(2012) Blood on Blood (7 page)

I light another Marlboro and take a nip out of my silver flask. Not much, though. I can’t afford to go stumbling ass in there all fucked up. Just a little to even me out, is all.

I got things to do after this. Serious things. I had a talk with Patrik on the way up here. We spoke real vague-like and sorta pidgin English because Patrik just never knows who’s listenin’ to him these days. He’s a big fish now and the Feds are all eyes and ears.

I was in all the way, though, and he knew it, that was the main thing. I’m going back to see him at Ambrozy’s tomorrow night. The sacrifice boy is already in town and everybody knows it. The good guys, and the bad guys. I wonder if the dumbass is even worried, or if he’s too busy enjoying all the celebrity and attention.

Anyway, enough of that shit for now. It is family reunion time. Dad, Mick and Mom. My plan is to get in and get the hell out. Quickly. Bing, bang, boom.

I follow the signs and pull off the main road onto a long winding lane. I can see it on a small rise. Columbia Correctional Institution. It wasn’t one of the old classic prisons built out of huge concrete chunks and slabs, with walls about twenty feet high. The ones that look like some sort of old castle.

No, Colombia is one of those flat, ugly fuckers with slits for windows and plain dull red brick. Two parallel rows of high fences and concertina wire everywhere. Towers in the corners and the guards in them are very visible. The place has- no style, no character.

But it has some creds though. It was a max prison, after all, and some bad fuckers are in there. I guess they all do but Columbia had a little history of notoriety. Jeffrey Dahmer, the faggot cannibal, had been housed here, for one. Well, for an hour or two, anyway. That particular crazy fuck only lasted about a year before another inmate caved his head in with a pipe.

I had left my gun at home so when I check-in through the sally port, I’m clean as a whistle. It takes forever but I’m used to this bullshit so I just let the dumb shit guards do their thing.

“You say that Dr. Bradford has expedited a special pass to see Garnett Sawyer, inmate 459024, on a medical emergency visitation?” The guard frowns and raises his eyebrows. He was young and efficient, buttoned down. Most likely smarter than the average screw. He was also as green as the grass at Wrigley Field.

I lean in closer and look through the thick wire mesh at him. I squinted at his name plate.

“Officer Hammel? Or wait, Hammet? Sorry, I’m blind as a bat these days.”

“Neither. It’s Officer Hammer. HammER.”

“Right, right, sorry about that. So, Officer Hammet, my dad is over in the infirmary and he’s dying. I really need to see him as fast as I can. I’ll call the doctor real quick and let you talk to him. He’s said to do that if there was a delay or problems came up. He said the warden would put me through right away.” I smile at him just polite as hell and start to punch in Johnny Kaznicki’s number at the car lot, just for show.

“I’m just the sally port officer Mr. Sawyer. You’re good to go here, but you still have to pass through the registration process.” He gives me back my driver’s license, which was suspended, and had me sign the docket. Then he points me down a long ass hallway. “Registration area is down there to your right. Follow the signs.”

He goes back to his computer screen quickly, with way too much concentration. Like he’s about ready to land the space shuttle or something. Fuckhead.

“Oh, okay. Thanks, Officer Hummer.” I wave and nod to him and start down the hall. “Appreciate it.”

“Dad?”

He’s laying flat on his back with only a thin greasy pillow under his head. The sheet is pulled up to his shoulders. His eyes are half opened and heavy lidded. Nothing. He doesn’t move or speak. Goddamn it, he looks like shit. He’s shrunk down to nothin’. His skin has no color. For a second, I think I’m too late.

I stand right where I am and don’t move. Jesus, Dad, the game really is over isn’t it? My eyes start swimming a little, not much and I push that shit to the side real quick. Not gonna be any sniffling going on here.

I snap a quick look at the male nurse. “You gonna help me out here, sport, or just watch this? What the fuck do I do here?”

The idiot just looks at me and blinks.

“Am I too late, or is he okay?” I ask him.

“No, he’s not okay. He just had another visitor and he’s fading pretty fast now. Inmate Sawyer is just wore out. Anything he does at all, takes effort. He is heavily medicated but I think he’s conscious. So are you too late? No, but he’s also not
okay
.”

I walk to him and get close.

“Look smartass, you’re gonna get a pass this time but don’t get all pissy with me again. Now get the hell out, faggot. Pull the fuckin’ curtain shut after you too.”

I glare at him until he looks away and then I grab a plastic chair and carry it over to the side of the bed. The male nurse just stands there, though.

“Did I stutter or what? Get out, Nancy.”

He gives me a pained look. “I didn’t mean anything bad. I’ll be around if you need something.”

“That’s super. Out, now.”

Someone a couple beds down yells for his momma. The voice sounds delirious, batshit crazy. There is a loud moan that lasts way too long.

“I’m surrounded by assholes, Jerz.”

I look down at him and his blank sunken eyes are staring at me. A small grin, about all you ever got out of him even in the best of times, curls at the corners of his mouth.

“Dad.”

“Hey, boy.”

“Jesus, Dad. I, uh, I came as soon as I heard.”

“Wha…whatcha got cookin’ since you got out? Got anything good in the pipeline?”

He seizes up a little right after he says it, gritting his teeth so bad I can hear them grind. His facial skin is tight and thin. I can almost see his jaw muscles.

“Don’t talk too much, ‘kay, Dad?”

The loud moaning keeps up. Somebody else joins the chorus, jabbering away down on the other end of the big open room.

“I’m gonna get you in a room. This is bullshit.”

“Ain’t worth it, boy.” His eyes are still squeezed shut but his face relaxes a little. “No time for that.”

He opens his eyes and takes my forearm. His grip is feeble, like an old woman’s. He’s staring at me hard and opens his mouth to speak but can’t get it out. He tries to squeeze my arm harder.

“Dad, look. Just rest. I’m here and I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

“You were always my boy, my best blood, my best hope,” he rasps. “At least you tried, huh? Don’t take no shit, Jerz. Don’t be so shittin’ soft.” He tries to swallow but can’t seem to do it. “Fuck’em. Fuck’em all. It’s you against everybody. Don’t trust nobody.” The last only comes out as a whisper and he points at the cup of water on the bed table.

I hold it to his lips and half of it dribbles down his chin as he tries to sip some.

“Dad, listen, I got a lot of things going on right now. Got some money already and more coming in. Nobody fucks with me, Dad. Believe that.”

“Pussy….,” he whispers. “Sometimes you’re just a little pussy. Be hard all the time.” He tries squeezing my arm again and I barely feel it. I look at him and understand. I remember all the times he’s told me that. Over and over again. For years. Tryin’ to make me tough. Get me ready for the world he knew - and the one I would know.

Out of nowhere, twenty or so years ago comes flashing back into my head. I’m watching the whole thing like it’s a video or something. It’s hotter than hell and he’s sweatin’ like a prizefighter. His wife beater tee shirt is stuck to him and he slams his beer can down on the counter. He was always a big guy and back then he was built too. Lean, hard and ready to rock and roll. Then you add meaner than a fuckin’ rattlesnake on top of all that and you got something to worry about.

We’re at the old house and he’s pushing me all over the kitchen. It’s late and he’s all drunked up. Shoving and bouncing me around the room. Jabbing me in the chest and cuffing me like a grizzly bear who doesn’t want to kill right away. I’m twelve, maybe. He grabs a heavy metal ladle out of the sink and smacks me a good one with it.

“Hit me, you little fuckin’ girl. You pussy. Gonna toughen your candy ass up a little. I’ll show you how to be a man, you little bastard.” He corners me and I get whapped again, right on the ear. “Don’t let me fuck with you like that. Aw, you gonna cry on me now? I said HIT ME!”

His long ago yell echoes in my head and I blink. Blink again and then I’m back in this pale green dying room. It smells like death in here no matter how much they spray. Like cheap perfume on a slut.

He whispers something I don’t understand.

I lean in closer and he’s got a tear coming down his bony cheek. He smacks his lips twice and tries again.

I look at the tile floor quickly and push everything down, down and away.

“I tried with you.” His voice is wavering.

“Dad you did fine, what are you talking ‘bout?”

“Not your fault, you just don’t have it in you.”

“Dad, you’re wrong about that.”

“You’re still my boy, though.”

“Yeah, well okay, I know, I know. You’re always my dad and there ain’t nothing changin’ that, either.”

“Mick.” He says and frowns, or tries to.

“No, Dad, it’s me. It’s Jerz and I’m here for you.”

His head goes sideways on me, but his eyes are still open.

“Your mother.” He’s barely getting the words out.

“You mean…is she here?” I’m thinking this could be it for him.

“I need to tell him something.”

I don’t know where the fuck Mick is, if he’ll get here in time or even end up coming at all. Mom will come, though. I’m sure of that. Aunt Alina would bring her.

He turns his head back to me.

“Mom’s here. I’ll get her, okay?”

He just looks at me but then his eyes seem to open up a little better.

“Mick. Here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I saw him, too,” I lie. “I’ll find them both and be right back, okay?” I get up and lean over. “Okay, Dad? Be back.”

He nods at me and his eyes still look okay for now.

I part the curtains and slide out. The twink nurse is at a desk in the corner and I walk straight to him.

“Is there a waiting room? Coffee shop or an area where visitors go to just sit it out for someone terminal?”

“A
coffee shop
?” The fucker sighs and smiles at me all sarcastic-like.

“You don’t learn quick, do you?” I snarl at him. “I swear to God, when this over, I’ll be back for you. Now just point me - don’t say another word or I’ll put that ball point pen in your ear.”

His eyes got big on that and he points me down a short, bright hallway.  I can see just the corner of a small sitting area. I don’t waste any more time with this shithead because I don’t know how much longer I have here.

When I come around the corner there are three people sitting there, two of them women but none of them Mom. There is another guy leaning on the wall over by the corner window. His back is to me but it isn’t Mick. Wrong build. I take a few more steps in and I’m sure of it. Nope, not him. I glance quickly around the room again but then something makes me come back to the guy at the window.

I get closer still.

“Hey, Hero.”

“Hey, Punk.”

Two nicknames from another lifetime.

The guy who used to be my brother didn’t turn around but he was looking at me in the reflection of the window. Probably been watching me the whole time, like the cop he was.

I meet his eyes but there are no smiles.

TEN

Mick

He hadn’t changed much. Still big. More cut than last time I saw him, but prison will do that. Still had that same expression in his eyes as when we were kids. A combination of smart ass and hard ass. It used to hide a boy who was just as scared as the rest of us at what the world held. Now it looked like there was nothing left to hide in those eyes but how much he really hated everything the world held.

Like I should talk, though.

“Surprised you came,” he grunted at my reflection in the window.

“He’s my old man, too.”

“Hard to say,” Jerzy said.

I thought for a second he was going to say more, something derogatory about my mother or something, but he didn’t. He just stared at my reflection.

“Almost didn’t recognize your skinny ass. You used to be more muscled up.”

I shrugged and stood up. “I run a lot these days.”

“Yeah? That figures.”

He wanted me to ask why it figures, I could tell. Then he could jack me around about how it was something I could do alone or how running was for pussies and cowards or whatever. But I didn’t bite. What was the point? I had this few hours here and another few at the funeral, and then we were quits again.

“You see him yet?” I asked.

His mouth tightened and he glanced away. “Yeah.”

“Not quite the Gar Sawyer of old, is he?”

His eyes snapped back to mine. “Hey, fuck you, all right? He was more man than ten of you.”

I raised my hands in a peaceful gesture. “Relax. I’m just saying that cancer is brutal. That’s all.”

He eyed me for another moment, as if gauging my sincerity. Then he said, “Fucking brutal is right. Dying in a room full of crazy people and a fag for a nurse.” He shook his head. “It isn’t right.”

“It is what it is.”

“Fucking philosopher. Listen, you seen Ma?”

“No.”

“Aunt Alina maybe?”

I shook my head.

Jerzy frowned. “They should be here.”

I wondered why he hadn’t stopped and picked up his mother, but I didn’t bother asking. Jerzy does what Jerzy does. You try to figure it out, you’ll go crazy.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, something he always used to do when he was anxious. It was an old tic he’d had since we were young. I wondered if he were even aware that he did it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“Something’s wrong.”

He fixed me with a hard stare. “No shit, Hero. Dad’s dying.”

I didn’t reply.

“Look,” he said. “I’m going back. If you want to see him before…” he paused and swallowed. “If you want to see him again, you should come, too.”