Like Grownups Do

by Nathan Roden

  Bradley’s face was darkened by the bruise that surrounded his wrecked nose. He continued to kick at the floor, backing up in a crab walk.

  A swirl of darkness weaved among his flailing limbs, wrapping its tendrils under and around his neck and shoulders like the graceful moves of a conductor’s arms. The shadow engulfed his torso in a dark symphony of smoke.

  “You are not to attempt to contact Millie ever again,” Babe said, softly.

  “What are you going to do, Joshua?” Bradley asked. He turned his face away from Babe and kicked his legs, pressing himself farther against the door frame. “Beat me up? Kill me? You broke into my house. I’ll have you arrested!”

  Babe spoke calmly.

  “Three things can happen to you, Bradley. Your best option is that I come back for you. Option number two is that you become a very popular prison bitch. The very worst option? Bradley, you have some idea who Millie works with, don’t you?”

  Babe leaned in closer.

  “People disappear all the time,” Babe said.

  That was the line that Bradley Weyner remembered—over and over and over; that line, and also the last thing that Babe said before he left the house, though Bradley was never able to make sense of it.

  “They’ve already come for you.”

  Babe woke in a dense mind fog and pried open one eye. He groaned when he saw sunlight peeking around the edge of the drapes of the office apartment.

  Shit, he thought. It’s at least seven—a one snooze maximum.

  But that wasn’t going to happen, because his head was pounding. He worked at memory construction, feeling like a test chimp trying to push colored block shapes through the corresponding holes of a plastic cube.

  Did I leave a bottle of Tylenol here or did I just think that it would be a good idea?

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a minute for his equilibrium to settle. He stood and took two steps toward the bathroom. His right leg seized in a cramp. He hopped around and suppressed the need to scream. He knew immediately what had happened; too much beer and not enough water.

  This was not his first experience with self-imposed dehydration. It was an excellent companion for the effects of the rock hard mattress that Jordan had picked out. As the cramp in Babe’s leg subsided the pain moved vertically, nestling into his lower back.

  Can you die from old age at thirty two?

  It didn’t help Babe’s mood knowing that MG was already in the office, the coffee was dripping, and she was bouncing around in there like a hummingbird on crack, probably doing one handed pull-ups in the doorway and waiting for “the mortals” to join her.

  I know what I’m going to do, Babe thought.

  I’m going to find out when the Blood Bank van is in the area, make sure that MG donates, and then go in behind her. Then I’ll whip out a pistol and hold the Bloodmobile hostage and demand that they transfuse me with her blood. Then we’ll see…Babe lost the train of thought because all he could picture at this point was the Incredible Hulk.

  That’s not what would happen. Instead of super strength and super energy, I would rip out of my clothes and be immediately transformed into the pink Power Ranger—

  It can’t be the blood anyway. Look at her daughter. She has the same hyper-kinetic energy as MG. The effect must therefore be transferred by contact…

  “Jesus, Doctor Frankenstein,” Babe said out loud. “Are you mental? What is it you do for a living, again?” he said.

  He shook his head as he made his way to the bathroom.

  We’ve hugged lots of times and nothing happened. Maybe you have to concentrate. Would MG notice if I started touching her, maybe she would just—?

  “Stop it,” Babe whispered the scream at himself.

  “Good morning, Babe. Did you sleep well?” MG asked.

  “Just peachy, MG,” Babe said. Tom breezed by on his way into his office holding several file folders in one hand. His phone was pinned to his ear by a raised shoulder and the other hand clutched a bagel minus the huge bite that was in his mouth. He made a fist with that hand and held it out for Babe to bump as he passed.

  “MMMNNPPFTT!” Tom said, propelling a shower of bagel crumbs.

  “Coffee is on and there are some bagels and some of those things the two of you like with the fried pig parts inside,” MG said.

  “Jordan checked in. They’ve picked out a condo and he’ll be back in town this evening. He has to line up the movers in the morning and rent a storage building. I told him that I thought you wanted to speak with him. I hope that was all right.”

  “Yeah, sure. Have you talked to Millie this morning?”

  “She called right after I came in. She seems to be doing fine. She took two more pills but she may be having some type of reaction to them. She said she was ‘sweating like a bull moose thanks to General Baryshnikov’ or something like that,” MG said.

  “General Smirnoff?” Babe asked.

  “Yeah, that was…oh…duh,” MG nodded.

  “Anything else you need, Babe? Before your ten o’clock?”

  “No, thank you MG. Some coffee and some pig parts will be great. I’ll refresh myself on the file.”

  “That wild, unshaven look is all the rage these days. Very trendy,” MG said with a wicked grin.

  “Crap,” Babe said. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

  MG left her desk to take a file to Tom at the same time that Babe turned to go back to the apartment and shave. Babe reached for the door handle, and then turned and retraced his steps.

  When MG got back to the reception desk, Babe hugged her.

  “What?…well…okay,” MG said.

  Babe walked back toward the apartment without another word.

  Well, so much for that, I don’t feel anything.

  “Joshua Babelton. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Gabriel Athas. The pleasure is mine, Dr. Babelton.”

  “I didn’t stay at school long enough for that, Mr. Athas,” Babe said. He directed Gabriel to a chair. The caffeine and Tylenol had run their course and the pounding in Babe’s head returned.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Babe asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Mind if I get some?” Babe asked.

  “Not at all,” Gabriel replied.

  Babe returned to the office, sipping at the too hot coffee. He held the cup under his water dispenser but it had been empty for days. His body seemed to be in a state of revolt. The headache refused to be ignored.

  Babe sat behind his desk and opened the file on Gabriel Athas. He began speaking mostly to himself as he turned pages.

  “Early enrollment, four point o, another four point o, honors, more honors, four point o, letter of recommendation, more letters of… Jesus, you should be examining me.”

  Gabriel picked up a legal pad from Babe’s desk.

  “And how does that make you feel?” Gabriel asked.

  Babe didn’t raise his head, only his eyes.

  “Mr. Athas, I would like to start by going over—”

  “You are bleeding, sir,” Gabriel said, pointing, “By your ear.”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks; high speed shaving incident.” Babe said, reaching for a tissue.

  “You are Rick Richmond’s stepson, are you not?” Gabriel asked.

  Babe looked up.

  “Yes, how did you know that?”

  “That is his picture on your desk. And I assume that is your mother. She is very pretty.”

  “How do you know who my stepfather is?”

  “I have watched some of his speeches on C-Span. He is, after all, running for an Illinois Senate seat.”

  “So, you’re the one,” Babe said.

  “The one…what?” Gabriel asked.

  “The one that watches C-Span.”

  “All of my friends watch C-Span.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  “I believe he will win,” Gabriel said.

  “What makes you say that? Do you l
ike his haircut?” Babe asked.

  “His speeches are attended by the heavy hitters from his party. They are the ones that let you know where the support is. And the Republican he will be running against has some…personal issues,” Gabriel said.

  “So you like Richmond in November, huh?”

  “My ‘like’ has little to do with it. He does not write his own speeches, does he?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea.” Babe said.

  “Do you not speak?”

  “Not for— Look, Mr. Athas. Can we get on with the interview, please?”

  “As you wish, Mr. Babelton. And you may call me Gabriel, if you like.”

  “Very well. And you can call me Babe. Everybody does.”

  “I think not, Mr. Babelton.”

  “Suit yourself. Now, Gabe, the non—”

  “Please do not do that.”

  “I’m sorry?” Babe said.

  “Please do not call me Gabe. That is not my name.”

  “Okay, Gabriel. I thought you wanted to be informal. I won’t—”

  “A person’s name should be held in the highest regard. If I just decided to call you Margaret you would not be happy with that, would you, sir?”

  “I said, I won’t call you—”

  “Do you know why Jesus does not like to hear ‘Jesus H. Christ’?” Gabriel asked.

  “I’m familiar with the Bible, Mr. Athas. ‘Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain’.”

  “But that is not the reason. It is because that is not his name. What might the ‘H’ stand for? Hannibal? Or maybe Henry? You know what would happen, do you not?”

  “Never mind, Mr. Athas—” Babe said.

  “Yes sir,” Gabriel said.

  “As I was saying—”

  “Yes sir, Peter always wanted to be Jesus’s best friend, so you know what would have happened. He would have started calling him ‘Hank’, and thus the scholars would have been forced to write, ‘What manner of man is this, that even the winds and the sea obey him, who heals the sick, and casts out unclean spirits? Oh, that’s just Hank’.”

  “Dammit,” Babe said.

  “Well-meaning people would approach strangers on street corners and at airports to inquire of them whether they have accepted Hank as their personal Lord and Savior. All of these problems from just that one ‘H’.”

  Babe place his palms down on his desk and exhaled heavily.

  “Are you feeling okay, Mr. Babelton? You seem—”

  “Gabriel. Mr. Athas. If we could just continue—”

  “Where is Miss Vandermeer?”

  “She’s off today.”

  “She is off? On Wednesday? Is she playing golf with some doctors?”

  Gabriel found his joke very amusing. Babe did not.

  “Mister—” Babe started, but Gabriel had been scanning the room. He leapt to his feet and crossed to the adjacent wall.

  “Mr. Babelton. These are amazing.”

  Gabriel stood before two large framed prints. One was the print of Curt Schilling.

  Babe rolled his eyes and sighed. He got to his feet slowly and crossed the room.

  “Where did you get these?”

  Gabriel was transfixed and seemed to have devolved into a wide-eyed ten year old.

  “The Shilling print was a gift from my boss. The other is a photo from… it was blown up from an eight-by-ten that my father bought for me when I was a kid. It was in a dumpy little card shop in St. Louis.”

  The photo had been taken from left field at Fenway Park. The camera pointed up the face of the left field wall, known as The Green Monster. A pregame publicity stunt involved having a small construction crane lift patrons to the top of the wall for photo opportunities. This was years before seats were added on top of the wall.

  The date stamped on the bottom of the photo was May 16, 1968. Babe loved the picture and it occupied a place of honor in its three-time upgraded frame on his living room wall. A few years ago Jill took the photo from the house and gave it to Jack, who had one of the media experts from the Bureau enhance and enlarge it. This was the print on Babe’s office wall.

  “I take it you’re a fan?” Babe asked.

  Gabriel continued to stare at the prints.

  “Rabid. Am I drooling? I can’t tell.”

  “If you don’t mind, Mr. Athas, we have some materials to go over.”

  “Okay. Call me Gabriel.”

  “You’ve taken all the fun out of that.”

  They returned to their seats.

  “Now, as I was saying, Mr. Athas, I would like to clarify the non-disclo— ”

  “You are worried about her.”

  Babe slammed a fist down on his desk. He caught himself.

  Jesus, I’m losing it.

  “Mr. Athas. I have a job to do, and you have applied for the position of Special Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am not an employee of the FBI but I can assure you that I operate under its direction and under its supervision. If for some reason you are unable, or unwilling to participate today, we can reschedule. You may speak to M…Miss Gerard—”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Babelton. “ Gabriel stood and began pacing.

  “I have been in, shall we say, an intense environment for the past twenty two months. I certainly do not mean to be disruptive. If I have offended you, I apologize.”

  “I’m not offended, Mr. Athas. If you will just have a seat—”

  “I just…I really, really do not want to be inside today. I want to go water skiing. Or hike up a mountain. Or go to the batting cage. Yeah. Mr. Babelton. Let’s go to the batting cage.”

  Babe lowered his head into his hands and tried to control his breathing. The headache was enormous.

  What. The. FUCK.

  Gabriel slid quietly into his chair.

  “You were saying. About the non-disclosure agreement,” Gabriel spoke quietly.

  Babe lifted his head slowly and looked down at his notes.

  “The terms of the non disclo—”

  “She is strong; very strong. She will be fine.”

  Babe’s voice coasted to a stop this time. He closed his eyes.

  Should I count to ten? I never have before. Does that shit even work? Is ten enough? How about one little, two little, three little Indians? Babe opened his eyes very slowly.

  “Mr. Athas, did you drive here today?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, why don’t you go and get your car. Bring it around front and pick me up.”

  Babe jumped to his feet, his fists clenched.

  “Then, we’re going to drive to the fucking K-Mart. To get you some fucking underwear. Then we’re going to Las Vegas to play some fucking cards. And you’re going to drive. Because you are an EXCELLENT FUCKING DRIVER!”

  Gabriel remained calm.

  “Did you hear me, Mr. Babelton? She is very strong. She will be—”

  “Yes, I fucking heard you. Are you talking about Millie?”

  Gabriel nodded.

  Babe looked around the ceiling in exasperation and then clutched at his hair. He stepped back to the desk and leaned forward as he slapped both hands down on the desk. His face was inches from Gabriel’s.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You don’t know anything about Millie. Who have you been… ?Who…?”

  Babe fell back into his chair. He caught his breath for a few seconds in the silence that followed. Then he leaned forward with his head down.

  “Please make another appointment on your way out,” Babe croaked.

  “No earlier than a week from today, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Babelton, I—”

  “Just…go. Please,” Babe said, weakly.

  “Miss Vandermeer will—”

  “Get…OUT!”

  Babe bolted to his feet again. His knees weakened and he sank back into his chair with his face in his hands.

  Gabriel stood and walked to the door. He placed his hand on the door handle, turned his h
ead to the side and spoke over his shoulder.

  “She will wait for you.”

  The door hissed shut as these last words found Babe’s ears. The words echoed in the middle of his brain and sent a torrent of pain toward his frontal lobe. Everything in his vision turned a blinding red and suddenly nothing was more important to Babe than not letting this creepy bastard have the last word. He pulled his hands away from his face, shot to his feet, and ran toward the reception area. MG was just coming out of the ladies’ room. The room was empty. Babe jerked the front door open and looked both ways.

  Nothing.

  Twenty-Four

  “Mr. Babe,” Lewis yelled from behind the bar.

  Babe waved from near the entrance before he removed his coat. It was another chilly evening in the seemingly never ending string of chilly evenings that began to get very old by late March. Relief would be here soon though, along with longer days and, of course, baseball.

  “Thank God for satellite, huh, Mr. Babe?” Lewis motioned toward a television screen and continued polishing Boston Harbor Ice Tea glasses by hand.

  “We never used to be able to get spring training games.

  Babe slapped a high five with Lewis and then his brother Leo.

  “Lewis, you’re not old enough to use the phrase ‘We never used to’,” Babe said.

  “Now me, that’s another story. Like, ‘we never used to play polo on dinosaurs because those fuckers bite.’”

  Leo laughed.

  “Come on, Mr. Babe, you’re hardly older than we are. You’re barely out of short pants.”

  Lewis chimed in.

  “When Mr. Babe started coming here he was still shitting yellow.”

  “If you boys think I’m going to stand here and be insulted like this,” Babe said, “I’m not. I’ll be sitting. Right over there.”