Bad Apple (34 page)

Gibbons scowled. “What's that got to do with anything?” He hated talking about his age.

“I think I couldn't cry for you because we're not young lovers. We're not Romeo and Juliet. I guess when you get older, deep down you know that loss is inevitable, so you can't cry about it. I wanted to, though. I apologize.”

Gibbons just looked at her. He was nervous. He wasn't sure if it was his turn to say something, or she was just pausing.

“Did you notice that I didn't cry? Or were you too fuzzy from the pain?”

He licked his lips. “Well, to be honest, that didn't cross my mind. The only thing I was worried about was you. I was afraid you were gonna get hurt with all those crazy wiseguys around.”

She nodded, looking down at the linoleum. He thought maybe she'd be happy or touched or something. After all, he was being honest; that really was how he felt when all that shit was going down. But now he felt like he'd said something wrong.

She lifted her eyes and let out a long sigh. “I guess you still think of me as the damsel in distress while I've moved on to thinking of you as the old monarch. The two of us, actually. The old king and queen.” She went back to inspecting the linoleum.

“Lorraine—” He cleared his throat. “Lorraine, you're getting all medieval on me. I mean, I know medieval history is what you teach and all, but I think you're—you know—making things more dramatic than they really are.”

She wrinkled her brow. “Dramatic? How do you mean?”

“Well . . .” He didn't want to hurt her, but he did want to be honest. “Well, this old king and queen jazz. It's all very symbolic and all, but that's term paper stuff. It's not real. It's not us. I love you. I married you, for chrissake. Why the hell shouldn't I worry about you taking a slug from one of those mutts? So you didn't cry for me, so what? Some people just don't cry. It doesn't mean they're not human. I don't need for you to cry. I know you care about me.”

She looked up, and a tear dripped down her cheek. “You've never said that.”

“Yeah, I know. But I know you know I care about you. Why else would you be making me mashed potatoes, when I know
what you think of mashed potatoes? For you, making mashed potatoes is like voting Republican. Right?”

She tried to sit on her smile, but she couldn't. She reached for his hand and shook her head. “You're really something, Gibbons. You really are.”

He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You're something, too.” He kissed her, and when she tried to cut it short, he tightened his grip and kept her there. It hurt his chest to hug her like that, but so what? They needed this.

“I better stir the soup,” she murmured, their lips pressed together. “I think it's burning.”

No loss, he thought as he let her go. Who the hell ever heard of cream of carrot soup? Rabbits who don't care about cholesterol, that's who.

As Lorraine went to stir the soup pot, Gibbons peeked into the living room. Tozzi was gone. Back in the bedroom calling Gina again, no doubt. Gibbons had eavesdropped on him on the kitchen extension while Lorraine was in the bathroom.

He reached up and quietly lifted the receiver on the wall phone, covering the mouthpiece as he brought it to his ear and heard Gina's voice.

“. . . Will you please leave me alone about this? To tell you the truth, I don't know what I meant. Don't make a federal case about it.”

“But, Gina, I heard you say it. You said you'd call me. Is that what you really meant? I mean—”

Gibbons carefully hung up the phone, shaking his head. What a sorry piece of work that guy was.

He went over to Lorraine at the stove. “So whatta we gonna do about your cousin? He's like a dog in the desert looking for a tree.”

“What do you mean? He's the big hero, isn't he? He survived
being kidnapped and marked for death by Tony Bells. He saved Gina DeFresco's life. He assisted in the arrests of Bells and Freshy, and you told me they're both going to go away forever.”

Gibbons nodded. “Freshy'll do time for attempted murder. They found the rest of the counterfeit bills at his house in Bayonne, which pretty much proves that he was the one who shot Petersen. As for Bells, he'll never see the light of day again. They'll get him on murder, kidnapping, and everything else under the sun.”

“So what's wrong with Michael?” Lorraine looked very concerned about her dear cousin. “Is it postcaptivity stress syndrome, something like that?”

Gibbons glanced into the living room to make sure that Tozzi was still out of earshot. “Lorraine, I'm surprised at you. Isn't it obvious?”

“What? Him and Gina?”

“Of course. Whatta'ya think? Romeo's looking for a Juliet again. He never learns, this guy. They never work out, these women. He oughta try being gay. Maybe he'd have more luck.”

Lorraine put the lid back on the soup pot. “I don't know. I have a feeling this time it might be different.”

“Get outta here. It's always the same old story with him. He finds a new woman, and he's in love, he's in love, then—
boom
—she's gone. Something always happens to screw it up for him. But if you notice, it's never
his
fault. It's always them. You watch. It'll be the same deal with Gina. If it ever gets that far.”

“You think so? I'm not so sure.” Lorraine started to whisper. “He's always like a kid with a new toy when he meets somebody new, always very hopeful. But not this time. He's been moping around all day.”

“He always wears a big puss when he doesn't get what he wants when he wants it.”

“Maybe so, but I don't think I've ever seen him quite like this—so distracted, so out of it. I think Gina's done a real number on him. But Gina isn't like the other ones. I really have a feeling it might be different this time.”

“Yeah, but Gina doesn't want any part of him. That's why he's sulking.”

“Well, maybe he'll have to put some effort into it for a change. And for Gina, I bet he will.”

Gibbons shook his head. “No way. Not Tozzi. The first time Gina rubs him the wrong way, he'll be out the door, looking for someone else. You watch.”

“I don't think so. I think Gina's gonna be the one. I just have a feeling.” Lorraine had this funny little grin.

“Get outta here. You don't know what you're talking about.”

“You want to bet?”

“How much?”

“You name it.”

“Ten bucks.”

“You're on.”

Tozzi appeared in the doorway then. His brows were furrowed as he stared at the window in the oven as if it were the television. He seemed confused. Maybe he wanted it to be the parade. He wandered into the kitchen and lifted the lid on the soup pot, brow still furrowed. He paused by the food processor filled with mashed potatoes and stared at that for a while.

“We gonna be eating soon?” he asked.

“In a little while,” Lorraine said.

“Oh . . .” He kept staring at the mashed potatoes.

“Are you hungry?”

“No . . . not really.”

Lorraine shot a knowing look at Gibbons. Tozzi was always hungry.

“The turkey should be done in about a half-hour. Can you hold out that long?”

“Ummm . . .” Tozzi didn't seem to be listening.

Gibbons just shook his head. What a piece of work.

“Why don't you see if the football games are on yet?” Lorraine suggested.

“Football?”

“Yes. There must be some bowl game on.”

“Yeah . . . I guess . . .”

“Why don't you go see?”

“Okay . . .”

Tozzi gazed at the mashed potatoes a little while longer, then went back to the couch in the living room and started changing channels.

Gibbons and Lorraine looked at each other.

“You still want to bet?” she asked.

Gibbons stared at the back of Tozzi's head set against a green football field on the TV screen. “I don't know. . . .”

When he turned around again, Lorraine was wearing that funny little grin. “You want to make it twenty?” She looked pretty confident.

He rubbed his jaw. He had his doubts now. She could be right about this. “I don't know,” he said. “I may have to rethink this.”

“How about a hundred?”

Gibbons winced as he touched the sutures through his cheek. Son of a bitch.

When he opened his eyes, Lorraine was looking at him, her arms crossed. “We still on?” she asked. She was smiling like a crocodile.

BAD APPLE

All Rights Reserved © 1994, 2008 by Anthony Bruno

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Originally published by Delacorte Press

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