Like Grownups Do (24 page)

”I’m off duty, buddy. I gotta call it a night, sorry.”

“Please, I’ll make it worth your while,” Babe yelled at the glass.

“Hold on.” He reached for his wallet and… it wasn’t there.

He frantically tried every pocket— twice.

“Whaddya got, buddy? No money? I gotta be up in a few hours. I got honey-dos out the ass, all right? You got money or not?”

Babe finally remembered the stash he had made in his coat months ago inside the little zippered pocket in the lining. Two twenty dollar bills were folded as small as he could get them.

“I got it. I got it. Forty bucks to Jamaica Plain, okay? Deal?”

“Show me the money,” the cabbie laughed. He watched as Babe stood in the rain fighting to get the money out of the tiny zippered pocket and then fumbled to get it unfolded.

When the driver was satisfied he had a payday he opened the door, and sped off with his biggest tip of the day.

Babe crawled out of the taxi and it sped away. He stood in place, his legs quivering and exhausted. His brain begged him to collapse where he stood, but then he thought of being poked awake in the bright morning sun by the blunt end of a ruler.

The rulers were held by the women of the Homeowners Association, all of them wearing nuns outfits and making “Harumph!” sounds and telling him what a disappointment he was to the neighborhood.

He fumbled the front door unlocked. Mr. Pendleton did not greeting him so Babe assumed that the pup was asleep. Babe crept as quietly as he could to the sun room and reached for the light switch.

He heard Mr. Pendleton begin to whimper. The room filled with light.

A round table, the one that held the largest of the three houseplants in the room, was overturned. The clay flower pot had exploded into fifty pieces and dirt was spread over a fifteen foot ellipse; it was not a catastrophe, or a tragedy, or the end of the world.

But Babe fell to his knees, anyway.

He had lunch at his desk that day, as he had for two weeks. Sometimes he didn’t even open the sack. Rarely did he finish what he had brought. And that day he had a bad feeling that wouldn’t leave him alone.

He was unable to concentrate. He had only one appointment in the afternoon. He asked Tom to cover for him and he left the office at one thirty. He bought a bouquet of summer flowers on his way home.

“Jill! I took off early and I brought you something,” he announced through the entryway.

He assumed that Jill was in the back yard. He continued toward the back door and through the sun room…

A flower pot lay broken in the middle of the floor; dirt was splayed in an ellipse. One of Jill’s gloves and her silly old gardening hat lay on the table. Jill lay on the day bed, wearing one glove. She had lost a shoe.

She was gone.

Babe sat on the floor in front of her for…he had no idea how long. He stroked her hair and he stroked her face. Her face was peaceful.

By every appearance, she had done what she could to make sure that this was as easy on Babe as she could make it—because that was who Jill was.

“Jack Englemann, here. Oh, Babe, I didn’t notice it was your—”

“Dad?” Babe croaked.

“Babe? Is every—”

“Dad? Can you…come?”

“Ten minutes, Babe. Ten minutes.”

Babe saw Mr. Pendleton creep past him out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s okay, boy. Come here,” Babe whispered.

Mr. Pendleton left the room. Babe sat in the floor, trying to make some sense of everything while at the same time trying to think of nothing at all.

Mr. Pendleton returned to the room, gingerly carrying one of Babe’s new slippers in his mouth. He dropped the slipper beside Babe’s leg and lay his head on top of it, looking up at Babe with sympathetic eyes. Babe pulled Mr. Pendleton into his lap and buried his face into the puppy’s back.

A limb in need of trimming tapped against the glass at the corner of the room, but the tapping that Babe heard was strangely rhythmic. And it was getting louder. Four taps. Then, four more. Then the doorbell.

Three fifteen in the morning—on the night from hell? Why am I not surprised? Oh, please, oh please, oh please go the fuck away, whoever you are.

Babe sat in the middle of the sun room floor, rocking back and forth while he held onto Mr. Pendleton.

The doorbell rang again, and when Babe loosened his grip, Mr. Pendleton ran to the front door and barked. Babe walked silently to a living room window and slowly pulled back a corner of a curtain.

He groaned out loud.

Nooooo. No fucking way. I’m in a trance and I’m inside of a Hitchcock movie.

I’m going to wake up and I’ll be sitting in a wheelchair in front of a picture window at Belleview. I’ll try to tell them that it’s all a mistake but they’ll never believe me.

“Good morning, Mr. Babelton. So, you’re having one of your good days. Will we need to get your jacket without sleeves or do you think that you can behave yourself?”

The doorbell rang again. And again.

He knows I’m in here. I don’t know how, but he knows.

Babe opened the door.

Gabriel Athas had backed up beyond the porch and was looking up at the windows.

“I thought you were probably at home,” he said.

“Did you want to collect for the drink? Four fifty, right? Will you take a check?” Babe said.

“Of course not,” Gabriel said, pulling Babe’s wallet from his coat pocket.

“I did not want you to spend the rest of the night canceling credit cards.”

“Oh,
wow
. That’s…where did you find it?” Babe asked

“On the sidewalk, about three blocks from Momma’s,” Gabriel said.

“But you left before I did…”

“I left, yes. But I did not go home. I probably walked fifteen miles yesterday. I told you that I did not want to be inside.”

“Well, yes you did. Along with a lot of other weird shit,” Babe said.

He looked around Gabriel, up and down the street.

“Did you walk here?”

“I was in the process, but a very nice policeman stopped and asked me if I need a ride. He dropped me here. In fact, he said he thought he had dropped someone here before,” Gabriel said.

“Hey, who is this fellow?”

Gabriel bent down on one knee as Mr. Pendleton ran between Babe’s legs. Babe tried to catch him because he had no idea how Mr. Pendleton reacted to strangers. Mr. Pendleton jumped up on Gabriel’s knee and began licking him in the face. Gabriel laughed and spoke baby-talk to him, vigorously ruffling Mr. Pendleton’s fur and kissing him back.

“Mr. Pendleton, please allow Mr. Athas to breathe.”

“Mr.
Pendleton?
No
way. ‘
What do you think the Ram’s chances are this year, Joe? I think we’re going to the Super Bowl, and I think we’re gonna win.’”

Mr. Pendleton rolled over on his back and was receiving a brisk tummy rub.

“You know Heaven Can Wait,” Babe whispered.

Gabriel stood, giving Mr. Pendleton a final scratch behind the ears.

“One of my favorites. That’s where you got the name, right? I hope so, anyway,” Gabriel said.

“Yeah,” Babe said.

“Well, I won’t keep you, Mr. Babelton. Good night.”

Gabriel turned to leave.

“Mr. Athas. It’s three in the morning. Where do you live?” Babe asked.

“Uptown. But, as I mentioned earlier, I have been in a rather extreme environment for probably longer than was healthy and my mind seems to feel the need to…reset. I’ve always found there to be no better mental and emotional therapy than walking.”

“It’s not safe this time of night, Mr. Athas. I would hate for something to happen to you after going to the trouble of returning my wallet,” Babe said. Gabriel and Mr. Pendleton had resumed their love fest.

“He’s jacked up now. We used to walk every night before it got too cold.”

Babe looked up and inspected the sky.

“Looks like the rain is over. I’m going to take him for a little walk before we turn in. You’re welcome to come along if you like. You can crash here until the busses start running, or as long as you want,” Babe said.

Gabriel stood.

“Okay, Babe.”

Babe raised his eyebrows.

“So, it’s ‘Babe’ now?”

Gabriel grinned and pressed his face to the bridge of Mr. Pendleton’s nose. He looked up at Babe and winked.

“Well, Brother, it looks like I have been adopted.”

Twenty-Five

R
ussell Eckhart got into his car in the Bureau parking garage, started the engine and glanced into the rear view mirror. The black widow’s peak and black sunglasses of Dante Vlada stared back at him, nearly stopping his heart. Eckhart jumped and swore. Vlada threw his head back and bellowed a laugh that was void of humor.

“That never gets old,” Vlada said.

“Yeah. Funny. Ha-ha,” Eckhart said.

Vlada reached toward Eckhart, a move that made Eckhart flinch, but Vlada merely patted him on the shoulder twice.

“It seems that I underestimated your instincts, Russell. I am man enough to admit when I have made a mistake.”

“What mistake?” Eckhart said.

“Special Agent Englemann; he continues to overachieve despite his personal hardships. Unfortunately, this presents us with a threat that we…that I, did not foresee,” Vlada said.

“What are you talking about?” Eckhart asked.

“One of his analysts has alerted him to the presence of a back door program— not an active one, merely fragments of an access from some time ago. Your Mr. Englemann has established a team of three men who are monitoring the internal system as we speak. There is nothing else for them to find; however, I did not foresee this level of…attention. I now believe that a change is necessitated. I need for you to prepare to step into position,” Vlada said.

“Are you talking about…you’re going to
kill
him?” Eckhart said.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Was this not the scenario you have dreamed of, Mr. Eckhart? And yet you act like a frightened child. If you are not capable of presenting the FBI with a worthy successor to the position of Special Agent in Charge, your services may soon hold little value for us.”

”That’s bullshit. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me,” Eckhart growled.

“A dog can learn to obey commands, Mr. Eckhart. What we are in need of now, is a convincing actor; a skilled, politically savvy, self-serving bureaucrat—the role you were born to play, Russell. I sincerely hope that you are able to rise to the occasion. For you see, we will have but one opportunity.”

Eckhart waited until he was sure Vlada was gone. He gripped his steering wheel; breathing deeply and fighting to maintain control of his body. He bolted from the car and almost made it to the corner of the parking garage before he threw up. He looked around to make certain he was still alone, and then returned to his car.

Russell Eckhart was lost.

He did not mourn the loss of Graham Stemple, but the man’s death had affected him more than he could have ever imagined.

The fuel on which Russell Eckhart had run for most of his life was negative emotion: Bitterness, resentment, anger, inferiority, vengeance, and especially fear—were the forces that drove him from waking to sleep.

Now, the sun of his solar system of misery, the personification of every ounce of the evil that controlled him, was dead.

Russell was dizzy and terrified by this void, unable to recognize it for what it was. The loss of his hatred’s momentum left him flailing and unsure of everything.

He found himself desperately trying to fall back into hatred toward his father but he hadn’t seen the man in decades, and his father was dying a hollow death in prison. He tried, but failed, to conjure a hatred for his mother. He could not get past the reality that she was as much a victim as he was.

Russell Eckhart was faced with a freedom that he could not enjoy, a life of hate that he was now forced to lead without the energy that had created it. In league with Dante Vlada, his future held only madness and death.

Russell leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

He pictured the seven year old boy; fresh crew-cut, red and white striped polo shirt with the collar turned up. Brand-new Sears Roebuck jeans with the cuffs rolled up, on top of white canvas Keds high-tops—flying down the street on his bright red stingray bike with the banana seat and sissy bar; Not a care in the world and his whole life in front of him.