The Last Thing He Needs (26 page)

Tommy wondered absently if desk cops got away with Internet porn at work.

“Yeah, uh, Thomas O’Shea. Some kids were brought in an hour or so ago needing emergency placement. I was wondering if you could give me any information about them.”

The officer glanced at him then and went back to his computer. He tapped a few buttons and clicked his mouse a few times and asked, “Are you family?”

Tommy was learning to hate that question. No one asked that when there was good news. “Yeah, I’m their brother.”

Tommy took his ID out of his wallet and slid it on the counter in front of the officer.

“Same last name?”

“Yes, sir. There’s seven of them. Oldest one is Colleen O’Shea.”

The cop hit a few more keys and said, “They were placed tonight for emergency housing. It can take up to seventy-two hours for them to get into a permanent placement.” He paused and wrote a few things down on a piece of paper and then went on. “This is their case number. Monday morning you can go down to the Department of Family and Children Services and try to get more information.”

Tommy wanted to scream at him. They weren’t a
case number
, they were his kids. He balled up the piece of paper and shoved it in his pocket.

“Thanks for all your help.” Tommy didn’t try to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

T
HE
SKY
was pearly gray by the time Tommy made it farther into downtown. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but he could barely feel his feet anymore. At some point in the night, he’d ducked into a convenience store to warm up and bought himself a pack of cigarettes. They were already half gone. It was the first time in his life he’d spent money on them, and he felt like an idiot for it.

Even though he didn’t have any conscious plan in his head, didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, he found himself following his father’s usual track. He knew most of the alleys and flophouses his old man hid out in, or, more accurately, passed out in. By the time the sun was coming up, Tommy was standing under an overpass, warming his hands by the fire in a metal barrel and asking for his father by name.

When they all said they hadn’t seen Cal in weeks, Tommy stayed there anyway. He’d reached the end of the line. There was nowhere else to look, nowhere else he could go. He stared into the sparks and dying embers in the can and saw his house there in the glowing pile of paper and wood.

He knew he could go to Bobby. He could curl up in Bobby’s bed and let Bobby try to comfort him. Let Bobby try to help him. He figured, before this was all over, it could come down to relying on Bobby in a way he’d never let himself before. Though, even with Bobby’s help and Judy backing them up, he wasn’t sure what kind of hoops they’d have to jump through to even get a visit with the kids, let alone get custody. Tommy figured he owed Bobby some serious apologies for the way he’d left, too, but at the moment, he couldn’t face any of it.

He left the warmth of the makeshift camp at the underpass and let his feet carry him back toward town. His strides ate up the few miles between there and the pub, and Tommy landed on Smarty’s doorstep right as they were opening up for the morning.

 “T
OMMY
?”

He could hear Gene’s voice, but it was far away, fuzzy. Tommy remembered where he was
—
propped up on a stool at the pub. He’d been there all day, buying drinks on a tab he’d have to cover later. He’d never been really, truly drunk before. He was starting to understand the appeal.

“Tommy,” Gene tried again. Tommy finally blinked his eyes open and looked at his boss. “Bart told me you’ve been here since we opened.”

He didn’t hear any judgment behind the words. As bleary-eyed as Tommy was, he caught the concern etched over Gene’s face.

“Time is it?” he asked, the words barely slurring as he stretched and reached for his glass mug. He drained the dregs of the last beer he’d had before he passed out.

Gene stood behind the bar, wiping an empty pint glass. “After two,” he said, placing it on the shelf.

Tommy glanced around. All the chairs were already tipped up, the floors swept, tables wiped down. It was well after closing.

“Shawna covered your shift. You might wanna thank her later.”

Tommy ran his hand over his face as if he could wipe away his shame and his heartache as he got to his feet. He staggered slightly and had to catch himself on the bar.

“Christ,” he muttered, feeling foolish. “Forgot I had to work tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gene took his apron off and set it down behind the bar. “I’ve got ya covered all week. Just until things are settled.”

He paused, and it looked to Tommy like he wanted to ask a few questions but didn’t want to pry either. Apparently, he decided to pry.

“I heard the damage was bad,” Gene started slowly, clearing his throat before going on. “I’m real sorry about Cheryl. I know she wasn’t exactly….” How could anyone finish that sentence? “You got a place to stay?”

Tommy didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about where he was going to stay or how he got where he was. He didn’t want to think about a funeral for a drug-addicted prostitute or a ruined house or where he might dig up his father. Or if the old man was dead in a gutter somewhere. He didn’t want to think about his brothers and sisters in foster care, scattered all over hell and back in emergency placements. He didn’t want to think about the group home Mike would probably end up in or worry about what kind of perverts had his kids.

And he especially didn’t want to think about Bobby and the long list of things he needed to ask forgiveness for. He was sobering up, and all he wanted to think about was getting his hands on a bottle so he could blot it all out again. It was the only thing he might have any goddamn control over, and—more than the booze and the void it offered—that was what he wanted the most. He wanted something he could control, something he could bend to his will, something he didn’t have to fight with.

He had to think hard before he could answer because he was already losing track of the conversation. “Nah,” he said finally, taking a deep breath. “I can probably stay at Farah’s or Kelly’s place, but….”

He thought about how late it was, that he’d lost an entire day here, and what he looked like, what he probably smelled like. “Can I crash on the couch in the office?”

Tommy hated knowing it had come to that. He was finally in a position where he had to beg a night on a crappy sofa just so he could clear his head.

Gene looked like he already knew what his answer would be, but he didn’t say anything right away. He grabbed his keys and turned off the lights behind the bar before he pulled on his jacket. “I got company in from out of town, so my spare room is occupied, but I’ve got a sofa that won’t break your back like the one in the office. Why don’t you come on home with me and you can stay there till you get your shit sorted out, all right?”

What could he say? Tommy had hit a point in his life where he had no choice but to accept whatever charity was offered him. If he hadn’t already been numb with liquor and grief, it might have ripped a new hole in him somewhere, but at the moment, it just made him huff a soft laugh. “Thanks, Gene. I owe ya one.”

Gene waved his hand at the words and shook his head as he and Tommy headed out the door. “You’d do it for me, wouldn’t ya, kid?”

At least that was true. Tommy knew without question he’d help Gene out in any way he could.

It felt less like charity when Tommy thought about it in that light.

T
HE
LIGHTS
were on at Gene’s apartment when they pulled up. As they walked up the steps, Gene said over his shoulder, “I’ve got some sweats that might not fall off you if you wanna take a shower and get changed.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

Gene went on as he unlocked the front door, “Don’t mind Ben. He looks scarier than he is.”

Tommy was about to ask what Gene meant by that, but he understood as soon as they walked through the door. A man was sprawled on the living room sofa. He was huge. Not fat, but muscular. Every inch of skin showing under his leather vest was covered with ink, and Tommy guessed he was well over six feet tall. Tommy didn’t consider himself slight, but looking at Gene’s friend, Tommy felt like a very small child.

Ben reached for the remote and turned off the television before he glanced in Gene’s direction. “You’re back.”

Ben’s voice was like rich velvet, deep and soft. Tommy nearly laughed because he was already thinking of Ben as a giant tattooed teddy bear.

“And I come bearing sustenance,” Gene told him, laughing as he kicked off his shoes and locked the door after Tommy came inside.

They walked into the living room together, and Gene dropped a bag of sandwiches on the table.

“And wayward homeless youth?” Ben asked as he stood up from the couch and stretched, looking at Tommy with a playful grin.

If it had been anyone else, Tommy might have flipped him off for the remark. Ben had at least six inches and a hundred pounds on him, so he decided to shrug and laugh and let Gene answer for him.

Gene stepped aside to introduce them. “Shut it, asshole. This is Tommy. He’s gonna stay with me for a while.”

Ben’s brown eyes went wide and Tommy saw a trace of sorrow reflecting in his expression. “Shit, I’m sorry, man.” Ben shook his head and reached a hand to Tommy. “Gene told me what happened. Goddamned awful,” he added as Tommy shook his hand.

Again, Tommy didn’t know what to say, so he only offered a nod.

Gene had disappeared into the kitchen and came back with three bottles of beer. As he passed one to Tommy, he said, “I’d say you need water, but you’d just tell me to fuck off.”

Ben laughed and patted Tommy on the back. His hand felt like a slab of meat pounding against Tommy’s shoulder. “My kinda guy.” Tommy nearly stumbled forward with the force of the friendly gesture. He lifted the bottle to Ben in a mock toast before taking a long pull from it.

Gene sat down in a club chair and started passing out the food. Tommy took a seat on the couch as Ben fell back on it next to him.

“How’d it go today?” Gene asked Ben before digging in to his sandwich.

Ben had already taken a bite and was talking around his food. “Good,” he said, nodding animatedly. “Did about twenty people, made some killer contacts, and took home the trophy for best design.”

“Not bad for a day’s work.” Gene grinned at his friend. He must have seen Tommy’s question on his face because Gene explained, “Ben’s an artist. He’s in town for a tattoo convention.”

Tommy didn’t have to offer anything to the conversation other than a quiet smile as Ben said, “It’s not the biggest, but there was still some stiff competition and some really good artists there. Gray X had a booth set up next to mine and they’ve got some of the best in the business.”

“Did you go up against any of theirs?” Gene asked.

“Two of their artists were up for the same categories as me. Shocked the shit out of me when I beat ’em.”

Ben beamed, obviously pleased with himself, but not in a smug way, Tommy noticed.

“I bet your man is proud of you,” Gene added before taking a bite of his sandwich. Ben shot a look at Tommy and then back to Gene, and Gene laughed. “Tommy’s one of your lot.”

Ben seemed to relax, but Tommy was confused. Laughing when he looked at Tommy, Gene said pointedly, “
Gay
.”

Tommy nearly spit his beer out. “How did you kn—”

Gene laughed again. “I got eyes, don’t I? You think I never noticed you sneaking off behind my pub after your shift?”

Tommy was about to say something. He wasn’t sure what exactly, but
something
.

Gene went on instead. “You think I didn’t notice when you stopped doing that? Right about the time a certain officer of the law named Bobby started taking his dinner breaks with us on your nights….”

His appetite disappeared at the mention of Bobby’s name. Tommy sank back on the couch and took another sip from his beer. “What Bobby does is his own business. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Is that why he called nine times looking for you tonight?” Gene narrowed his eyes at Tommy with the answer.

There were a dozen things Tommy could have said to that, but instead he asked, “What’d you tell him?”

Gene snorted a laugh. “I told him you hadn’t been around. It wasn’t far from the truth, and I didn’t think either one of you needed him to see you off your face.”

Some sense of relief washed through Tommy then, and he let out a small breath. It shouldn’t matter, but he didn’t want Bobby thinking of him in the same light as his father. “Thanks, Gene.”

Gene stood up with the garbage from their dinner. He patted Tommy’s knee before reaching to pick up his empty bottle. “Don’t thank me, kid, just get your shit together and don’t fuck up the few good things you’ve got going for you.”