Authors: Bill Loehfelm

Fresh Kills (41 page)

BOOK: Fresh Kills

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Our mothers always made our lunches, always bought our clothes at the Mall, always got home from work before we got home from school. The trains took our fathers to the ferry in the morning. The ferry brought them to the City, where every day they took their places in the sky, somewhere high up in those impossibly tall buildings, nested and safe like birds. The trains and the boats, like our mothers and fathers, would never stop working. The sky would never fall.

Our fathers, our families, the ones we loved, would never change, never betray us, never not come home. They would never die. Until they did. Until one day you woke up and your life was different forever, whether you were eight or thirty-one, whether you wanted it that way or not. And there was nothing left to do but take your place in the bucket line alongside the other survivors, helping to bear the loss and clean up the mess, the future suddenly a diamond clutched so hard in your fist its sharp corners drew blood.

I fought back the urge to run to Molly, to turn her away from the emptiness and cover her eyes with my hands, to promise her it wasn’t really there. But I knew it wouldn’t do any good. There wasn’t any escaping her loss any more than there was escaping mine. She didn’t look interested in running, anyway. She stood straight and tall against that expanse of blue sky, like she was trying to fill it on her own, a tower unto herself. A fragile, defiant skyline of one. It was too much for anyone to do alone. Without a word, I took my place beside her, making us two against the yawning, open sky.

The boat closed in on Manhattan and the looming skyscrapers surrounding the docks seemed to bow forward over our heads. The boat’s engines dropped a gear. As the wind eased, all around us seagulls drifted down out of the sky like a fleet of crooked-winged escorts, rising and falling on the drafts. Molly’s hair came to rest against her shoulder blades. She leaned into me for balance as the boat bumped along the pilings and settled into the dock.

“I wish I knew what to do for you,” I said.

“You’re doing it already,” she said, stretching her arm across my shoulders. “You’re here, warm and alive, with me. That’s enough.”

WE LET EVERYONE ELSE
disembark then headed down the curving ramp to the street. Jimmy bought us hot pretzels from a curbside vendor and we wandered back toward the water, over to Battery Park, breaking our pretzels into steaming pieces and eating as we walked, licking mustard from our fingertips. Julia ate the entire thing and a piece of mine. We found a couple of empty benches and sat gazing across the gray water at Staten Island. I handed out cigarettes to Molly and Jimmy.

“I hear they’ve started laying the foundation for the Freedom Tower,” Jimmy said.

“It’s about time,” Rose said.

“Are the families still fighting over the memorial?” Julia asked, looking at Molly. “I heard people are suing to reopen the search for remains at Fresh Kills.”

Molly stretched her legs in front of her and leaned over them, running her hands over her knees. “I assume so,” she said. “I haven’t paid much attention to everyone’s big plans. I’m sure people will be suing each other over that memorial fifty years after it’s finished.

“My folks and I, we’re not involved in any of that. We found what we could of Eddie. We said our good-byes. It needs to be finished for us.”

“I hope that damn tower at least goes up in our lifetime,” Jimmy said. “I want to see it, a great big middle finger from New York to those savages across the ocean.”

I rubbed my hand over Molly’s back. “It’ll get done. It won’t go the way anyone has planned. There’ll be delays and mistakes, but it’ll happen. These things take time. They’re complicated.”

Molly smiled up at me. “You’re exactly right.”

“Well then, that’s settled. Good work, everyone,” Jimmy said. “I have renewed hope for the future.” He rubbed his hand over his belly. “But as for the present, those pretzels only got my stomach rumbling. Let’s catch a cab to Little Italy and eat ourselves stupid. My treat.”

Jimmy didn’t wait for an answer, striding off into the park. The rest of us, one by one, turned our backs to Staten Island and followed him toward the vast canyons of the City.

NOT LONG AFTER SUNDOWN, back at my apartment, jackets and ties abandoned to the back of the couch, Jimmy and I watched the Mets run up an early lead on the Houston Astros. A win lifted them into first place. Jimmy and I both knew it, but neither of us mentioned it. Both of us understood that if we did say anything out loud, a jinx powerful enough to undo all the Mets’ hard work would stream straight from my apartment to Houston and infect the team. It was the girls who made all the noise.

At their request, we’d stopped at a liquor store on the way home. Molly, Rose, and Julia, shoeless and giggling, flitted about in the kitchen, arguing and experimenting their way to what I knew would be a supremely awful round of martinis. They’d tried to enlist my help, but I refused. I made drinks for a living, I told them. It was hardly what I wanted to do with my last night off before a long weekend of returning favors and covering shifts. I was more than willing to drink bad martinis, I told them, if it meant I could stay rooted to the sofa and watch the game. What I didn’t tell them was how good their laughter sounded floating out of my kitchen, and that the longer they played, the longer I could enjoy the sounds of it.

During a commercial, Jimmy asked when Julia was headed back to Boston.

“She’s going back tomorrow, on the train,” I said. “I’m taking her to Penn Station in the morning. She doesn’t have to be back in class till Monday so I asked her to stay for a while, here at the apartment, but she wants that couple of days to settle back in.”

“Makes sense,” Jimmy said. “I bet both of you feel like you’ve lived a lifetime in the past few days.”

“For sure.”

“When will you guys see each other again?” Jimmy asked.

“Soon. She’s coming back in two weeks. We’ll spend the weekend trying to get things going with clearing out and selling the house.”

“Sounds grim,” Jimmy said. “You’ll need to relax. Call us up. We’ll take you out to dinner.” He bumped me with his shoulder. “Bring Molly. Think she’ll be available?”

“Oh,” I said, smiling, “I get the feeling she will be.”

“So she’s really getting rid of David?” Jimmy asked.

“She is indeed. She figures he’ll be relieved more than anything else. They’ve been just going through the motions for a long time. They’ve been on life support too long. It’s past time to pull the plug.”

“Strange choice of metaphors,” Jimmy said.

Somebody knocked hard on my door.

“Pizza’s here,” Molly yelled from the kitchen.

“Heard that,” I said, standing. Jimmy dug for his wallet. “I got this,” I said.

To my surprise, it was Waters at the door, and he wasn’t holding a pizza.

“Howya doin’, Junior?” he said. “Nice work at the funeral today.”

“Afternoon, Sheriff. Thanks for coming.”

“No problem.”

I realized he was still standing in the hallway. “Come in. We’re just relaxing a little, waiting on a couple pizzas.” I stepped aside and let him in.

The kitchen had gone quiet. The three girls stood motionless in the doorway, Julia with a dish towel wrapped around her hand. Jimmy stood and walked over to Waters.

“Jimmy McGrath,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m an old friend of the family.”

“Detective Nat Waters,” the detective said, shaking hands. “Me, too.”

“You know my sister, Julia,” I said. “That’s Jimmy’s girlfriend, Rose, and my friend Molly.”

Waters nodded. He still hadn’t come far enough inside the apartment for me to close the door. “Detective Purvis sends his regrets,” he said. “He had every intention of coming to the funeral. It was me that advised against it.”

“Tell the detective we appreciate the kind thoughts,” I said.

“Do,” Julia said.

“I will,” said Waters.

“I’m guessing that’s not what you came to tell us,” I said.

“Well, that’s true. If I could talk to you and Julia alone for a minute. I have some news.”

“Come in and sit down,” I said, settling my hand on his shoulder. I guided him into the room and closed the door. “We have martinis, I think.”

“No martinis for me,” Waters said. “All due respect, this is really a family-only conversation we need to have.”

“You caught someone,” Julia said.

“We know who did it,” Waters said. He was sweating, fidgety. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. In fact, he looked slightly sick. Not at all like a sheriff who’d got his man. It made me nervous. I wished for a moment that I’d been alone in the apartment when he arrived. But it wouldn’t have changed the facts.

“There’s nothing you can’t tell us in front of our friends,” I said.

I looked at Julia. She nodded, stepping away from Molly and Rose and into the living room. “We’re gonna tell them exactly what you tell us,” she said, “as soon as you leave, anyway.”

Waters shook his head. “Have it your way.”

“Out with it,” Julia said. “Please.”

“It was a mistake,” Waters said. “It was a bad hit.” He stopped.

My jaw dropped. I heard Julia gasp. “Whadda you mean a mistake?” I asked.

Waters squirmed. “Turns out I wasn’t wrong about the gambling, but it wasn’t your father that was supposed to be shot.” He walked into the middle of the room, looking at his hands as if he were still putting the pieces together. “Apparently there’s a less than upright South Shore bookie that looks a lot like your father and frequents the same deli.” He looked around the room at all of us. “I don’t know what to tell you. It was an accident.”

“When did you find this out?” I asked.

“Last night,” Waters said. “That’s why I missed the wake.”

“You were arresting the shooter?” Julia said.

Waters stared at his hands again. “All I’ve got is information. Like where to find the shooter’s body out at the Dump.”

“Another accident?” I asked.

“He won’t be missed,” Waters said.

“You said it was a hit,” I said. “That means somebody gave an order.” I stepped to Waters, Jimmy grabbed my arm. “What about him?”

Waters looked dead at me. “It’s being looked into. It’s being taken care of. It may have been already.” He looked away from me, at Julia. “Look, there are people out there who feel real bad about this. You know how some people are about family. You two won’t have any trouble selling the house, for a good price. Scalia’s gonna get paid. You give me an okay to pass along, Julia, and I don’t think you’ll need to worry about your school loans. With your permission, there are a number of things that can be done, easily, to help make your loss a little easier to endure.”

“I don’t want anybody’s blood money,” Julia snapped. “You tell your friends I said that.”

“They’re not my friends,” Waters snapped back. He paused, gathering himself. “For the record, I demanded the guy who gave the order be handed over to me.”

“And?” Julia asked.

“And I got laughed at. Quietly, gently even, but I got laughed at. These people are way beyond my reach. I’m lucky I got what I did.”

This was a humiliating conversation for him, I realized, playing message boy for charitable gangsters. That was why he had wanted to have the conversation alone. I felt bad for making it harder on him than it already was.

“I appreciate the effort,” I said.

Waters didn’t acknowledge me. He just stared at the floor, looking disgusted. “There’s no debts incurred with any of this,” he said. “You don’t have to talk to or deal with anyone. All the choices are yours.” He dabbed again at the sweat on his brow. “Including how this ends.”

Molly brought him a cup of ice water. He thanked her. She sat on the edge of the couch, Jimmy on one side of her, Rose on the other. Julia walked to my side.

“Walk me to the car,” Waters said to me.

I looked at Julia.

“Give me five more minutes of your time,” he said.

I squeezed Julia’s hand and followed Waters into the hall, closing the apartment door behind me. His eyes looked everywhere but at me.

“So, you’re gonna sell the house,” he said.

“As soon as possible,” I said. “We want to sell it cheap, to a family with a pack of kids that needs a break.”

“That’s a kind gesture,” Waters said. He coughed into his fist. He still couldn’t look at me.

“C’mon, Detective,” I said. “You didn’t ask me out here to talk about real estate.”

“There is one more thing,” he said. He reached under his jacket. I heard him unsnap his shoulder holster. “What happens next will never leave this hallway. Understood?”

“Understood.”

He held out my gun. “My returning this to you is in no way connected to what I’m about to tell you.”

BOOK: Fresh Kills

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