Bomber's Law (44 page)

Gayle laughed sourly. “I'm not sure I'd like it, if someone named a racing-dog after me,” she said. “With my luck, it'd be a loser. And a bitch, too, of course—throw
that
in there before you do. ‘Came in last again, you bitch, ha ha?' ” She shook her head. “ ‘Worse'n average animal.' Uh-uh, nope, wouldn't like that at all.”

He had been cutting a large slice of chicken-breast on his plate,
making the division neatly across the striations of the meat after first having scraped the concealing gravy off. He stopped for a moment and looked up at her. Her eyes were dull, and her head waggled slightly. He furrowed his forehead and then shook his head. He looked down at his plate again, and resumed cutting the meat. “Aw right,
whaaat
,” she said, drawing it out.

He shook his head again. “Uh-uh,” he said. “I don't think so.” He kept his gaze on the plate and lifted the chicken to his mouth.

“Yeah,” she said, “right. You don't think so. Well, I
do
, you got that?
I
think so.” She put her fork down and picked up her wine. She stared at him over the glass, and then nodded twice. “Well,” she said, “yeah, I got to hand it, you. By sweet Jesus, I do, I hand it to you. I got to hand it to you. Or else nobody does, nobody has to, hand it to you's what I mean. Because by Jesus, they
can't
, hand it to you, because you've already got it. If it's something you want, if it's something you wanted, well then, by Jesus, it's not gonna last very long. Because you will just
take
it, if it's what you want. You don't stand on no ceremony. A little taste-a Harry in the night. Harry was here and he wrecked me.

“And by Jesus, you never change,” she said, slapping the table with the palm of her right hand. “You're as constant the moon'n the tides. You decide you know something, no one else knows, and nobody else agrees with you? Everyone else thinks you're nuts? Well, hell, that's all right, that doesn't matter, you don't give a good flyin'
fuck. Nothin'
matters to you, 'cept what matters to
you.
What you think is what rules the world. Nothin' else makes no difference at all. Ahh Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar c'n tumble, but old Harry, he's made-ah stone, an' old Harry, he stays jus' the same. I knew, yes, I
knew
, you went out there, you, you
bassar
, I knew if you ever came back, did make it back here, I knew you would manage to do this. Him.
Something
to him. I knew you would do this to Bob. Zackly
what?
I dinn' know that, an' I dinn' know
how
, an' I dinn' know
when
, but by Jesus, I knew you would do it.

“I said it to Dad, I said it him then, I said: ‘Mark my words, he'll come back. He won't stay out there and he won't send for me; he won't do anything like that. He will come back, like Godzilla, he will, like ah fuckin' Assyrian, 'syrian there, inna purple an' gold, you know who I mean,
down
likeah wolf onna fold, his
cohort
 … that it, it's
his
cohort
'at's gleamin', in purple an' gold, uh-huh, you wait an' see. He will know, and he'll pay us
all
, back.'

“And he wooln't listen to me. None of them'd listen to me. Stupid dumb woman, I guess. What possible fuck could she know? Well, that's all right, I still knew. And I was still right, wasn't I, matter how long it took. And that's another thing 'at there is with you: no time. Time's got no meanin' for you, doesn' mean anythin', you. With you when you get an idea in your
head
, a year could be an
hour
, 'n
hour
could be a
year
, jus' dunn' matter at all, you. Because I knew what I knew about you, and I still know, what I know, an' I know to this very day: I knew you
never
forget. Fuckin' elephant, that's what you are: Harry never forgets. In your former life you're an elephant, or else in your next one, you'll be. One. So … anyway, anyway,” she shook her head, “I knew jus' what you'd do. An' I was … fuckin' right, too.” She stared at him, blinking; her eyes were filling up fast enough so that pretty soon it would be not only reasonable but necessary to cry.

“And by Jesus,” she said, toasting him with the glass, “give me credit for that, and give you credit, too. Harry, you've
done
it, just what I said, you came back and you've begun getting even. What do you call this, on your mental agenda? ‘Item One: Brennan, Robert, Sergeant Bob'? ‘Okay, that takes care of
that
motherfucker. Cross him offa the list there, that's
one
down. On to the next entry here.' How many more, 've you got to go, 'fore you get down to me?”

“Go to bed, Gayle,” he said, “like you've told me to do, nights when I've done what you've done tonight. Sleep's all that remains for that day, and nothing's very much fun.”

She stared at him. “ ‘Item X,' ” she said slowly, “ ‘Gayle Fairhurst Dell'Appa.' Come on, tell me: I know I'm on it. And now I would like to know. Well, sort of, I wanna—I
don't
really, wanna, but I know I
should
wanna, 'Cause I have got
work
to do here,
work
, aheadah me here, and I should get, get started on it. I should be beginnin', gettin' started again here, plannin' ah … rest of my life.” She lifted the glass and drained it.

“Oh, sorry,” Brennan said, finding Dell'Appa in Dennison's office when he opened the door and came in. “Rosie said that you wanted, see me, boss. Didn't just mean to barge in.”

“You're not, Bob,” Dennison said, “barging in here, I mean. I did want to see you, as soon's you came in. And Harry here's part of the meeting. Come in. Close the door. Have a seat.”

Brennan frowned. “Uh-huh,” he said, “I see.” He turned his back partially to them, so that the roll of middle-aged stoutness bulging his shirt at his waist, topping the walnut butt of the old Smith & Wesson snub-nosed .38 holstered on his belt above his right kidney, stood out in better relief, and closed the door very slowly and carefully, not making much noise at all. He turned again toward the desk and smiled, turning his head to include each of them individually, making little mincing steps to the vacant chair at the right corner of the front of Dennison's desk. He sat down gingerly, like a man with a sacroiliac problem he has learned from sharp pain had better not be trifled with, and folded his hands in his lap. He nodded. He smiled again, without showing any of his teeth, chipmunking his cheeks fatly for them, so that Dell'Appa for the first time noticed a general just-awakened puffiness about the man, as though not only the flesh around his eyes but his entire physique had commenced retaining fluids to excess. “Well, here I am, boss,” he said, “seeing you seeing me, seeing you, just like you had in mind there. I don't seem to have a scorecard-line-up with me, though, for today's game, you know? Didn't pick one up, my way in. So I'm not sure which one we're playing. Which game I mean, you're playing today.”

Dennison looked at Dell'Appa, smiling and raising his eyebrows. Dell'Appa imitated him, adding a shrug. Dennison looked back at Brennan. “You're good, Bob,” he said, “you are good. Can't take that away from you, can they.”

“Hope not, Lieutenant,” Brennan said, preserving the bulging smile. “Man's got to have something, can hang onto in this stormy world. I'd like to think I got that.”

“So then, Bob,” Dennison said, “you're fully recovered and back on the job, we can take it?”

Brennan relaxed his facial muscles and shook his head once. “Well, I don't know about all of that,” he said, “not sure of quite all of that. I'm pretty-well recovered, I guess, from the flu I mean—sure hope you guys don't get what I had. But as for that part about ‘back on the job,' I'm not really sure about that. The ‘back' part, that's right; I'm right here; you can see me. But the ‘job' part, that's harder,
that part I'm not sure of. I know when I left here last Friday, I think it was, days all sort of
blend
, you know, with each other, blend
together
, you run a high fever. Hard to say, then, later on, pin something down, when it happened there, which one was which. But I'm pretty sure it was Friday, and I know when I went home to be sick privately, I did leave a job at my desk.”

He shook his head and widened his eyes. “It isn't there now, though,” he said. “I came in this morning, thought it'd be there, right where it always's been. But son of a bitch, the fool thing wasn't there, and now I can't find it anyplace now; it's just nowhere to be found. I've looked high and low, under this, top of that, well, you both know how it gets, we all had it happen to us, most normal thing inna world. You're sittin' at home and you hear the phone ring, phone rings and you're reading, all right? You know what you do because we all do this, we all do the exact same thing. Once we're past forty, at least.”

He glanced at Dell'Appa. “Most of you kids wouldn't know about this yet. But you will, never fear, in good time.” He looked back at Dennison. “But you know this, you're one of us older folks: all it takes for it is, the phone rings—we forget what we did with our glasses. Say ‘Oh shit, who the hell can this be, callin' at this fuckin' hour? When I'm trynah relax, for Chrissake.' Get outta the chair, take your glasses off, go an' answer the thing. Which as often as not, and we all know this too, it's prolly a wrong fuckin' number.

“Some asshole didn't bother, look it up right, didn't watch what he's doin', he dialed it, so he calls you up instead, bothered you? Well, that's just too bad then, fuck you. He can even get mad when you tell him you won't, look up the right number for him. I had people do that, swear at me when I wouldn't, after they called me up by mistake, like it was my fault or something.” He made his voice a nasal falsetto: “ ‘But I'm callin' from
outta state
, Mister. I ain't got no phone-book for
there.
' ” He resumed his normal voice. “ ‘I don't give a shit—call up Information. That's what they're there for: find numbers.' I show no mercy the bastards. ‘No prisoners. Shoot the wounded': that's what I say.

“Back when I was Uniform, had the fuckin' whistle, I used to blow it at those guys. I'd get home from days-on, I got my days-off, keep that whistle right by the phone. And when I would get a wrong-number guy—and we got a shitload of wrong numbers then; our
number was almost the same as the priest-house, I think it was one digit off, from Saint Andrew's rectory there. And every Sunday, and Easter and Christmas—Christmas, Jesus, was
awful
, alla the people that go once a year, dunno know what time that anythin' is, call after call after call”—in the whining falsetto again—“ ‘What time's midnight Mass gonna be?' And I would say, oh very polite, naturally: ‘Just a moment, please,' and I'd grab that whistle. Give them a full blast, right in their ear. Although of course I dunno what it did, church attendance, the monthly collection. Prolly didn't help much, the assholes think their pure holy priests're hurtin' their poor ears like that: ‘Go to mass there? Think I'm nuts? No, I ain't goin' there; the priest at Saint Andrew's 'S crazy.' Priests had've known, they might not've liked it.

“But anyway, that's what you get, you get every time, you just had yourself one of those fuckers, and then you come back, you sit down in the chair, an' it never fails, the goddamned glasses are
gone
, they took off, your fuckin' glasses aren't there. One wrong number, you lose twenny minutes or so, lookin' for those goddamned glasses. You could've been enjoyin' yourself, hey, you even were, that's what you were doin', before that fuckin' phone rang. You were enjoyin' yourself, there havin' a nice, quiet-good time, and now what're you? All pissed off.

“Well, this'll surprise you, I know it will, because I know that it surprised me, I found out it happened, this mornin'. The exact same thing we've all had with our glasses, our car-keys, our left glove, your best pair-ah pliers; all of that stuff disappears, and we get sort of used to it there. It gets so it's almost like: we expect it, that stuff's gonna vanish on us. An' when it does, well,
yeah
, we're pissed off then too, it's not just losin' our glasses that does it, but we're certainly not really surprised. We forget where we put everything, get to our age, sometimes how old we even are. You get used to it after a while.

“But this morning, I am surprised. This's the first time I can ever remember, that I had this happen to me. Had a job disappear, just like that.” He snapped the thumb and middle of his left hand, making a crisp report. “It happened my father, a long time ago, he had it happen to him. But in his case it wasn't just his job that vanished, it was a whole fuckin' store, an entire
supermarket
, A and P there, he had disappear on him—they closed down the whole place he worked.
So it wasn't just him, that lost his job, it was everyone else that he'd worked with for years, they lost their jobs, too. People he'd known for thirty and forty, one of them forty-two years? Hey, this was no joke, when that happened. To some of them, all those hard-workin' people, lost their job, outta work, onna street. ‘Thanks for all your help, all you done for us here, the past forty-five years, but now get the fuck outta here, willya? We ain't got no more use for you.'

“Well, he didn't like it, my father, I mean, none of 'em liked it a hell of a lot, but at least they weren't baffled, like I am. They at least knew that it really'd happened and it wasn't nothin' that they did themselves, like they were careless or somethin'. Like you're always readin' about, seein' on TV or somethin', some woman puts her baby onna roofah car, while she gets out her keys to unlock it, and then she gets in, shuts the door, starts it up, she isn't thinkin' about it, why should she? It's all, it's all perfectly normal, isn't it? Did her shoppin', got that done, and now she is doin' what everyone does after that: what she's doin' is, she's drivin' home. And she don't even know, 'til some cop pulls her over, her kid's still onna roofah the car there. Well, that's what I feel like I did, like I must've done, there, or something, to have this experience I'm havin' here, havin' this happen to me.”