Lamentation (18 page)

Droves of soldier ants in hard hats scurried, lugging and lifting, toppling and tugging, shouting at one another in Spanish. Drilling jack-hammers bore straight through the base of my brain, sneaking up behind my eyeballs, and kicking optic nerves with furious sonic force. The closer we drew, the louder, and more painful, it became.

Sturdy steel beams, sprung from the four corners, speared the leaden sky with statements of progress. Too late to turn back now.

Adam Lombardi—whom I probably hadn’t seen in at least two and a half years, not since Jenny and I had run into him at Applebee’s while she was still pregnant with Aiden—stood a grim field general amidst the rumble, barking orders at subordinates over the thunder and grind of retreating tanks. From that far away, I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was him. Like his brother Michael, Adam had always towered larger than life. Big fish. Little pond. Even when we were kids, he possessed a commanding presence.

As we approached the gate, Adam glanced from atop his mountain, then motioned for someone to go down and let us through, before turning and trudging toward a trailer.

A few moments later, a stocky, dark-skinned man swung open the gate, passing along foam earplugs and orange hard hats, gesturing for us to follow, as jackhammers continued their unyielding assault.

When we got to the office door, you could hear yelling inside, though, because of the elevated noise in the yard, obviously not the specifics. As soon as we entered, the shouting stopped. Adam, dressed in what I could only call blue-collar casual—tucked oxford, tan khakis—stood stern-faced and flush, looming over a college-age girl, who clutched a sheet of paper in trembling hands. Upon seeing us, Adam instantly changed tack, washing away all hostility, expression transforming into
welcome and warmth. He politely dismissed the girl. When she walked past, I could see her eyes were red and rimmed with tears.

Once the door closed, the office was surprisingly quiet, considering the sonic battlefield we’d just navigated.

Noting my surprise at this, Adam pointed at the roof. “Sound-proofing,” he said. “Had it done in all the trailers. Cost an arm and a leg, but worth every penny. Need to be able to get away and think.” He smiled wide.

We all shook hands, and Adam made sure to look me in the eyes and say my name. The hello felt less organic and more calculated strategy, a sales tip he’d picked up from a Dale Carnegie workshop or one of those Landmark seminars.

You certainly got your fill of the Lombardi brothers growing up in Ashton. They were easily our greatest success story. They played the part well. Black hair, blue eyes, athletically built, with sharp, dark, Italian features. They sported the quintessential all-American look, and both possessed the genial, dignified manner of the self-assured. It occurred to me more than once that Michael and Adam could’ve swapped professions, and each would’ve been equally at home in the other’s shoes.

“How’s Jenny?” Adam asked. “Aiden?” The earnestness was palpable.

“They’re okay.”

“I was sorry to hear it didn’t work out with you two.” Adam acted a little uncomfortable when he said this, lips compressing into a tight, thin line. I couldn’t help but feel this was also slightly staged, the way he momentarily cast his eyes askance, then knitted his brow, as though he too were mourning the loss of something precious.

Adam pointed down at his desk and a framed picture. It featured him and his wife, Heather, and their two sons, Adam Jr. and John, both boys dressed identically in green, collared golf shirts, posed in front of a wood-slat fence beneath a cherry tree against a powder blue background. The boys had inherited Adam’s black hair and square jaw. “I know how rough it can be,” he said. “I’d be lost without my family.”

We waited while Adam gazed wistfully at the JCPenney family portrait.

It was Pat who finally broke the silence. “I suppose you’ll want to be showing us that security tape?”

Adam smirked and unclipped the phone on his belt, tilting it sideways like a CB radio. “Luis, get me the surveillance disc from last night.”

A voice clipped through the static.

A few minutes later, we were all gathered around a plasma TV while Adam hit “play” on the DVD player. A black and white recording with eight split screens popped up, last night’s date and time stamped in military hours in the upper right-hand corner. Adam fast-forwarded until about the three a.m. mark, pointing at the lower left of the screen.

“There,” he said.

You could see a hooded figure scaling the fence and dropping on the other side, zigzagging and darting in the shadows through falling snow, moving from box to box, working his way across the grid like the world’s least graceful ninja. The figure, bundled in scraggly overcoat and bum gloves, morphed clearly into my brother.

In the last box, he’s standing on the doorsteps, banging at the lock with a rock, when he abruptly looks up and realizes he’s on camera. Instead of running off, my dipshit brother peers directly into the lens and smiles, displaying a mouthful of rotting teeth.

Adam clicked it off.

“That’s your brother, all right,” Pat said to me.

All I could do was nod.

“Anything missing?” Pat asked Adam.

Adam shook his head no, then pointed out the window to another trailer. “That’s the one he tried breaking into. Set off the alarm. Central Security called me. I’ve got my own guys monitoring the site. They were on their meal break. Good thing, too. They aren’t as easygoing as I am.” Adam winced a grin. “When I got down here, I checked the tape and saw who it was.” Adam shook his head solemnly, before making direct eye contact with me. “Decided we’d wait till the morning to call the police and get this sorted out.”

“That was mighty white of you,” Pat said, nudging me. “Don’t you think, Jay?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Adam exhaled. “I honestly don’t know what your brother’s beef with me is, Jay. Been that way since we were on the wrestling team back in high school. You know, he always thought my dad screwed him out of his rightful place at the State Championships by selecting me because I was his son.” He paused. “You have to believe me, if I’d have known that one single event would mess up his life so badly, I would’ve begged my father to take him instead of me.” Adam tried to laugh. “We’re going on twenty years. He can’t really still be mad about a snub in high school, can he?”

“I don’t try to guess what goes on in my brother’s head,” I said. I couldn’t begin to fathom what this was all about. I didn’t know why Chris was hopping fences into Adam Lombardi’s construction site in the middle of the night, or why he was breaking into Gerry Lombardi’s house. I didn’t know what was really on that hard drive or who had killed Pete Naginis. If it was a drug deal, or trick turned bad, or what. But I agreed with Adam about one thing: None of this had jack shit to do with high school wrestling.

“Do you want to press charges?” Pat asked.

Adam paused thoughtfully, as if he were really weighing the option, then shook his head. “Of course not.” He turned to me. “I’d like to see your brother get the help he needs,” before adding the obligatory, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

He reached out to shake our hands. When he caught my eyes this time, he stared harder.

“Let me walk you guys out,” he said, pointing at the hard hats on the desk. “Don’t forget those. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.” Then he flashed those smooth politician, pearly whites again.

At the bottom of the hill, the grinding of construction faded into the valley wind. Adam bid Pat goodbye, walking with me to my truck. It became obvious he wanted to say something in private.

“Pretty impressive,” I said, motioning toward the site. “Is this going to be part of the new resort?” Even though the motor lodge and truck stop were a few miles apart, and nothing formal had been announced, it
was clear the two projects were related. Nobody was building condos on the edge of nowhere, and I didn’t buy Turley’s explanation that this was for Black Mountain to reap the reward. I wanted to deliver a jab that I knew he was up to something, even if I wasn’t entirely sure what that something might be.

“You could say that,” Adam responded, without surprise. “We’re in the preliminary stages, but when the new resort goes up, we’re banking on folks spending a lot of time up here and wanting to invest in a quality residence. The resort is going to attract a certain crowd.”

“You mean people with money.”

“Yes, Jay, people with money.” He repeated the phrase with the slowed-down, slightly perturbed speech of an adult explaining to a child that sometimes the good guys don’t win, or that life isn’t always fair. “People with money like nice places to stay.”

“Where’s the resort going up, exactly?”

“The truck stop,” he replied in the same transparent tone.

“I saw in the paper that the Maple Motor Inn was sold. I didn’t realize the TC was also on the market.”

Adam scarcely acknowledged the comment, looking around, which was pointless since there was obviously no one remotely within earshot.

“Listen, Jay,” he said, tired of humoring me. “I need to talk to you about something. I’m hoping you can keep this private, between the two of us?”

I nodded.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with Pat up there. He’s sheriff of this town, and I didn’t think he’d be willing to look the other way, even if I said I didn’t want to press charges. But Chris did take something from me.”

“What?”

Adam sighed impatiently. “I think we both know.”

I didn’t want to give anything away, but Adam was acting like there was nothing to hide.

He waited a moment until all warmth drained from his friendly all-American façade. What remained was cold, old-country mean. “You
want to do it like that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “He took a computer that belongs to me. A hard drive.” He made sure to enunciate every word. “I would very much like it back.”

“I thought you said he didn’t get in the trailer?”

A hard, fast wind kicked up ice and sand and spat them back in my face. I tried to remain steadfast and not blink, hold my ground in whatever this showdown was turning into.

“I’m doing you a solid,” Adam said. “Giving you the chance to make this right before shit escalates and my security guys get involved. You don’t want that. Trust me. I know Chris told you all about it, and I
also
know you and Charlie Finn went up to that old Chinese restaurant asking about it. So, please, Jay, stop wasting my time. Because this isn’t a game. This is my business.”

I pulled out my cigarettes, lit one against the elements. I hadn’t expected Adam to be so forthright, and it was throwing me off. I had all these loose threads in my head that I’d been trying to tie together, and here he was saying, “Give me that,” and handing me back the entire package wrapped in a nice, tidy bow.

“Sure,” I admitted, “he told me someone had dropped off a hard drive at the shop he ran with his buddy, Pete—you know, the guy they just found dead—and that there was something … incriminating … on it. But he never said he got it from you.” Which was true. I’d only figured out this morning that the computer might’ve come from Lombardi when I found out about the pay phone location. And even then, I couldn’t be sure. I thought I had deduced a secret. I’d even paused over the word “incriminating” to see how Adam might react. But if my innuendo had registered, Adam showed nothing. His steely eyes remained unchanged.

Adam turned back to the trailer, casually. “That girl you saw me talking to? That’s Nicole. Takes classes at White Mountain Community. Just started working for me as an office assistant, part-time. Nice tits. Dumb as a stump. Been here two days and already has misplaced a purchase order and screwed up my lunch. She’s only working for me because I had to fire the last guy who did her job, Darren.” Adam swept his arm over the breadth of his impending kingdom. “We’re expanding.
This new resort is going to be a real boon for Lombardi. So I figured it was time we upgraded our computer system.

“I put Darren in charge of disposing of the old ones. And the faggot fucked up.” This time it was Adam’s turn to linger over a word. He said “faggot” with extra venom. Learning what I had about my brother’s alleged prostitution, I don’t think I kept as convincing a poker face. “I told Darren to toss the old computers, and I was explicit that they be recycled. Which he did, bringing them to a high-tech waste company down in Concord. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten a hard drive on his backseat, and, rather than drive all the way back on his day off, he decided that a homemade shop run by a bunch of tweakers on the Turnpike would suffice.” Adam spat a gob of yellow into the white snow. “Obviously, he was wrong.”

I couldn’t understand why Adam was telling me all this. If Chris had been right about damning digital evidence of malfeasance, why would Lombardi be copping to everything? And then I caught myself.
Of course
, Chris hadn’t been right about any conspiracy. How was this any different than the time he thought he’d been infested with botflies and poked holes in his forearm with a steak knife? Or when he was convinced that Dr. Johnson had put tracking chips in his molars? Even though I should’ve known better, I’d allowed myself to get sucked up into his drama, yet again. Standing there in front of Adam, I felt like a goddamn fool for trying to play hardball and subtly implying I was hip to some crime. Like so many supposed mysteries in this life, the answer had been right in front of me. My brother, who was always one bad hit from donning an aluminum foil helmet to stop the aliens from stealing his thoughts, had constructed a far-fetched scenario, and for the last three days I’d been acting a part in his fantasy.