Chase to the Encore

by P G Loiselle

  “Nothing’s wrong with that,” Stevie said.

  “That’s not why I’m crying, you space-case.” She smeared the wet streaks into her face with both palms and trumpeted into a Kleenex she found in her back pocket. “Him and his brother, my Uncle Victor, were fishermen on a layover in Fall River during a trip to the Georges Bank and literally missed the boat home. Too drunk, I heard and ended up staying where they landed. My mother, Carol, was pure Irish-American, a freckled redhead. They met at a restaurant or something and were hopelessly in love. At least, they seemed it to me. My father hardly spoke English but where we lived, in the Portuguese section of town, didn’t need to. If I would write a fairytale of only happy endings, it would be about the first nine years of my life as Princess Amy Almeida.”

  “Almeida?” I asked. “That’s your real name?”

  “Lynch is now my real name. Back then it was Almeida, my pai’s last name.”

  “Pi, like the math thing?” Stevie asked.

  “Seriously? Pai means father in Portuguese.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Of course,” he said yet looked confused.

  “Sundays were the best, family day, and my parents always did something special with me: the beach, a picnic, a drive in my father’s 1958 Ford Thunderbird, whatever. The crown jewel was the evening meal at Sagres, a Portuguese restaurant, with my aunt Maria, cousin Mickey, and crowds of friends. Uncle Victor, the poor guy, died in a fishing accident before I was even born. By the time we got there on Sundays, Sagres was packed. They always found room for us though. No sooner did I sit down, I was up again, roaming the hall with packs of kids I knew, crawling under tables, playing games and generally having a ball. All the adults knew me, and besides the flurry of compliments, I’d end up with pockets full of penny candy and small change.” She paused and stared in our direction, appearing to look right through us. Her complexion was flush, and she radiated a tinge of joy from all that reminiscing.

  “Why’re you now a Lynch,” Stevie asked, breaking the spell.

  “She’ll get to it, Stevie,” I said. “Give her a chance.”

  She shook her head, grinning. “My mother told me later in life that it was the highlight of her week too, and that community was like the family she’d never had. She felt a kind of love for her real mother, but her father was a bigoted tyrant who banished her from setting even a pig toe within his home after she married a ‘filthy Portagee’. Didn’t even matter that he was Catholic.

  “One summer evening, we went to the Drive-In to see a double-feature that I’ll never forget: Pippi Longstocking and Herbie goes to Monte Carlo. Aunt Carol and Mickey tagged along, but my pai had to work at the docks, very early, he said, and stayed back. Told me he’d see me for lunch the next day. As the movies flickered on the outdoor screen and the sound squawked out of a forest of tinny speakers dangling from metal poles, I continued to play in the sultry July air with swarms of children scattered throughout the theater grounds. Like in Sagres, most of the kids spoke Portuguese.” She lingered on the memory and brandished a slight smile. “I couldn’t recall a summer evening, ever, better than the one I’d had right then and there. By the time we got home, it was almost midnight, and I’d already collapsed into sleep in the car. My mother tried to carry me into the house but couldn’t lift my gangly frame out of the back of the wagon. I made it up the stairs as if floating in a trance and continued dreaming without interruption. My mother must have undressed me, and as I woke in the morning, sweating from the humidity gathering in my top floor bedroom, the words ‘and they lived happily ever after’ dominated my sense of being.”

  “Sounds nice,” I said. “Like the perfect evening.”

  “It was. Except that, that…” Saline droplets streamed out of her tear ducts, ran along the creases on both sides of her nose, and barely passed the corners of her mouth before falling off her jaw’s edge.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “My pai didn’t show up for lunch as promised. Didn’t show up for supper either. As a matter of fact, he never showed up again.” Her voice was hollow. She seemed to have pushed away all emotion, yet the tears didn’t stop flowing.

  “Never again?” Stevie said.

  “My mother looked everywhere before going to the police. They told her to come back after twenty-four hours, the rules at the time. It killed her, but she did as she was told. They took down the information and said they’d look. After that, nothing happened. My mother went there every day, each day more crazed, until those bastard cops wouldn’t even see her anymore and laughed her out of the station.

  “From one day to the next, my pai was gone, and I submerged into myself. I was mute for weeks on end before finally bouncing back. My mother, the poor lady, never really bounced back. During the first couple of months after my pai’s disappearance, there was lots of support from other families in the community. As time went by, we slowly drifted away from that crowd, my mother not being Portuguese. Only Aunt Maria and Mickey really stood by us.”

  “Did your father come back?” Stevie asked.

  “One Saturday afternoon, my mother rushed into our apartment and without a word, started packing up all belongings. She told me to ‘shut my God damn mouth and help her.’ It turns out that my mother had crawled back to her father and made a pact, a pact that would trade our last name and the happiest years of my life in exchange for a place to stay. By the time darkness settled in, we had moved everything into the Lynch house in East Providence, Rhode Island, and our life in Fall River was like a bygone fairy tale.”

  “That’s why it’s Lynch,” Stevie said as if having an epiphany.

  “I tried to make that place a home. My grandfather was nothing more than a hulking, ruthless bully with red hair and a thirst for the suds. He treated me like shit and called me a mutt, a half-breed. I tried to ignore him. That asshole treated my mother even worse, barely tolerable. My grandmother was nice enough, and the meaner my grandfather got, the sweeter she became.

  “One evening, I was up in my attic room, finishing math when I heard the front door open and my mother get in from work. Instead of her coming up straight away, a fight ensued, and my loser grandfather screamed an encyclopedia of cruelties at her. There was a loud thud, and something fell. Then came the running, up the stairs, and my mother busted through the door, crying and panicked. My mother grabbed me and held me as tight as I’ve ever been held. My grandmother followed with an icepack. We all huddled together while the ice was applied to my mother’s bruised cheekbone. Soon my dickhead grandfather started bitching for his supper. At first my grandmother looked terrified. But her expression shifted. The frightened old bird looked courageous as she descended the stairs to face her worthless husband. We were so scared of what might happen next, but the only thing that did happen was that we were called down to eat after an unusually long spell.

  “My grandfather seemed content, plopped down at the head of the table in his grimy V-neck ribbed t-shirt with a glass of stout and a plateful of roast beef and gravy-soaked potatoes. He refrained from any belittlement and was even jovial. When my mother and I were done eating, we excused ourselves with no objections from the man of the house and went right to bed.

  “The next morning was quite extraordinary. We were woken by several unknown voices discussing something with my grandmother on the ground floor. I looked out front and saw an ambulance with its lights on. My beast of a grandfather, Mr. Charles Lynch, was dead. Everyone speculated that it must have been a heart attack, or natural causes that did him in. Only my grandmother knew the truth, and we could only guess what really happened. Being a good Catholic, the widow must have at least hoped that her deceased husband had enjoyed his last meal, including all the trimmings.”

  “I’m so sorry, Amy,” I said. “What a horrible story.” She lightened up for a moment.

  “That was actually a happy end to that chapter. For the next fi
ve years, the three generations of Lynch women coexisted in peace until my grandmother died unexpectedly after being bowled over by a powerful flu. My mother, who smoked like a fiend, was stricken with cancer only six years later and it was clear she wouldn’t beat it. Instead of having her waste away in the antiseptic stench of an overcrowded hospital room, a patient bed was brought into the house so my mother could die in dignity.

  “I was twenty-one, and those were the best times my mom and I ever had with each other. She was only forty-two, and we acted like best friends, sisters. Three nights before she passed, we were getting extra close and recollecting all those grand moments we had in my pai’s old-timer. My mom at once changed the subject to my father’s death.”

  “Death?” I said.

  “Death?” Stevie repeated only milliseconds after me.

  “Oh, Amy,” I said. “I’m…I’m shocked, and horrified. They kept you in the dark.” Amy didn’t respond at first; only winced and breathed deep, so deep, I thought she’d hyperventilate.

  “Dark as a black hole,” she said, collecting herself. “My mom knew the whole time. And I’m sure the cops knew, and probably half of Fall River. On the day we moved, a friend of my fathers, Tony something, went into the diner where my mother worked. Said he needed to talk to her in private. My father saw something on the docks he shouldn’t have, he said, and had to disappear for good. Tony heard it second hand but said my father begged to have his life spared. Swore to God he wouldn’t tell a soul. Said he had a wife and a daughter and, you know, those guys were family men too. Tony said they were about to let him go until the boss of those men came into the room. That man killed my father, stabbed him right in the heart.

  “They took his poor body somewhere and buried him. Tony said they all knew. All those men who worked on the docks knew what happened and knew who did the killing. Figured they’d be next if they spoke up or maybe their wife, or kids. And it wouldn’t bring back my father anyway. So, they kept their stinking mouths shut. My mother said she couldn’t stay in a place like that with murderers roaming the streets and neighbors accepting it as normal. She needed to raise me in a good place, she said. And not where killers like Joey da Silva live. She told me, ‘you deserved better sweetie’ and that was it, her final words. She couldn’t go on. After she caught her breath, she turned away and went silent for a long time. A day and a half later, the death rattle kicked in and ended ten hours after that when the doctor pronounced her dead as a doornail.”

  During the entire telling, Amy was different. Her typical shielding sarcasm was replaced by an empty rehashing of scarring memories and childhood nostalgia. At the very end of the account, she broke down completely and curled up into herself. She wept out loud yet softly. Her whole body seemed to pulse to the rhythm of her whimpering, like the idle of a sick engine. Although I’d never seen her so emotional, she still seemed to be holding back. I went to sooth her.

  “Amy, I, I don’t know what…” I tried to take her in my arms.

  “Stop it,” she said, lashing out. “I don’t need your frickin’ pity.” She shoved me away. “You two are the only ones I ever told and it’s hard, you know. Give me a minute to get my shit together. Will you? I’ll be fine. Just back off. Ok?”

  I returned to my pillows, and we remained quiet for a long time, a contemplative infinity for someone as antsy as me, until she finally spoke again.

  “Sorry, Luke, for pushing you, I mean.” Her appearance of frailty had disappeared altogether, replaced by the silhouette of a warrior.

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s, well, terrible. That guy. Jimmy, um…what’s his name again?”

  “Joey, da Silva, Stone, the cut-throat you met at The Corner tonight.

  “And you really have his money?” I asked.

  “Yes, I do, and the only way he’s getting it back is over my dead body.”

  I tilted my head forward. “Your dead body, huh?” I sat up straight, leveraging the push of my hands on my thighs. “Amy, it’s atrocious what that butcher did, but your mother was right to get you away from Fall River. Let’s be rational. He had no problem taking out your father, and he’d do the same to you, and me, and Stevie, and anyone else who gets in his way. Is it worth risking all that to get revenge?”

  “This has nothing to do with revenge. This has to do with justice and ridding the world of a destroyer of lives.” She spoke in vanilla terms, not allowing emotion to blur the message. “How many other lives has that monster ruined? I know three; I’m sure there were many more. The police must have known that Stone was behind my father’s disappearance. Why else would they have shirked it off as an accident so quickly? Those crooks in blue were protecting him. And I’m sure he’s been paying for the same kind of protection ever since. How else could he get away with murder, day in and day out? Justice, Luke. Justice. And you know, I understand if you and Stevie bow out of this mess. You’re right. We may pay a high price with our lives. But if there’s a good chance at beating him, I’m going for it.”

  “Least you’re safe with us,” Stevie said. The way he said it, I couldn’t get that picture of Amy out of my mind, hiding behind him as I entered.

  “For now,” I countered. “Let’s just figure a way out of this.” I looked over at Stevie, wondering who he was trying to impress as the great protector. His eyes briefly shifted in my direction, but he orientated himself towards Amy.

  “It’s about justice. We can’t forget that,” she said and softened her tone. “And hey, I love you guys so much.” Amy glowed with a pastel shine even though a feat bigger than a mountain stood before her.

  “Right now, it’s about safety. What next?” I asked.

  “Not sure,” she said. “Didn’t quite get that far. I’d been waiting for a long time to do something. Just wasn’t sure what until the opportunity finally came up.”

  “Opportunity?” Stevie asked.

  “Yeah, if we knew,” I said, “it might help us figure out where to go next.”

  “I’m kind of talked out but might as well finish.” She drew in a slow breath. “Two years ago, I thought I’d see justice. Da Silva was on trial for counterfeiting, caught red handed with over a million in crappy looking bills. They were so fake, it was like play money. The evidence was mounting against him, and I figured he’d never worm himself out of that one.”

  My attention perked. “That was news for months. I recognized his face when he came out of Carney’s office.”

  “Yeah, and the dirtball got off,” Amy said. “On a technicality. Apparently, the prosecution made some stupid procedural mistake, and the judge threw it out of court. I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was guilty as hell, and everyone knew it.”

  “How’d they screw-up so bad?” I asked. “You’d think they’d have the best of the best doing the prosecuting.”

  “You’d think so,” she said. “That’s why it was such a surprise they appointed the most junior person as head prosecutor. Like always, there was some pay off or some favor owed, and the odds were stacked against the state from the very beginning. The kid lawyer didn’t argue that bad. Just messed up big at some point in the trial, and that was it. The judge, that cocksucker, insisted that he was ‘forced’ to throw out the case and Stone was free to go.”

  “That sucks,” Stevie said.

  “Back to square one,” I said.

  “Not exactly. I had a joker in my hand, you see.” A fresh surge of enthusiasm flushed within her taut cheeks. “That cousin of mine from the old days, Mickey, called out of the blue and wanted to meet. I hadn’t seen him since leaving Fall River and was so excited to hook up again. He’s a lot older and was more like a big brother than a cousin. We met at Scarborough Beach, at a quiet spot for some privacy. I didn’t realize how close he and my father were until Mickey raved about him with a proud smile and watery eyes, as if Serge had been his own dad. We sat for hours, and besides learning of my Aunt Maria’s
passing, it was the nicest time I had since those last precious days with my mom. The afternoon was winding down, and before we split, I had to promise something. I should lie down on my blanket, close my eyes and think about the great day we had. And the rest of the promise was simple: don’t get up for a half hour and don’t try to contact him. When the time was right, he said, he’ll return. We hugged, and I kept my promise.”

  “And he was your joker?” I asked.

  “Not directly. I fell asleep and woke to find that he’d forgot his backpack. I waited, and when he didn’t come back to get it, I took it home. It sat on my kitchen table for a week and it bugged the shit out of me. I didn’t have his number, and it was strange that he didn’t call to come get it. Then it dawned on me. He wanted me to have it. That’s why I had to make that weird promise in the first place. I grabbed the backpack and zipped it open. There was a note on top, and underneath the note was another bag, a cloth bag full of something else. It felt like a present, so I didn’t dare look before reading the note. I read it about a million times, and it went something like this:

  ‘Dear Amy,

  I’m so happy I got to see you again. When you moved away with Auntie Carol, I was crushed. First Uncle Serge was gone. Then you two. Before leaving, Auntie Carol came to say goodbye. She made us swear that we’d respect her decision to sever all ties and not contact either of you. We did as she requested, although I kept my eyes on you both to make sure that everything was ok. I was so sad to hear that she passed and stood outside the funeral grounds looking on in the distance. Your father was sort of the reason for my decision to make a career in law enforcement. Back then, everyone heard the rumors and knew who was behind his murder. I’m sure you know now too. I wanted to be someone who could stop guys like Joey da Silva, and it almost worked. It was my investigation and arrest that led to his trial. I thought we could put him behind bars for a long time. Unfortunately, he was acquitted. What a disgrace for our legal system. I don’t know if or how it would help, but I was able to secure the counterfeit money that da Silva was caught with. You’ll find it in the bag. As far as everyone else is concerned, the evidence was destroyed. When I took it, instinct told me I could use it to nail da Silva some other clever way. The problem is, the thought of having that dirty paper in my possession haunted me daily. Plus, if I ever got caught, it would mean the end of my career. And then I thought of you. Maybe you’ll find it useful one day. Don’t try to spend it and hide it well. Then again, if it sickens you like it did me, get rid of the smut. When the time is right, we’ll meet again. That’s my promise to you.