Fresh Kills (3 page)
Authors: Bill Loehfelm
I’d last run into Waters three years ago, during the big St. Pat-rick’s Day parade on Forest Avenue, not long after my mother’s funeral. My father burst hollering and stumbling into the pub where I worked. I eighty-sixed him, waving for the bouncers as soon as he got to the bar. He launched the empty beer bottle he’d carried in at my head.
I went over the bar after him like I’d been sprung from a cage, teeth clenched, adrenaline surging, a half-full bottle of Bushmills in my hand, but my foot slipped on the beer-soaked bar and I crashed down into the suddenly empty bar stools. The whiskey bottle shattered and shredded my hand. Waters pinned me to the floor before I could right myself. My father kicked at the both of us. It took three bouncers to haul my father outside. Waters bolted for the door, cuffs swinging in his fingers, leaving me cradling my bloody hand in my lap, tears of rage streaming down my face. He came back with empty cuffs. My father had disappearedinto the crowd. Laughing, I was sure, at Waters and me all the way to the next bar.
Now, as my father lay dead on a slab, Waters stood in his yard, waiting on me. As I approached him, Waters frowned at me like I was a dog that had shit on the rug. A dog that knew better, but did it anyway. I’m sure I looked like the long-lost son he was glad he never had. Black boots, dirty Levi’s, black T-shirt, leather jacket. Silver hoops in each ear. My father’s eyes.
“Speak of the devil,” he said, “and the devil appears.”
Goddamn if his white T-shirt didn’t, as always, show through the buttons of his dress shirt, right above the belt buckle.
Purvis extended his hand. “Again, sorry for your loss, John.”
Carlo Purvis. Jesus, what a mess. Slicked-back hair, stubby legs, big beak of a nose, huge head. He went through Farrell with me. The football team used to kick his ass twice a semester. Detective by thirty-one? He must’ve learned to give one hell of a blow job. He wasn’t sorry and neither was I and neither was Waters and we all knew exactly how each other felt.
I stared at Purvis’s hand until he pulled it back. “Let’s not have any bullshit here, fellas,” I said. “Not among men. The only regret among the three of us is that we didn’t pull the trigger.”
“You sure about that, Junior?” Purvis asked.
“Positive,” I said.
“And you were where this morning?” Waters asked.
“I was at work until five. You can check my time card. After we closed down, an old friend and I went out for breakfast and then back to my place.” I looked at Purvis hard. “She was next to, above, or below me until I left to come here.” I turned back to Waters. “Where were you this morning, Detective?”
“We’re going to continue on as if you never asked that ridiculousquestion,” Waters said. “This intimate friend of yours, Junior, she have a name?”
Purvis flipped open his notepad.
“I’d rather she didn’t,” I said.
Waters raised his eyebrows.
“Her involvement with me might complicate other situations for her,” I said.
“Like a marital situation?” Waters asked.
“Not exactly, but close.”
“We’ll be discreet,” Waters said. “Your story checks out, we forget about her.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about,” I said.
“Detective Purvis understands the importance of professional conduct,” Waters said. He reached over and closed Purvis’s notebook in his fist. “Right, Detective?”
Purvis nodded.
“Molly Francis,” I said.
“You’re sleeping with Molly?” Purvis blurted. “Still?”
Waters sighed. “You know Ms. Francis?”
“Well, we dated in high school,” Purvis said. “For a while. Not long.”
“Until she met me,” I said. “And it’s not still, it’s more like again. We haven’t been doing it all this time. Just the past three months.”
“What about David? Shit, they were together almost six years. When’d they break up?”
“Who says they did?” I said.
Waters sniffed loudly. “Maybe you two can take this trip down memory lane another time?” He pulled a business card from his wallet. “You can ask Ms. Francis to contact me?”
I took the card and nodded. Molly would never see that card.
Purvis flipped his notebook back open. “We should have results from ballistics in a few days.”
Waters cocked an eyebrow. “Ballistics?”
“Well, John here had a gun on him when I went to the apartment,” Purvis said. “I confiscated it.” Waters just stared and Purvis blushed. “He and his father have a violent history.” Waters said nothing. “I mean, Mr. Sanders
was
shot.” Purvis dropped his eyes to his shoes.
was
shot.” Purvis dropped his eyes to his shoes.
“What kind of gun was it that Junior had?” Waters asked.
“Nine-millimeter,” Purvis answered, not looking up.
“Mr. Sanders was killed with a thirty-eight,” Waters said. “You know that.
You
recovered the weapon at the scene.” He stared at Purvis. It was outstanding. I was glad I’d bought the gun just for the way Waters stared at Purvis, like he’d just caught him jerking off. Nobody spoke for a good thirty seconds.
You
recovered the weapon at the scene.” He stared at Purvis. It was outstanding. I was glad I’d bought the gun just for the way Waters stared at Purvis, like he’d just caught him jerking off. Nobody spoke for a good thirty seconds.
“You seen my sister?” I finally asked.
“Her flight from Boston should be landing as we speak,” answered Purvis.
“How do you know all this?” I asked. “Where’d you get her number?”
“Detective work,” Purvis said. “I’ve been in touch with her all day. No need to worry about a cab, I sent a car to pick her up at the airport.”
“That’s just fucking fantastic,” I said. “She’ll love that, being picked up by cops at the airport.” I looked at Waters, who rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb. I figured he did that a lot, working with Purvis. “You approved this?”
“I asked Detective Purvis to arrange her arrival, yes,” he said. “I should’ve given more specific instructions.”
“Her father was just murdered,” I said. “Maybe she’d want her brother to pick her up? Just a thought.”
“Her brother was nowhere to be found,” Purvis snapped. “Or more specifically, we couldn’t get him out of bed.”
“Hey, fuck you, Purvis.”
“Boys, boys,” Waters said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “Detective Purvis, go wait for me in the car.”
Purvis looked up, his mouth agape, and I thought for a moment he’d protest with an “aw, Daaaaaaaaad,” but he stalked off silently.
Waters turned to me. “It’s probably best if I hang on to that gun for a while, anyway.”
“Look, Detective,” I said, “I wanna pin a medal on the guy who did this, not shoot him.”
Waters grimaced. “You won’t feel that way for long. Trust me.”
“Have it your way.” If I wanted another gun, I could have it by sunrise.
“Is there a will, anything like that?” Waters asked.
“Not that I know of. I doubt it,” I said. “The old man hated lawyers. Anyway, I haven’t talked to him in over three years.”
“Bank accounts?” he asked. “Insurance, maybe through work?”
“Beats me.”
“Help Julia find these things out. And you’ll have to arrange for a funeral home to receive the body,” Waters said. “Discuss these things with her. Gently.”
“Far as I’m concerned, we can stuff him in my trunk and take him to the Dump.”
“Keep that to yourself, Junior,” Waters said. “And show some respect. I got friends out at Fresh Kills.”
I spat on the patio. “Keep Purvis away from my sister.”
“I’ll discuss it with him.” Waters turned to walk away.
“Wait,” I said. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want him to go. “What about the body? Do I need to do the ID? I don’t want Julia having to do it.”
“Me neither,” Waters said. “So I did it. Also, depending on how the investigation goes, we may need to go through your father’s things. Don’t throw anything away just yet. Don’t touch anything at all.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “That’s fine about the ID. Thanks.”
We stood there, staring at each other, despite the fact that Waters looked desperate to get away. I felt like I should be asking more questions, but they were hard to come by. I dug my hands into my jacket pockets. No matter where I tried to settle my eyes—my mother’s long-dead forsythias, a cigar butt in the spotty lawn, the empty bird feeder on the back fence—they wouldn’t stay.
“Okay then,” Waters said. “You two need anything, call me.”
“When you saw him in the morgue,” I said suddenly, “what did he look like?”
Waters wiped his mouth with his hands. His eyes, which had held steady on me all through our conversation, darted around, as busy as mine. He puffed out his cheeks then blew out his breath. “I guess you’re gonna find out anyway,” he said. But he still didn’t tell me anything.
“In the face?” I finally asked.
“Back of the head. Twice. The exit wounds did do severe damage to his face.”
I ran my fingers through the hair on the back of my head. They’d shot him execution style. Who? And what the fuck for? What the hell had the old man gotten into? This was gonna destroymy sister. It was gonna break her heart. I couldn’t think of a way to soften any of it for her.
“You’re sure it was him?” I asked.
“We have witness verification at the scene. He had his wallet on him,” Waters said. “ID, credit cards, a picture of the four of you, from when you and Julia were still little kids.”
“Motherfucker.”
Waters put his hand on my shoulder. I walked away. “What’re the chances you’ll get somebody for this?” I asked. I kept my back to him, spoke over my shoulder. “Do you have any idea what this will do to my sister? You have to at least give her that. You have to get somebody.”
“I won’t make any promises,” Waters said, “and there wasn’t much useful at the scene. But I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve made cases with less.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me,” I said. “Sounds like the company line.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Junior. When I find him, you still want to give him a medal?”
THREE
WHEN I WAS EIGHT YEARS OLD, I TOLD MY FATHER I HATED BEING
called Junior. He took it personally, and, who knows, maybe I meant it that way. He did his best to smack me around to it, and I’ve been stuck with it for twenty-three years. In the back of my mind, I know it’s fitting that I’m named after my father.
called Junior. He took it personally, and, who knows, maybe I meant it that way. He did his best to smack me around to it, and I’ve been stuck with it for twenty-three years. In the back of my mind, I know it’s fitting that I’m named after my father.
I got his face. Irish as a famine in the fog. Bright blue eyes, thick, dark brown hair, a few stray freckles. When I don’t trim it, my beard grows in red. Much to the old man’s chagrin, though, I didn’t get his body. Dad was the size of a backhoe. He was a superstar at Wagner. I’m lean and wiry, always have been. Molly once called me lithe. I liked that; it’s a sexier word than skinny. Dad called me “sickly thin” and demanded my mother feed me and fill me out. He took it upon himself to toughen me up.
Mom tried, but at sixteen I was still a beanpole and the slowest butterflyer on the high school swim team. Dear old ass-kicking Dad couldn’t stand having a skinny son in Speedos, but Mom called me “graceful” and said I had “great form.” That was her way of telling me I wasn’t much of an athlete and that was okay with her. She had a kind heart, my mother, especially when it came to her kids, and no matter how much my father tried, he never did break that part of her. He didn’t need her anymore, but we did.
I missed out on the big body, but I inherited other things from my father. His big temper, for instance. From the beginning, that never needed any feeding or filling out. I could split ears screaming as a toddler. I routinely emptied my crib of all toys, bottles, blankets, pillows, and sheets, and when I was really inspired, the contents of my dirty diapers.
By grade school, I’d developed a propensity for destroying my toys. Not by accident, mind you, in fits of youthful enthusiasm, but purposefully and elaborately. For a while I did it in the privacy of my room, hiding the broken pieces in my closet or under my bed. Then, one warm fourth-grade evening, I took half a dozen complicated dinosaur models I’d spent the better part of a month building out into the driveway. One by one, I smashed them to pieces. To this day, I have no idea why I did it. My father arrived home from work to find me stomping the wreckage, and proceeded to smack me dizzy right there in the front yard.
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