Authors: Bill Loehfelm
Fresh Kills (24 page)
“Um, okay.”
She straightened in her chair, sliding her mug to one side and folding her hands on the table. “You’re entitled to get through this however you choose. That’s what I keep telling myself. You had issues with Dad I never did. I know I pushed you the past couple of days, to walk through this with me.” She chuckled. “And then went out and did everything myself anyway.” She held her breath then blew it out in a long sigh. “It’s just, I worry that if I ask too much of you, I’ll end up with nothing at all.”
She stared at me, waiting for me to contradict her. I did want to tell her that her worries were unfounded, that I would do anything for her, that I could take whatever she dished out. But I didn’t believe it when I thought it and she’d never believe it if I said it. So I just lit a cigarette and said nothing at all. When had I gotten so soft? So fragile that my baby sister had to shield me from burying my father? I had come here on Sunday mostly for her, intent on protecting her, from Purvis, if from nothing else. Now I was the one getting the kid gloves. Suddenly, I felt silly for trying to pick the right coffin. I got the distinct impression it had been ordered already, and I’d been handed those brochures only so I wouldn’t feel left out. “What about the eulogy?” I asked.
“That’s up to you,” Julia said. “I’m sure you haven’t given it much thought. You’d only have a day and a half, really, to write it.”
“Well, Jimmy and I did talk about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, we were talking about things, you know, and I mentioned I might be doing it. If you still want me to.” I looked down at my hands. Two days ago, I’d nearly pitched a fit over delivering the eulogy, now here I was talking Julia into letting me do it. I looked up at her, impressed. She’d learned a few things, apparently, spending all that time with psychiatrists.
“Of course I do,” she said. “If you feel up for it. What did Jimmy say?”
I drew circles on the tabletop with my finger, not looking at her. “He thought it might be a good idea. And it is my responsibility as the oldest son. I thought I could talk to Molly about it.” I looked up at Julia. She was trying not to smile. “She did the same thing for her brother.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” she said. “Let’s do this: I’ll sketch something out, in case you don’t feel up to it. If that happens, I can say a little something, just to fill the void. It’s just to take some of the pressure off of you.” She stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. “But if you feel capable, it’s your show.”
“That sounds fair,” I said. “Where’re you headed?”
“Back to the funeral home,” she said. “I need to finalize the coffin. Joe wants me to firm up some flowers. Pick a room for the wake.”
I leaned back in my seat, crossed my arms. “You like it there.”
She blushed. “It’s quiet. Calm. Everyone there is just so . . . peaceful about everything.”
“That’s ’cause everybody’s dead,” I said.
“I meant the Scalias,” she said, laughing. “And all their helpers and stuff.”
“It’s weird,” I said. I stood. “But look, I’ll go with you this time.”
She looked at her watch. “It’s almost noon.”
“So?”
“Almost lunchtime.”
“So? I can wait,” I said. “We’ll eat after.”
She glared at me, hands on her hips. “Call Virginia. I’ve got our business under control, handle yours.” She dashed off, her admonition hanging in the air.
When the door closed behind her, I turned and looked at the phone. Now that someone had told me to do it, calling Virginia was going to be that much harder. When the phone rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. But it was Waters calling, not Virginia. My throat closed up when I heard his voice. My brain scrambled to figure out how he could’ve found out about my trip to the beach.
“Junior? You there?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Tell me you caught somebody.”
“Not yet,” he said, “but the trail’s warming up. Sunday night we had shit. Now we have a little more.”
“Enough?”
“I don’t need much,” Waters said. “I been doing this a long time. But that’s not what I called about.” He cleared his throat. “You and Julia finalized anything?”
“Wake tomorrow at seven-thirty,” I said. “Mass Thursday morning.”
“All right,” he said. I could tell he was writing it down. “I’ll see you there, one or the other, most likely.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Sit tight. Look after your sister,” he said. “We get a break, I’ll bring it to you.” He hung up.
I had trouble sharing Waters’s optimism. But it did feel good that Waters believed something was happening. I liked the idea of a net closing around someone, the image of some meathead bragging to his buddies, oblivious as the shadows crept closer to his door. More than likely, Waters had hunted killers longer than this guy had been killing. He’d certainly been doing it longer than I had.
The shooter had stepped out of that car and dumped another world of hurt on my sister. I thought of what he would’ve done to my mother, if she was still alive. He’d stepped into my life uninvited and fucked it up. All morning I’d nursed the feeling that going back to the life I had before the murder wasn’t an option. I could tell myself all I wanted that my father got what he had coming to him, for what he’d done to me, to my mother, my family. But the shooter didn’t know that. I was struck again, and sickened, by his utter disregard for my family. He knew we existed, in one form or another, and just didn’t care. Who was he, no matter what shape my family was in, to walk into it and blow it apart? Fucked up or not, our lives were ours, my father’s included, and he had no right to them.
I pressed my head against the freezer door, squeezing the phone in my fist. My short-lived humility before Waters’s investigative experience died a quick death. I didn’t want any cops in between me and that murdering son of a bitch. I was my parents’ oldest, only son. I was now the senior member of my family. I had responsibilities beyond the eulogy. Somebody other than the Sanders family was paying the price this time.
The fucker who’d blown up my family had something ugly coming to him and I wanted more than to see him get it. I wanted to deliver it myself. I wanted a look at him after he got it, after I told him where it came from. I started hoping Waters would call again soon. My mind raced through ways I could con or cajole info out of him, bully or maybe even beat it out of Purvis.
It didn’t look good. Maybe if the cops had been strangers. If they hadn’t already taken a gun off me, hadn’t been watching my temper burn out of control my whole life. I was smarter, and tougher, than Purvis. But he did wear that fucking badge, a complication for sure. I wasn’t stronger or smarter than Waters. I had nothing to bargain with. I couldn’t think of any bullshit or con that he’d fall for. Nothing coming from me, anyway. But what about Julia? They both had a soft spot for her. She could get something. I laughed at myself, disgusted. That’s it, pimp out your sister for info even you know you’re better off without. Like she would give it to me if she got it. Like it or not, I was on my own.
I tossed the phone on the table and took a hit of coffee. Hell of a way to start the day. A hangover, coffins, and cops. Fuck it. I appreciated Jimmy’s warnings from the night before but I had business to attend to; I had responsibilities. I needed to be in motion. There were people who needed to hear from me, to deal with me. I needed to take something, someone on, and better now that I was fired up. I dialed Virginia’s number.
It rang twice before someone answered. I couldn’t believe my stomach could hurt so bad so fast. “Silverdale and Green, attorneys-at-law,” a woman who wasn’t Virginia said. Attorneys? Had I called the right number?
“Virginia Ostertag, please,” I said. One moment, I was told, and I was switched over to Pachelbel’s Canon. Suddenly, I wasn’t so fired up anymore. It just wasn’t fair.
“This is Virginia,” she said.
“And where did you go to law school, Ms. Ostertag?” I asked.
“John?” She had a laugh in her voice, despite herself. She killed it quick. “I appreciate the return call.”
“You said it was important.”
“It is, but I know you’re dealing with a lot right now. How are you? It’s so awful, what happened. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m hanging in,” I said. “Julia’s doing okay, too. We’re dealing.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. Tell her I said hello.”
“I will,” I said. I had to stay focused. “So, you said you had something important to discuss. I’m all ears.”
“I can’t really talk right now,” she said. “I’ve got a lot of stuff here to wrap up, before . . . before we talk.”
No good, I thought. Deliver the ultimatum. We talk right now, or not at all. “Um, okay. So I should call you later? At home?” Nice. Nice reaction. Lay off the curve, I knew this. But there I was on my ass in the dirt.
“That’s no good,” she said. “My phone’s not working.”
“Sure it’s not,” I said. Here we go. I should just hang up right now. Don’t play it her way. “Why am I talking to you?” I asked, her or me, I didn’t know. “You wanted me to call, so I called, because you had something so fucking important to tell me that now you can’t tell me.” I paced the kitchen. “We quit this game, remember? You quit this game.”
“I’m not f-ing playing games,” she said, the professional sheen off her voice. “I’m in an office full of people.”
I could picture her glancing around the office. Good. At least I was getting a rise out of her, evening the count. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore, Virginia. Tell me what you want.”
“I’m not trying to do anything to you,” she said, whispering now. “I’m trying to extend you some courtesy, show you some respect. What I have to tell you is important, more than the kind of thing you discuss over the phone at work.”
There she was throwing the Uncle Charlie again. I saw the hook, but I flailed at it anyway. She just made me so tired and impatient so fast. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m about to duck out to lunch,” she said. “Can you meet me? How about the Four Corners, over by the Cargo? It’s close to the office.”
Defend the strike zone, I thought. Foul her off. “Can’t do it. I have plans.” She paused, wondering, I knew, what I could have planned that was more important than her big fucking news. “How about Club Forest, on Clove. It’s halfway between you and me.”
“What about the park?” she said. “Clove Lakes?”
Okay. She wanted to stay out of a bar. Fair enough. Booze in both of us might complicate things. “The park it is, then,” I said. “By the bridge. Five? Six?”
“Three,” she said. “I’m leaving early today. Lots of errands.”
“Three works. See you there,” I said, but she had already hung up.
I plopped down on the bench, drummed my fingers on the table. I got up from the table, walked over to the sink. I leaned over it, looking out the window into the backyard, grinding my teeth. Standing around, brooding about her, accomplished nothing. I badly needed something to do. Booze was out. Virginia expected me to show up a drunken wreck. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But I needed a distraction. I picked up the phone and called work. Brian answered.
“Yo, Bri, it’s John.”
“Hey, man,” he said. “How’re you doing? We’ve been waiting to hear from you.”
“I’m hanging in,” I said. “I’ll be back by the weekend.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Brian said. “Take as much time as you need. You’re dealing with family. This is only a bar.”
“I appreciate that. I got a quick question. Theo been in at all?”
There was a long pause. “I ain’t exactly a role model,” Brian said, “but you really think pills are what you need right now?”
“It’s not about that,” I said. “I’ve just got a question for him.” It was true Theo sold pills. And it was true that I often bought them from him. But Theo also sold guns. “Have you seen him?”
“Not lately,” Brian said.
“He get picked up again?”
“If he has,” Brian said, “I haven’t heard about it. You’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t worry about it. You see him,” I said, “tell him I’m looking for him. Give him this number. It’s important. Keep me on the schedule. I’ll be in on Friday.”
Brian started in again with words of caution. I hung up on him and took the car down to the deli.
Vito glanced over at me when I walked in then dropped his eyes to the cash register. Fluorescent lights flickering overhead, I walked the aisles checking for other customers. There were only two, both in the back at the deli. Vito’s father, Big Sal Costanza, sliced pastrami behind the counter, a bloodstained apron over his belly, an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth. Johnny Mathis played on a radio beside him. Big Sal sang along. Squatting, Angela stocked Cokes into the coolers. If she recognized me, she didn’t give it away. The Costanzas: one not so big but happy familyworking away the last few hours of a quiet Tuesday morning. Me? I felt like a bomb.
I poured steaming hot coffee into a foam cup. As I sugared and stirred it, I watched Vito’s head turn back and forth between the back of the store and the front door, begging with his eyes for a customer. I walked over to the counter.
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