The Town: A Novel (48 page)

“What?” His face was close enough to spit at. “None.”

“Seven. You own seven vehicles. You didn’t pay for any of them, but they’re all registered in your name. Doug MacRay and your brother did that, to shield their assets. Ever seen Doug’s Corvette, his green machine? You like that ride? That car is yours, Krista. Legally. He had you sign some papers for him once, go to the registry, right? Something happens to Doug—that car cannot be attached to any penalties he might have to pay, any restitution for, oh, let’s just say, bank robbing. And I bet you don’t even know where he garages it.”

Say nothing. Show nothing.

“And here you are messengering dust for scratch money.
Scratch
money. For your daughter, right? Of course. But living like this? Do you have
any
idea how much money they pulled down on that movie theater thing? Every cent of it untraceable. Immediately spendable.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Talking about, sure. You’re loyal, of course you’re loyal. It’s family. But listen. They are all going down. It’s going to happen, and soon—that’s a fact. That’s what I’m here to tell you. Now you seem like a practical girl, resourceful. You must have considered this day would come. They go down—what happens to you? You don’t want to be the one left behind. The cars are in your name—that’s good and fine, that’s safe. But hold on. Your house. Now I happen to know that your brother’s name is on it too, you share it. And we will take that away, his half of your house. And if you don’t get practical and resourceful with me here, the fact is that you could be going up for aiding and abetting—and this is above and beyond any drug charges—in which case we take
everything,
and you will move into a new home, called MCI Framingham. Your little girl?” Frawley shook his head. “But that’s worst-case scenario. That’s
if
. And I don’t even like to talk about
if
. Not when there’s so many things actually going in your favor. Primarily, this house of yours that we need to save. You know how much a stand-alone on Pearl Street is worth in today’s market? A ready-to-renovate triple-decker in Charlestown? You’re sitting on a small fortune—all legit—and yet, here you are, waiting for a call to deal dust, flirting with strangers for drinks. The sale of that house would set you and your daughter up pretty good. But for that, we need a working arrangement, you and I. I need a good reason to protect your
ass
et.”

Only the stink remains, once the water is gone. Musty emptiness. “Bullshit, trying to scare me. I want a lawyer.”

“Good, do that. Get one. Because all this is about protecting yourself. No—not even yourself. Your daughter. Think, Krista.”

“You leave her out.”

“I can’t, and neither can you. They’ve been shafting you for years. Keeping you on this leash—and why? To hold you down. Keep you dependent, like a junkie for their goodwill. Keep you close. The right thing would have been to pay you generously for all the secrets you so faithfully keep.” He ducked low to see up into her eyes. “And look, your brother? Hey. He’s not even the one I’m really after.”

“No?”

He picked up on the thing in her eyes. He watched her and absorbed it. “Unless, that is, you want me to be.”

Duggy. He was after Duggy.

“This MacRay,” the FBI man went on. “How long you put up with him?”

Hearing his name out of the G’s mouth was like hearing that Duggy was dead, and her heart fell.

“The hoops he made you jump through? And if I heard about it, you know everybody in Town knows.”

Elbow on the bar, she grabbed a handful of her own hair, twisting it.

“This sad song,” he said, thumbing back at the jukebox. “You gonna listen to this over and over again, the rest of your life?”

Go right home and tell Duggy about this guy. Straight to his door. He would be so grateful.

“One more question. You were with him how long?”

Krista’s nose was almost touching the bar. “All my life.”

“Let me ask you this. In all those years you were together—how many diamond necklaces he buy you from Tiffany?”

All the water out of the air now, the dry world dripping loud. “What are you talking about, diamond necklaces?”

The FBI man said, “Answer my question, then I’ll answer yours.”

June 1996

Little Partner,

What a shock you just got. Finding this with my riteing and the Walpole return adress in your mailbox. Wish I could of seen your face. Whats the old crook up to now? Im not riteing to ask you anything. You no thats not my style. I never ask for anything from anyone in my life. What I wanted I took and what I needed done I did myself. I no your the same Duggy.

I do’nt rite much and I no I never rote you before. Hard to get you out here tho and after last time I felt like we were’nt done. Whenever it comes time to see you theres so much to say that it never all gets said. So much saved up in my mind. Then your gone and I got another year to puzzle you over.

When I get out theres no way I can make up for the things I owe you. Your a man you understand this. Misstakes take 2x as long to fix as they do to make. Thats why you never look back. OK you look back but never go back Duggy. You keep going on.

About your mothers house. I met your mother at the Monumint in November of 63. Kennedy had just died—shot in the head—and the town was in morning and Coffy and me and the rest of us were sick of moping so we went out to find trouble. We were kicking around the steps there and this little gide comes out—this little tour gide with copper red hair—she was younger but she bitched us out like somebodys mother. A little pint glass with a black band on her school uniform giving us all kinds of shit till she started crying her eyes out for Kennedy. We had our fun but next day I came back alone. I listened to her school
speech to the torists and she saw me. Her name tag was Pam. I came back 6 days in a row before I got a smile. I do’nt no what she saw in me. I did’nt no what I wanted exept to take her out. 1 nite she snuck away from her frends and came bowling.

We had to get marryed Duggy. Her parents new I was Bottom Of The Hill. A Slope Kid and they never liked me but they never gave up on her ether. They gave us the downpayment for the house on Sackville when you came along. But I always payed the moregage. The house was mine.

What I promised her on that day we bowled was that Id never make her cry again and I broke that promise a thousand times. She did things because she was angry at me. I was away a lot and she left you at her mothers to much. The $$ I gave her for food she took down to the corner. I scared off all her hippy friends, but from then on she just did these things alone.

I am not telling you this because I am a prick. I am telling you this because I am not a prick.

She did’nt do it on purpose. The thing of the time in the 60s was to push bowndrys and walk on the moon and free your mind. Her mind just got to free. You were asleep in front of the tv when I came home and found her in the bathroom and the needle. I got you to the naybors 1st thing. When you woke up in the morning and started asking for her what coud I say? What do you tell a 6 year old kid? Your mother went away. Shes gone. I do’nt think shes coming back.

You wanted to go out looking for her so we looked. Her parents had a private funeral and insted I took you out walking the nayborhood looking for her until you cried so hard you coud’nt walk. You saw a tv show about a missing dog and wanted to put up posters on telephone polls so we put up posters. You wanted the light on over the front door for her so I change that bulb every month. You woud’nt sleep if you coud’nt see the light from your bed.

I said she went away and so who else in Town would say other wise. My truth was truer than truth. But what I did’nt plan for was that she would become this bigger than life thing and I would go from Daddy to no
one. A lot of you you made yourself. I give you that. I always see her in you. But I did what I could. I teached you the things I new.

Bottom line is I will be out soon. Then it will be the 2 of us again. You had trouble with Gem but patch it up. Loyalty is what we need now. You cant buy that.

Maybe you always new about her or gessed or never wanted to ask. If you do’nt want to talk about this again I would not mind.

This is the longest letter Ive ever ritten.

By the way. Old Uncle G came to see me. But I did’nt see him.

Do’nt no how to end this Duggy. Do’nt even no if Ill mail it.

Mac.

PS. Your mother never came back, Duggy. I am.

D
OUG ROLLED DOWN
A lane of tidy homes, checking addresses, coming up on a line of parked cars and an inflatable castle in a driveway. The bladder castle jerked and jiggled like a stomach full of screaming, indigestible kids. Doug slowed at the silver mailbox festooned with birthday balloons. The house number matched.

He pulled over at the end of the row of cars and stood out of the Caprice. The house was a gray Cape, kids chasing each other around the front yard with squirt guns, parents chatting in the driveway. Doug was about to get back in his car when he saw Frank G. step away from a small group near the castle’s generator and wave him up. Frank wore a collared, short-sleeved shirt, long shorts, and Converse flats, walking down the driveway to meet him. “You found it.”

Doug pulled off his shades, looking at the party. “Frank, man—you should have told me.”

“You said you needed a few minutes, right? C’mon.”

Frank walked him past the screaming castle toward an open garage full of chairs and folding tables of food. Twin girls in matching pink eyeglasses sat hip to hip on the front lawn, eating melting blocks of ice cream cake, and three plastic paratroopers came swaying down to earth out of a bedroom window, followed by a balsa wood airplane in a tailspin. Then a kid with his arm in a blue cast came racing past, nailing them each in the gut with water out of a tiny green pistol, taunting, “Ha-ha, Uncle Frank!”

Frank pulled a pastel pink Saturday night special out of his pocket and turned on the kid, blasting him, the kid running off squealing in a war-movie zigzag as Frank’s piece ran dry. “Inside,” he said. “Gotta reload.”

He did so at the sink, the kitchen bustling with women wrapping to-go plates of ziti and lasagna and cold cuts. Frank led Doug past two dads talking business in the hallway, past a cooing woman changing a sleepy baby on the dining room floor, past the Sox game in the family room. A ruckus up on the second floor made Frank reverse direction, taking Doug to a side door, down wooden steps into a cool basement.

Half of it was finished, the paneled walls papered with Michael Jordan, Ray Bourque, and Mo Vaughn posters. There were Koosh balls everywhere, old U-Haul boxes overflowing with sporting equipment, and an elaborate Matchbox racetrack setup in the back. In the center of the room stood an air hockey table under a billiards lamp.

“So what’s doing?” said Frank.

Doug shrugged. The birthday party had thrown him, he didn’t know where to start. “How
you
doing?”

“Me?” Frank walked around to the other end of the table rink. “Much better. You caught me at a bad moment last time. I let that little old guy get to me, I don’t know why. He doesn’t stand for everybody. I know he doesn’t stand for me.”

“Good. Good to hear.” Doug prowled back and forth, uncomfortable, as though asking for money.

Frank switched on the game table, the jets pushing air through the perforated playing surface. “I’m back at meetings, been to a few.” The puck stirred, a red plastic disk drifting to the side as though by an invisible hand. Frank flicked it back to the opposite boards—just diddling, not an invitation to play. “What about you?”

Doug ran his hand briskly through his chopped hair. “Meetings? Nah. Not since before we talked.”

A herd of elephants went trampling overhead. “Big mistake,” said Frank. “You got crisis written all over your face, I can see it. Beeping me was the right thing to do. Listen to me now. She’s not worth it.”

“Who? Not worth what?”