Hose Monkey (21 page)

Donna slouched in the seat, twirling her hair, not making eye contact with Marla. Usually, her face was like a billboard, an uncomplicated message for all the world to see. It was one of the things about doing therapy with this population that Marla so enjoyed. Most people wasted so much of their energies building complexities, masks and defenses meant to hide the truth of their natures from the world and themselves. Getting to the residents’ feelings was often not a problem for Marla. At times, their feelings were all they had. But there was a real downside to this proposition. With Cain, for example, his feelings were almost too raw, too much at the surface. Impulse control was frequently the issue that would bring people to her office.

“So, Donna, I hear you’ve been having some trouble lately. You want to talk about it with me?”

“I miss Cain.”

There it was, that immediacy and honesty, but it wasn’t lost on Marla that the Downs’ girl still couldn’t or wouldn’t make eye contact.

“I miss him too. He was one of the most special people I ever met.”

“He was more special to me.”

“You’re right. I think he was closer to you than anybody in the world. It’s very hard for any of us to lose—”

“He loved Frank more. He wanted to be like Frank.”

“Donna, I can’t speak for Cain, but maybe I would say that he felt one kind of love for Frank and one kind for you. Maybe the way you feel differently about Ken and about me.”

“I don’t love Ken or you.”

Point well taken.

“All right,” Marla said. “It hurts very much to lose someone we love, but I think it’s supposed to hurt. It’s a way for people to understand how much the dead person meant to us. We all understand how much pain you’re in, even the people at McDonalds know.”

“You don’t know!” Donna shouted, looking right at Marla for the first time. “I’m mad at him.”

“You’re mad at Cain? Are you mad at him because he died?”

“That’s stupid. He didn’t want to die.”

“So why are you mad?”

“The secrets he made me promise not to tell nobody.”

Tina stared at the documents in disbelief, but she was certain that was Frank’s signature on all the paperwork. Steven Mann, she thought, might be a lecherous old bastard, but he would never have been party to anything too shady. He made a few bucks from his dealings with Frank, but that was nothing in comparison to what he and his partners netted from the bigger, full service companies that pumped more oil in one month than Mayday had pumped in all the years it had been in business. Those big oil companies swallowed up their smaller competitors all the time. It was more cost efficient for them to buy out their competitors’ customers than to fight for them. “Are you sure this is right?” Joe asked. “He sold out to Black Gold Fuel, Inc., Steve Scanlon’s company?”

“That’s right. Mr. Scanlon and his lawyers sat with Frank and myself in the conference room right next door to this office. Why, does that surprise you?”

“You bet your ass I’m surprised,” Joe said. “Frank never mentioned selling out to me. And Steve Scanlon never mentioned he was interested in buying. Besides, Scanlon runs a much smaller operation than Mayday. Wonder where his money came from?”

“Well, Mr. Serpe, the secrecy does make sense. Maybe Frank was reluctant to tell you because he might have thought you’d be worried for your job. And Mr. Scanlon might have kept it quiet so to avoid a competitive bid. As to where he got his money.”

Bullshit! “I guess that makes sense.”

“When was this sale completed?” Tina wondered.

“Just before Frank was … About ten days ago.”

Joe thought he had found his answer. “And the proceeds of the sale went–”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Serpe, but Frank didn’t sell the company for cash to pay off blackmailers. If anything, it was quite the opposite.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Tina was curious to know.

“About half the proceeds have been used to fully fund the kids’ college tuition accounts and to establish a trust fund for each child. Another quarter was used to satisfy the remaining mortgage on the house, time share, cars and to pay off any outstanding debts you may have had. And any day now, Tina, you should be receiving a bank check for the remainder of the funds, less our fees. You’ve been well provided for.”

Tina lapsed into a stunned silence.

“Was it a fair price?” Joe asked.

“More than fair. Now if there’s nothing else …”

“Just one more question.”

“Yes, Mr. Serpe, I live to serve,” the lawyer moaned.

“What was the name of the law firm that represented Steve Scanlon during the negotiations?”

“Watson, Medford, O’Donnell & Stahl. Lois will give you their contact info on the way out.”

“They a big firm?”

“Very.”

“Too big for a two-truck operation like Black Gold Fuel?” The lawyer kept his cool, but doubt turned down the corners of his mouth.

“I couldn’t say. My duty is to serve
my
client’s interests. If you have questions for Mr. Scanlon, I suggest you ask him.”

Mann stood to usher them out of his office. The question and answer period was now officially at end. To Tina he offered yet another apology for his past indiscretion and expressed the requisite sympathy for her plight. To Joe he offered nothing but an expression of relief at seeing him go. As he left the office, Joe reached back, knocking the golf trophy out of its niche.

“What’s the name?”

“Schwartz, Detective David Schwartz,” Rodriguez said. “What a surprise, a guy named David Schwartz in Brooklyn.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda like finding a donkey named Sean O’Brien in Galway.”

“Or a spic named Juan Rodriguez in the South Bronx.”

“Very funny, Healy.”

“So this Schwartz guy jammed up or what?”

“Nah. I did you a solid, for old times sake.”

“You wouldn’t do a favor for your own mother, Skip.”

“I did plenty for yours.”

“Did she thank you, at least?”

“I couldn’t tell, her mouth was always full.”

Healy was glad to let his old partner rip him, even at his late mother’s expense. It was an aspect of the job he really missed, the sort of strange comradery and affection expressed through the exchange of insults. Oddly enough, the only times he’d felt comfortable since Mary’s death were the rare opportunities he had to talk to Skip and the times he spent with Joe Serpe.

“So, this Schwartz, what’s his deal?”

“They tell me he’s the bomb. You want to know something about the Russians, he’s your boy.”

“Thanks, Skip. I owe you.”

“You bet your ass you owe me. Remember who you call if there’s a case here.”

“How could I forget?”

“These secrets, Donna, what are they about?”

“Cain made me promise not to tell.”

“That’s very loyal of you, because I can tell how hard it’s been for you to keep them. You were a good friend to Cain. The best friend.”

“He loved Frank more.”

“But how about you, Donna? How did you feel about Cain?” Donna flushed red, turning away. That was answer enough. “There are some promises we keep forever,” Marla said. “There are some we can tell when people die.”

“But Cain didn’t tell me what kind of promise.”

“When people tell us secrets, it means they trust us.”

“I know that.”

“It also means they trust us enough to know when to tell.”

“I guess.”

“If it would help find the people who hurt Cain, then you should tell.”

“What if it was about Frank doing bad things?” Donna asked. “Cain didn’t tell anybody but me, because he didn’t want to get Frank in trouble.”

Silent alarms went off in Marla’s head. Confidentiality rules were very murky when it came to the mentally impaired. As important as Joe had become to her and as much as she wanted to help solve Cain’s murder, she would not sacrifice her career. She loved her work and the people with whom she worked. On the other hand, she didn’t want to waste days begging written permission from Donna’s legal guardian.

“Do you remember Joe from the oil company?”

“I’m mad at him.”

“Why?”

“Because he hurt Cain’s feelings. He made Frank take him off his truck.”

“I know that Joe feels bad about that, Donna. He—”

“He’s a liar.”

“Joe?”

“He promised to protect Cain from Mr. French.”

“Sometimes people make promises they want to keep and can’t. You know that Joe used to be a policeman, right?”

“Cain told everybody. It made me crazy how much he told me that.”

“Joe wants to find out who hurt Cain. I’m helping him and another policeman is helping him. You could help too.”

“I could?”

“I know you could.”

“How?’

“By holding onto Cain’s secrets for just a little while longer.”

Friday Evening
March 5th, 2004

 

TRUCKS CAME

 

T
he Down’s girl refused to look at Joe. She was angry, that much he could tell. It was truly written on her red face. There was, however, a paradoxical stiffness in her slouched posture. He remembered back to Cain’s funeral, to the abject purity of the girl’s grief, how she had chided Cain’s parents. Clearly, he had done something wrong, but what, exactly? Marla had been very vague on the phone, saying only that it was important for the three of them to speak. Of course, nobody was speaking.

“Donna, you know I’m Italian,” Joe said. “Italians, when we’re mad at each other, we scream and yell. It’s scary, but it’s good too because we get it out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the smile flash across Marla’s face.

“I’m not Italian,” Donna said.

“But you’re mad at me. I can see that. Don’t scream if you don’t want to, but at least you should tell me what I did wrong.”

“You lied. You said you would protect Cain.”

Joe was stunned. That sticks and stones rhyme was bullshit. Words
could
harm you. They just had. In a rush, it all came back to him, the reason he had stepped back into the fire. Cain was dead.

“I’m mad at me too, Donna. Sometimes I think that if Cain was on the truck with me that day, he would still be alive.”

“You hurt his feelings when you made him get off the truck.”

“I know. I also know that why I did that had more to do about me than him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do either. But I do know I owe it to Cain to—”

“He loved working on the truck with you.”

Joe smiled. “I owe it to Cain to find out who did this to him. Is there something you know that could help?”

The Down’s girl looked directly at Marla.

“Remember what we talked about before,” Marla said. “Cain trusted you with the secrets, so only you can decide if telling is right.”

It didn’t take long to decide. Right and wrong were very clear things in her mind. Joe envied her that.

“Cain would sneak out at night sometimes,” she said. “He would go to the oil place. He loved it there best in the world. He would sit in the trucks and pretend to drive.”

“How do you know he would pretend to drive?” Joe asked.

Donna’s eyes got wide. Her ruddy skin whitened. Her hands started to shake. Worst of all, she stopped talking. Joe had reacted without thinking. He had asked precisely the wrong question.

“Donna, no one is going to get in trouble for this,” Marla assured her. “The only thing Joe is interested in is finding out who hurt Cain. If you are going to tell, you have to tell everything.”

“You went with him sometimes, didn’t you?” Joe said.

The Down’s girl stared at the floor. “Yeah. Cain knew a way to walk in the shadows past the cameras at the home. He was smart like that.”

“He must have loved you a lot to share that with you.”

Donna beamed. “He did. He even showed me his secret hiding spot in the oil place where no one could see him. Then he said I couldn’t go with him no more.”

“Why?”

“Because some trucks came and we had to hide in the secret place.”

“Trucks, what kind of trucks, Donna?” Joe was curious. “Trucks. Big trucks. I don’t know.”

“Did they have tanks? Were they tank trucks like in the oil place?”

“Uh huh. One was long and shiny like foil stuff.”

“There were other trucks also?”

“Two,” she said, holding up a like number of fingers. “Were they smaller than the big foil truck? Were they like the kind of truck Cain used to go in with me?”

“I guess.”

“Did they have words or pictures on the side?”

“The little trucks had a picture on them, like a triangle.” Marla fished a crayon and a piece of paper out of her desk. “Can you draw the picture for Joe?”

“I think so.”

As Donna struggled to recreate the picture on the side of the oil truck, Joe stared over at Marla. She wasn’t beautiful. She looked exhausted, but at that moment he wouldn’t have traded her for anyone in the world. Angela, his ex, was a knockout—sable hair, rich brown eyes, perfect olive skin. But even at the altar, Joe had doubts. He hadn’t so much fallen in love with his ex-wife as he had fallen into expectation. They were the right age. They came from the same background, the same neighborhood. Joe had a steady job and gave her the security she always craved. It was more like a completed checklist than love. When he looked at Marla, Joe wasn’t thinking about checklists.

“I think that’s good,” Donna announced, sliding the paper to Joe.

“It’s perfect, Donna,” he said, sliding it, in turn, to Marla. “Do you recognize it?”

“It’s an oil well. It’s the logo for Black Gold Fuel, Inc.”

“Will that help?” Donna asked.

“I think it helps a lot.”

“Can I go back to my room now?”

“Donna,” Marla interrupted. “What about Frank?”

“Frank?” Joe was confused.

“Cain made me promise never to tell about the trucks, because he said Frank could get in trouble.”

“Was Frank there that night the trucks came to the oil place?” Joe asked.

“No. Other men were there.”

“What other men?”

“They talked funny,” Donna said.

“Did they
all
talk funny?”

“No, just the men that got out of the real big truck.”

Joe slid Donna’s logo picture back in front of her. “The men that drove these trucks, the ones with this painted on the tanks, did they talk funny?”

“No. Can’t I go back to my room now?” she practically begged Marla.

“I know this is hard,” Joe said. “It’s hard to break a trust and tell secrets. Maybe I couldn’t protect Cain, but maybe you can help me protect Frank. We both know how much Cain loved Frank. Will you help me?”

“Okay.”

“Did Cain tell you why he was afraid Frank would get in trouble even though he wasn’t there that night in the oil place?”

“He said the men were doing illegal pumping stuff. I don’t remember the words.”

“Truck transfers?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, maybe. Can I go to my room now, Marla?”

“Soon.”

Joe continued. “Did Cain say anything else, Donna?”

“He said that Frank could get in trouble cause they were doing the bad pumping in his oil yard.”

“Did Cain tell you the names of the drivers of the bad trucks?”

“I don’t remember them no more.”

“Steve, maybe?” Joe tried.

Donna’s round face lit up. “Steve, yeah. That was one. I remember now. The other name was a funny name.”

“Cain said he knew both drivers?”

“I already told you that.”

“Sorry. This other driver, it’s okay if you don’t remember his name. Can you remember what Cain said about him or what he looked like?”

“Big. He was very big.”

“Bigger than me?”

“A lot bigger.” Donna stretched her arm up toward the ceiling.

“Did Cain say anything about him?”

“Cain didn’t like him. He was mean to Cain.”

“Fuck!”

“Marla, Joe said a bad word! Joe said a bad word!”

Marla kept out of it.

“I’m sorry, Donna. Forgive me.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled impishly. “Cain said bad words sometimes. He said you and Frank taught him good.” Joe felt his face reddening.

“Do you think you know this other man?” Marla asked. “Dixie.”

“That’s the name Cain said. That’s the name!” Donna drummed both palms against Marla’s desk in celebration.

“You did great, Donna,” Joe said. “Thank you. Someday, maybe, if I come by and take you and Marla to the oil place, do you think you can show me Cain’s secret hiding place?”

“Can I sit in the truck and pretend?”

“Sure.”

“Marla, can I go back to my room now?”

“Go ahead. Tomorrow we can talk about how telling the secrets felt, okay?”

“Okay.”

Donna didn’t hesitate. She trundled out of the office without looking back.

Tatiyana blew a crimson red kiss at the mirror in room 217. She hated losing her steady gig. Frank had been her only work for months. It was easy work and it paid very well. She had even grown fond of Frank. So fond that she hated involving that fat blond pig with her tattoos and sloppy pussy, but it hadn’t been her choice. Her employers had grown impatient with her. Now it was back to the old grind, entertaining potential business partners and visitors from home. There was the knock at the door. Oddly, Tatiyana felt nervous. Now she smiled at her reflection. What was there to be nervous about? She had been letting anonymous men shove their cocks in her for food and money since she was a thirteen year old girl.

“One moment,” she said, letting out her breath slowly.

He was a big man with filthy hands and that sick smile certain johns have. She never saw that smile on Frank’s face. Frank never looked at her like a lab specimen. Then again, Frank didn’t know until the very end that she was a whore. But even after he saw the tapes, he simply looked wounded. To most of the men who “visited” her, Tatiyana was a sort of freebie, something to use in anyway they chose. Those were the ones who smiled that smile.

Tatiyana opened her mouth to welcome him in. He wasn’t interested in welcomes, grabbing her by the hair and pushing her back into the room. He used his free hand to slam the door behind him. When she tried to speak again, he twisted her hair harder.

“Suck my cock, bitch!”

She did, just in the hope that he would let go of her hair. He did not, but relaxed his grip enough so that the pain was gone. When he was hard, he tightened his grip on her hair once again, dragging her to the bed. Finally, he let go of her hair.

“Bend over and let me see your cunt!”

She did. He ripped her underwear apart as if it were made of tissue paper and then rammed himself inside her. It hurt, but she could tell it wouldn’t last long, not with how he was pounding against her ass. Then he let out a snort and a sorry groan. He was done. He fell down on the bed next to her. She didn’t hesitate, quickly running into the bathroom.

Before stepping into the shower, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. She suddenly looked very old and tired for twenty-six. She had parted ways with God at the age of twelve, but found herself praying for him to let her find a way out of the game.

As she stepped out of the shower, a heavy fist slammed into her nose, snapping the cartilage into several pieces. Reflexively, Tatiyana put her hands up to her face as she collapsed backward, her warm blood pouring down her chin. The back of her head smacked hard against the shower wall, cracking the vinyl lining. Tears and blood had blinded her so that she could not see her executioner’s face, but she could feel his calloused hands flipping her onto her stomach. She flailed at him. He swatted her arms away and placed his knee on her spine, cupping his hands under her chin. First, her windpipe collapsed as he snapped her head back. Then her spine cracked.

In that split second before she lost consciousness forever, Tatiyana thought God had finally answered her prayers. She was out of the game.