FIGHT (15 page)

“I’ll call you back, Phil.”

Clutching the phone, he cleaned sweat off his brow with the handkerchief from his upper coat pocket.  Opal, still hiding behind her smile, began to worry that she’d come at the wrong time to tell him about Gabe’s alleged kid: he looked stressed, and he was sweating bullets.  She knew he was hurrying to hang up for her sake, to keep her out of the loop.  She pretended to be fascinated with the various maps of continents decorating his office walls, hoping he wouldn’t notice how closely she actually listened. 
Phil
, she noted with amusement,
haven’t heard that name before.  You’re getting clumsy around me.  I remember the days when you never would’ve dropped a caller’s name in front of me
.  The caller’s name was actually Ralph, Victor wasn’t getting clumsy, and “Phil” was code for “someone just walked in so hurry the fuck up and spit it out while lowering your voice five decibels.”

“Okay, Phil, okay,” he finished.

She brought out the food with a wifely smile: 

“I brought you a salami on rye from that delicatessen you love down the road.  I also got you some sausages and coleslaw,” she said, spreading food on his desk, careful not to soil his many papers with greasy wrappers.

He knew something was up.  She never stopped by, unless something was up.  Regardless, he was hungry, and the sausages emitted an aroma that no red-blooded Italian could resist. 

“I’m glad you’re here.  I was just about to call and see if you wanted to go out for lunch,” he lied.

“That’s so thoughtful of you,” she said, playing his game.  “You’re too much.” 

Grabbing a sausage instead of waiting to be properly served, he shoved enough food in his mouth to steady his nerves for whatever the tramp wanted.  He was ready to cut the shit and get down to business.  Still chewing, he asked:

“And what do I owe this unexpected meal to?”

“Funny you should ask.  I was on the phone with our son last night, and I mentioned that you were coming home earlier than usual these days.”

He fought the urge to hit her.  Gabe couldn’t be trusted, ever since Baker had clued him in on Gabe’s Benedict Arnold benevolence for Boston’s D.A.  He didn’t want Gabe to know he was coming home early these days.  He no longer wanted Gabe to know anything.  Gabe had become a recent source of stress (and fury) for him, and he’d yet to figure out how to handle the situation. 

She went on describing last night’s call:

“I told Gabe how wonderful it’d be if he stopped by for dinner while you’re home, and he agreed.”

There had to be more to it than this, he knew, shoving another sausage in his mouth.  Surely she hadn’t brought him lunch just to tell him that Gabe was coming over for dinner.

“Will you be coming home early tonight?”  She started to address him as “Love,” but dropped the title as it sickened her more than any facial expression could camouflage.

“I suppose I can.  You say Gabe wants us to have dinner?”

“Yes, he does.  And!”

Here it comes
, he thought. 
The real reason you’re here.

“He’s bringing a special visitor!”

She spoke with such giddy excitement that she nearly sang the words.

If it’s Bruce Hudson, I’m going to fucking kill all of you
on the spot
, he thought.

She waited for him to ask who it was.  He didn’t.  It seemed her work was never finished.

“It’s his son!”

She let the news set in, noticing every twitch of the lines on his face and every dart of his eyes.  In the game of poker that was their marriage, she believed she could read him.  She was wrong.

“I didn’t know he had a son,” he stated flatly.

“I didn’t know either, until last night.  Isn’t it wonderful?”  If his temper flared, she kept “Love” on reserve, willing to bite the bullet and use the damn title if needed.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, God,” she laughed.  “What was his name?”  She kicked herself for forgetting: a grandmother’s joy was less believable when coupled with significant thoughtlessness.

“Never mind.  How old is he?” he wanted to know.

“Gabe said he’s five.”

“Who’s the mother?”

“He didn’t give me a name, but he did say it was someone from high school he’d reconnected with.”

A long list of businessmen’s names who’d sent their daughters to the same Catholic boarding school that Victor had sent Gabe to ran through his mind.  If Gabe had established a biological connection with the right business partner, then this might work out for the best.

“You said he’s bringing him to dinner tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s what he said.”  She kept waiting for some emotion to burst through the damn on his face: rage, happiness, something. 

“Well!  How exciting indeed!” he said, eventually choosing to parrot her mock excitement.

He decided against a snap judgment about this news, until he figured out what Gabe was doing writing checks for the enemy.  If it hadn’t been for Gabe’s recent willingness to play for the other team, he actually would’ve been excited about this news.  It was another successor for the Family’s business.

“I can’t wait to meet the newest addition to our Family,” he said behind a smile.   

Her lunch that day with Victor played before her mind, as she slipped on her heels and continued dressing for dinner, removing her latest set of pearl earrings from their box and putting them on.  She sensed that something wasn’t right between Gabe and Victor, because the two rarely interacted these days.  Her dearest husband (she mentally gagged on the words) should’ve been more enthusiastic about having a grandson than he’d first seemed.  Nevertheless, he’d bought it, or at least he seemed to.  The clock on the wall showed quarter to 7.  Gabe and the mysterious kid would be here any minute now, and she rushed the last of her jewelry on to be ready to meet him.  She heard footsteps coming down the hall, passing the closed door to the bedroom that she officially shared with Victor (but seldom actually did). 
Victor’s on his way downstairs.

Gabe and August arrived at 10 to 7, pulling up in his recently washed SUV.  He’d considered arriving late, not wanting there to be extra time for his parents to ask August questions that he might not be able to answer, but showing up late might arouse suspicion.  He peppered August with questions all the way over, impressed with the kid’s ability to memorize stock responses in a flash and regurgitate them just as quickly.

“And what’s your name?” Gabe asked for the millionth time that day. 

“Eddie.” 

“What’s your full name?”

“Eddie George Adelaide.”

“And who’s your mom?”

“Barbara Stockton.”

Gabe had picked Barbara Stockton as the former classmate to unknowingly become August’s mom, because her parents weren’t rich or connected.  He hoped her family’s lack of business connections would disinterest Victor and keep him from investigating August’s background.  Sitting in his Benz GL, Gabe quizzed August one last time on other fabricated details of his new biography, including school, friends, and home life.  August proved to be a whiz at make-believe, impressing Gabe to the point that he was envious
.  Sure wish I could lie as good as you.  You’re a natural.
 

“Oh,” Gabe suddenly thought to add, “if you don’t like the food they serve, then you don’t have to eat it.  We can stop by McDonald’s afterwards and get you some chicken nuggets.”

At the promise of nuggets, August quietly planned on disliking dinner regardless of what it was.  Gabe spit on a comb and slicked back August’s hair, adding just enough lift at the front to make the kid stylish. 

“There ya go, my friend.  You’re ready to roll.”

Carmen, the Family’s most experienced maid, saw them get out of the Benz.  She opened the home’s door to greet them. 

“Gabriel!  Always a pleasure to have you home!” she called out.  “And who do we have here?”

“This is Eddie.  Say hello, Eddie.”

“Hello.”

“My, my, isn’t he just a doll,” she said, squeezing August’s cheeks, while he hid the resentment that all kids feel at having their cheeks pulled.

“Your folks are expecting you, and dinner’s on the table.”

“Thanks, Carmen.  I’ll show Eddie to the dining room,” he said, handing her his blazer and motioning for August to do the same.

August, who’d been cool with the whole idea of pretending to be Gabe’s son, started growing uneasy, as he trailed Gabe through the Adelaides’ mansion.  The home had four-stories above ground with high vaulted ceilings and two swirling staircases on opposite ends of the reception room. August had never seen a house this large, and he found all the brightly polished antiques, grandfather clocks, and grand pianos to be impressive.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that these old codgers were loaded, and even a 5-year-old recognized great wealth when it stared him in the face.  The further he walked in this cavernous house, the more his bravery leaked out like a deflating balloon.  He tried to walk directly behind Gabe, as they approached the formal dining area, hoping to remain hidden as long as possible. 

Victor and Opal had been listening intently for their arrival, and they’d stationed themselves in an adjacent smoking room, wanting to be seen at just the right time. Hearing shoes clicking on the dining room’s deep cherry wooden floors, Victor put his pipe out, drained the last of his scotch, and opened a set of large double doors, making him and his wife visible. 

“Son!” he said in a fatherly tone.  “So nice of you to pay your mother and me a visit.”

“So good to see you, dear,” Opal said, kissing both sides of Gabe’s face.

Gabe glanced down, assuming that he’d see August, and he was startled not to find him.  He took a step back and nearly toppled over August, who was standing just inches behind him.  Realizing that August was hiding, he worried. 
Don’t bail on me kid!  I didn’t bail on you!
  He turned around, picked August up, and stood him in plain view of his parents… pushing him towards them.

“This is my son Eddie.”

Both elderly Adelaides made a great show of doting over him, intimidating him even more with their unsolicited attention.  With introductions complete, they settled into their chairs, as the waiting staff made their rounds piling fresh greens on salad plates and grating the preferred amount of cheese on each person’s dish.  Victor made his usual small-talk with Gabe about stocks, taxes, and local politics, while Opal sat stealing glances at August from the corner of her left eye. 
He doesn’t look a damn thing like you.  Your kid?  Ha.  That’s a joke.  He’s no more yours than you are ours.

August quietly stabbed lettuce with his fork, hoping to blend in with the room’s furniture and not be noticed.  To his alarm, the conversation quickly turned to him. 

“I’d be remiss if I didn’t take this opportunity to get to know my first grandchild,” Victor said, smiling in the kid’s direction.  August looked down at his food and refused to make eye contact.  The kid’s shyness pleased Victor greatly.  He loved it when people found him intimidating. 

“Eddie,” he invited, “tell me about yourself.  Are you in school?”

“Yes.”

A one word response!  The kid’s scared shitless of me
, he inwardly gloated. 

Gabe could tell Victor enjoyed rattling August, and this worried him.  Any mistake August made here would have serious consequences for them both.  He decided to use August’s shyness to their advantage, by answering questions on his behalf.

“And what grade are you in?” Victor wanted to know.

“If I may, he’s about to finish kindergarten,” Gabe said, speaking up so August wouldn’t have to.  “He’s a good reader, and he does well in spelling.  ” 

Victor asked a few more obligatory questions, feigning the necessary interest in Gabe’s son, before he got down to business. 
Who’s the bitch you knocked up?
was all he truly cared about.  He wanted to know if her parents had political connections or wealth (or, ideally, both) more than he wanted to know about this kid at his table.  Sensing the time was right to ask personal questions, he broached the subject of August’s mom: 

“And who did you say his mother was?”

I didn’t.  I didn’t say who his mother was, and you know very fucking well that I didn’t,
Gabe
stewed. 

“Barbara Stockton,” Gabe quickly said.  “You may remember her from my high school.  Her father’s a Presbyterian minister…” (this was true) “… and her mother’s an accountant,”  (this fact was his invention, as he couldn’t remember what her mom did for a living).

“A minister, you say?” Victor asked, completely ignoring Barbara’s mother’s career.  “Very well.  We could use a man of the cloth in the Family,” he added, dabbing his mouth with a cloth of his own.

“What the hell do you mean they’re busy?  They aren’t going to be too busy for what I gotta tell them!” was shouted from the large home’s expansive foyer.

August and all three Adelaides heard Luke Espinoza’s loud entrance, as he argued with Carmen about needing to see Victor at this very moment.  Gabe and Victor both stood to rush to meet him, only to pause at their opposite ends of the table to find the other standing to do the same.  They locked eyes, staring down the other to say
I’ll take care of it
, and both left their salads without excusing themselves.  Victor wanted to know what the fuss was about: Gabe wanted to know how to immediately get rid of Luke.  Gabe beat Victor to Luke by a scant few seconds.