by Joe Clifford
Beyond the door, I could hear muffled orders given, the scatter of feet getting in position, weapons cocked and mounted, ready to fire on a single command.
All I wanted in that moment was to be back with Jenny and my son. My family. Just the three of us, in a cozy house, somewhere far from here. I swore to God and the heavens above that if He could just get me out of this mess, I’d make it right. No matter what. I’d make it right.
Then there was a loud crack, like glass shattering, a flashbang exploding in a brilliant wave of light, and I felt all my weight being pulled down.
I crashed to the dusty floor as Chris blew past me out the front door.
Gunfire erupted all around.
And then I was out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Turned out my brother had no trouble knocking me unconscious in the dark, after all.
He’d probably hit me harder than he’d intended. Or maybe not. Between brothers, there’s always sibling rivalry. This was his free pass. To haul off and slug me and still come off looking like the good guy. I went down hard. Maybe it was more than getting blindsided by a patio chair. Maybe I’d collapsed from the weight of it all. Either way, I came to in the hospital. The doctors said I had a mild concussion.
I knew what had happened before anyone told me. I could’ve dreamt it, or perhaps I’d overheard someone talking in my sleep.
What did it matter now? My brother was gone.
After he’d slugged me, Chris had taken the 9mm from me when I fell, stepped outside, and waved it around like a lunatic. Suicide by cop, they called it.
That’s how everything got wrapped up. No Butch and Sundance. No grand finale. Just a junkie checking out because he was too tired to go on, which left me with more questions than I’d ever get answers to. What else was new? When it came to my brother, you had to divide by four to get at the truth. Charges of molestation. Saving kids from drowning. Cutting brake lines. Lombardi. My father. Who did what to whom. Who knows? Chris was right about one thing, though. I don’t think even he knew what was real anymore.
The rest was easier to ascertain. When I took off after Chris, Fisher had picked up the phone and filled in Turley, who immediately called Concord PD, only to get confirmation that the man calling himself McGreevy wasn’t actually McGreevy. The revelation that someone had been impersonating a dead Concord detective had unleashed a wave of real Concord cops onto the scene. Which was a bit of irony, if you think about it.
Roger Paul, it would be determined, had been collecting on a drug debt. A ridiculous and flimsy cover, but probably the most convenient way to sweep an embarrassing problem under the rug. Which worked in my favor too, since there are no vehicular manslaughter charges for scumbag-on-scumbag crime. Perhaps Turley and Pat parlayed whatever favor they had for my benefit. Or, more likely, no one gave a shit about two dead lowlifes. Certainly, no one had tied Roger Paul to the Lombardis, and I didn’t offer any theories. I made sure Fisher and Charlie didn’t, either.
I don’t know what would’ve happened if Chris had given himself up, whether he might’ve been able to explain he didn’t kill Pete, or, with everything out in the open, if Adam or Michael or whoever would’ve had no choice but to back off and let events take their natural course. But in the weeks following my release from the hospital, as everything returned to normal, or as normal as things would ever be, I saw that my brother had been right not to bother trying. The riptide that took hold of his life had dragged him out to a rough sea too damn deep and dirty to wade out of clean. When you hit the point of no return, I guess you keep going and see what’s on the other side. I hated him for not giving me the chance to say goodbye, but in moments like that, I guess nobody gets a happy send-off.
The funeral took place on a cold, brisk February day. Most of the town came to pay their respects. People from Chris’ graduating class and from the wrestling team, guys he hadn’t talked to in years; Turley, and Pat, who’d officially announced his retirement; Claire Sizemore, Fisher, and, of course, Jenny and Aiden. I even saw Adam Lombardi lurking in the back row when I got up to deliver my eulogy at the church, dressed sharply, there to represent the entire Lombardi family. I wasn’t surprised to see him. He’d never miss the opportunity for face time or, more accurately, risk being perceived negatively, especially not with his new ski resort about to break ground. He’d come without his bodyguard. Maybe Erik Bowman and his Commanderoes buddies no longer ran security for him. Or, maybe the situation didn’t require their presence. For such a small town, it was a helluva turnout.
At the wake afterwards, which we held at Charlie’s, since he had the nicest house, I tried not to get too bogged down by a somber mood. In those situations, everyone is coming up to you saying the same thing, how sorry they are for your loss, urging you to remember the good times, and those are nice things to say, and they are nice things to hear. But, not really. They’re things you have to say, like when someone’s mother has cancer and you ask if there’s anything you can do, knowing damn well there’s not.
We had a big spread, generously paid for by Tom Gable, who joked that it was my severance package, since I’d told him I couldn’t work for him anymore, now that I’d be moving to Concord. Fisher had helped me land a job with his company down there. I’d be starting on the ground floor. But I didn’t mind having to work my way up. For some reason, I felt hungrier than I had in a long time.
After I’d shaken enough hands and thanked enough people for coming, I told Jenny I’d be outside. She gave me a sweet kiss, and I put my arms around her. Nobody had seen Brody since he cleared out his shit and headed off for Rutland, alone. He must’ve known he lost more in that kitchen than just a fight with my junkie brother. Jenny and Aiden had picked me up from the hospital and taken me home. They never left. We’d spent practically every waking second together since. Nothing had ever felt more right.
Standing on Charlie’s porch, smoking a cigarette, I stared at Lamentation Mountain, a cool breeze washing over me. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to see Adam Lombardi. I’d been expecting him, sooner or later. He left his hand there for a while, staring with me, like the view meant something to him too.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “I know it ended badly. But your brother and I were friends once.”
“A long time ago.”
He chuckled politely, always the politician.
“Saw in the paper they won’t be renewing the lease for the truck stop. Guess that frees up the land for your big ski resort.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Adam said, his tone downshifting to condescending. “But, yes, plans are moving forward to build a resort there. Going to be quite a boon for this town.”
I dragged on my cigarette. “Especially for you and your brother.”
“It’s going to be good for everyone, Jay.” He squeezed my shoulder and descended the stairs.
“For your dad too, I’m sure.”
He stopped and turned around.
“Gerry’s getting old,” I said. “I think he needs to take what little time he has left to enjoy the spoils.”
Adam grinned tersely. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said hello.”
“I’m thinking more like, it might be time for him to retire. Stop participating in UpStart, give up coaching wrestling too. I mean, what I’m trying to say, Adam, is that your dad needs to spend more time at home.”
Adam took a step back toward me, eyes whittled. “It’s nice of you to be so concerned, Jay. But that’s not your decision to make.”
“I think it is.” I dropped my cigarette and squashed it with my heel, stepping to him and standing toe to toe. “You know, before my brother died, he showed me some interesting—I guess interesting isn’t the right word, more like, fucking disturbing—pictures.”
Adam glanced off, feigning indifference, before turning back extra bemused. “Why would I care?”
“I guess you wouldn’t. But other people might.” I grinned. “I made a few cop
ies of a disc with those pictures. Have them sitting in a few places. All over Ashton. Instructions to open at a later date, under certain circumstances, y’know, if something should happen to me and all that.”
“Whatever you’re trying to say, Jay, just say it. Don’t get cute. I don’t have time.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m moving down to Concord with my fiancée and son, and if I don’t hear within the week that your father has quit coaching, and stepped down from the UpStart board, I’m going to send that disc to every newspaper and television station in New Hampshire.”
Adam smirked.
I waved my hand. “You go build your ski resort. Help your brother get reelected to another term. Make a lot of money. But if your sick fuck of a pedophile father isn’t under self-imposed house arrest, I’ll release those pictures, I swear to God I will. And maybe it won’t be enough to get him to spend the rest of his life in prison where he belongs, but it certainly will be enough to scare off potential investors and derail political aspirations. Innuendo and rumor go a long way in a small town.”
I heard the screen door open and shut behind me. Charlie and Jenny, who held my sleepy son, came to stand beside me.
“Thanks for coming, Adam,” I said. “Your kind words mean a lot.”
He forced a smile and said goodbye.
Skulking across the driveway, Adam Lombardi climbed in his Land Rover and roared off.
Other folks began leaving as well, the party breaking up.
“I’ve got to get Aiden down for his nap,” Jenny said. “You all right?”
“Never been better.”
She leaned over and kissed me. “See you at home?”
“It’s only our home for another week,” I said. “Then I’m getting us a new one.”
Jenny smiled, cradling Aiden’s sleepy head, which I kissed gently.
Charlie and I walked around the side of his house. He pulled two beers from inside his coat, passing one over. We clinked bottles.
“What’d Lombardi have to say?”
“Not much.”
“You tell him about the discs?”
“Yup.”
“Think he bought it?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Worth a shot, right?”
“Guess we’ll never know for sure if that was Gerry Lombardi in those pictures, eh?”
I shrugged again like I agreed, and fired another cigarette. But I already had my answer.
We stayed like that for a moment, silently staring over the horizon as the low winter sun set behind Lamentation.
“Saw you talking to Tom Gable,” I said.
Charlie flashed a devil’s grin. “As luck would have it, he’s looking for help.”
“You sure about this? No benefits. No union.”
“No waking up every morning with a hole in my belly, feeling like I want to die. I’ll take my chances. Besides, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. I’ll find something else. Life’s too short to be spending every day doing something you hate.”
“You’re still helping me move next weekend?”
“You bet.”
“You’re going to get down and visit once in a while, right?”
“Of course. But you’ll be back plenty. You’ve lived in Concord before. You always come back. Fisher always comes back. Everyone comes back. Ashton is like herpes. Can’t escape it.”
I drained a slug of beer, and handed Charlie the half-full bottle. “You need me to help clean up?”
“Nah,” Charlie said. “Get home to your wife and son.”
“She’s not my wife yet.”
“She will be soon enough,” he replied with a grin. “Face it, Jay. Ain’t no running from it anymore. You’re a family man now.”
I had to admit. I liked the sound of that.
