I realize his other eye is open, and he’s watching me.

Seeing him changes something inside me.

I feel steady again, ready to work.

I look over at Kevin, standing in the doorway.

He nods, then steps back and closes the door.