by Nathan Roden
Babe jumped up and got Marshall’s attention, being careful not to spook him. He introduced Marshall to Tom and Jordan. Marshall was thrilled to see Millie. He took her hand in both of his.
“Oh, my. Look at you, pretty girl.”
“Can we take a walk, Babe?” Marshall asked.
“Sure, Marshall,” Babe said. They stepped toward the door. Marshall looked at Millie and motioned with his head for her to come also.
“I heard all about Jack from the guys downstairs. It sounds like he’s going to be okay. That’s really good news,” Marshall said, pushing the elevator button.
“It’s pretty outside. I have a little time but I won’t keep you from your friends.”
“Where is the Petrelli family?” Millie asked Babe.
“There’s no one in there.”
Babe shrugged.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Marshall said, “You haven’t heard, then?”
“Heard what?” Babe asked.
“Let’s wait until we get out to the courtyard.”
Oh, shit, Babe thought.
“So, what is it, Marshall?”
“They are taking Agent Petrelli off of life support at nine in the morning,” Marshall said.
“They talked to the Pope?” Millie asked.
“I wish it was that simple,” Marshall said.
“You two might want to have a seat. This is a hell of a story.”
“Babe. Babe! Can you hear me? Babe. Talk to me,” Millie said.
She slapped Babe’s cheek and was preparing to do it a second time.
Babe grabbed Millie’s hand in mid-slap. He blinked a few times.
“God, Millie, is that your fix for everything? It’s a good thing you aren’t a doctor. You’d have to treat every one of your patients for a broken jaw,” Babe said, pulling away from her.
“It worked, didn’t it? You’re back,” Millie said.
“Marshall, are you sure you heard that right?” Babe asked.
“I had my window down and I wasn’t more than, maybe thirty feet away,” Marshall said.
“So what do you think all that means? Somebody told that old lady that they’re the Angel Gabriel? I mean, bottom line—it’s a good thing. That poor man isn’t coming back. But, like Carl said, if that story gets out…man.”
“What’s to worry about?” Millie said.
“She’s eighty-seven years old and under a lot of strain. I’m sure she just misunderstood.”
“That’s what the Chaplain told Carl. But Bonnie came back and said that two nurses reported that they passed by the chapel and saw that lady and a young man coming out of the chapel. The man held both of her hands and kissed her on top of the head before he walked away.”
“Look, you two,” Marshall said, “It was really good to see you. Millie, I’m really glad to see you doing so well. But I only have a few more minutes and I missed lunch today. I’m off tomorrow night, but I’ll be back Sunday night if you guys are still around.”
“Sure. Thanks, Marshall,” Babe said.
Millie kissed Marshall’s cheek.
“Goodnight, Marshall.”
Marshall used an employee’s entrance to return to the building. Babe and Millie started for the main entrance.
“Babe, isn’t your new client named Gabriel?” Millie asked.
Babe stared straight ahead.
“Yeah, ain’t that something?”
MG had returned. Tom and Christie had moved onto a sofa in the sleeping corner. Millie was curled up in a chair, asleep. Babe dozed off sitting up until a nurse tapped him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr. Englemann’s family?”
“Yes. Yes ma’am,” Babe stirred. MG and Jordan tilted forward in their chairs.
“Jack would like to see you—just for a few minutes, now,” the nurse whispered.
Babe scrambled to his feet.
“Come on, Mom and Dad,” he waved to MG and Jordan.
Jack was in a semi-raised position and heavily bandaged. He had a large bandage on his left thigh. A nurse was attending to Jack. When the nurse that had ushered them into the room turned to leave, Babe grabbed her arm.
“He was shot in the leg, too? We were never told about that.”
“No sir. When Mr. Englemann fell he was cut by a sharp piece of metal flashing from a window sill,” the nurse said.
“The cut was fairly deep.”
“Jack?” Babe whispered.
Jack’s eyes fluttered and then he smiled.
“Just a few minutes, please,” the attending nurse said.
“We normally wouldn’t let you in this soon, but we love our cops and our feebs. My husband is a detective, so… Mr. Englemann needs to rest—so just a few minutes—Doctors’ rounds in about twenty. They’ll have my hide.”
“Thank you so much. We appreciate it,” MG said.
“Was it…London?” Jack croaked.
Babe, Jordan, and MG nodded.
Jack pointed weakly toward the dark television with his right hand. His arm trailed an IV tube.
“On the news?”
The three of them shook their heads and then turned to look at each other.
“Are we the Marx Brothers?” MG asked.
“More like the Three Stooges,” Jack said.
He laughed and then winced.
“Shit. Sorry, Jack,” MG said.
“You had us really scared, Jack,” Babe said.
“You have a lot of people here pulling for you. We have our own waiting room. The New York Bureau office set us up here.”
Jack’s face clouded over.
“How many others were….?”
“Sawyer was hit in the upper arm. He’s already been released. Petrelli— I’m sorry, Jack. They’re taking him off of life support this morning,” Babe said.
Jack looked away.
“We never suspected…he was an analyst—just a computer guy.”
MG stroked Jack’s hair.
“Jack we need to let you rest. Try to concentrate on that. We need you back.”
Jordan put his hand on top of Jack’s right hand.
“We have to get old together, Jack. You promised.”
“Have I ever let you down, Mr. Jordan?”
“Never. What can I do for you, Can I bring you anything?”
Jack pulled his hand from under Jordan’s and slipped it under the sheet that covered him. He tapped against the sheet in the area of his midsection.
“Do you think Mary Alice is busy?”
He laughed again—and winced again.
“Worst patient ever,” Babe said.
Jordan put his hands on his hips. He turned away from Jack and stifled a laugh before he turned back around.
“You’re going to rip out all your damn stitches and it’ll be your own damn fault.”
“Will not,” Jack said.
“Will, too,” Jordan said.
“Will not.”
“Will, so.”
“Douchebag.”
“Dickhead.”
The nurse, who had been standing in the opposite corner of the room, scurried to Jack’s side and began making ‘shooing’ gestures with her hands.
“God,” she said.
“I thought my husband and his friends were the only children in law enforcement.”
MG turned to Babe.
“Who is Mary Alice?”
Thirty-Two
“It’s great to have you back, Millie,” Tom said.
“Sure is,” Babe said.
“Now if we had anything to do, we would be in great shape,” Millie said.
All interviews, testing, and processing of new applicants had been suspended. The offices of RCI and the personnel department of the Boston field office were under a thorough audit from Washington, after the discovery of fraudulent entries into the systems related to the person of one Patrick Andrew ‘Taylor’ London. The history of London had already been confirmed to have been a complete fa
brication.
All Boston Cyber Division personnel were performing redundant checks. Babe, Tom, and Millie were required to be present only to assist with the audits.
Jack continued to recover and his release date was moved up by a week. Jordan and Babe were daily visitors at the hospital. Jack’s other visitors were many and frequent. Two police officers manned the floor at all times as a precaution. The staff on Jack’s floor attempted to maintain visiting protocol for all of one day before they threw up their hands.
Late evenings left Jack, Jordan, and Babe a lone threesome. They talked, watched sports, and played some cards. The nights often wound down to a muted television—the three men content with the soundtrack of their shared breathing; bonding in silence, needing nothing and wanting nothing; just being.
Some nights the television came to rest on old classic movies. Cary Grant movies were some favorites. Babe usually surfed past the black and white images on his own television, opting for the flashier color options. He was amazed at what he had been missing for years.
One night while Jack was in charge of the remote control he stopped channel surfing when he came across a rebroadcast of an old George Foreman-Joe Frazier fight.
“Is this—?” Jordan asked. He sat forward.
At the sound of Howard Cosell’s voice, Jack and Jordan looked at each other.
“It is,” they said in unison.
A few minutes later, Jordan moved to the edge of his chair. Jack sat up straighter.
“Wait for it…” Jack said.
“Wait for it…” Jordan said.
Foreman knocked Frazier to the canvas accompanied by Cosell, Jordan, and Jack yelling,
“Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!”
Three nurses and a young male orderly sprinted into the room. When they saw what the commotion was about, the three nurses dropped their heads, turned, and walked away.
The orderly waited for the nurses to be out of earshot and he whispered, “Down goes Frazier!” cackling as he bounced from the room.
The program ended and the network announced its next offering on its way to a station break. Next up on that channel was the 1971 made for TV movie, Brian’s Song. Jack held up a hand. Jordan slapped it.
“Are we watching this?” Babe asked.
Jack and Jordan looked at each other with serious faces.
“Of—” They started to say in unison, before Jordan deferred.
“Of course, we’re watching this,” Jack said. “You’ve never seen it?”
“No,” Babe said.
“You know who Gale Sayers is, don’t you?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Brian Piccolo?” Jack asked.
“Nnnnnooo,” Babe said, shaking his head.
“Jack Warden? I know you know who Jack Warden is,” Jack said.
“Yeah. Max Corkle, from Heaven Can Wait. He’s in this? Oh, yeah. I’m in,” Babe said.
“Give him some,” Jack said to Jordan.
“Some what?” Babe asked.
Jordan turned and looked around the room. He stood up and went to the nurses’ station. He returned with a box of tissues and tossed them into Babe’s lap.
“This is messed up, guys,” Babe said.
“Say that in about an hour and a half,” Jack said.
He didn’t.
Babe wrestled with Mr. Pendleton for a few minutes in the entryway of his home before he got ready for bed. He was taking off his jacket when he felt the ball of tissue in his right pocket. He smiled at that. He would have never guessed that a boy’s club existed that made it okay to boo-hoo through a movie—in front of other guys, no less. Now he had been initiated and was a card-carrying member.
Well, I assume my card is being processed, as we speak—or it may be in the mail already. If this particular type of male bonding was ever discussed at school, I was absent that day.
Babe had his arm cocked back to toss the tissue into his waste basket, when he stopped himself. He put the tissue down on his desk and went to his closet. He picked up one of the three small, clear acrylic boxes from the far end of the top shelf.
When he had needed a display case for a Pedro Martinez autographed baseball, he bought six of them, just in case. He took the tissue, formed it into a ball was well as he could, and put it inside the case. He searched through his desk drawers until he found a Sharpie. It was a purple one. Good enough. On the blank adhesive sticker that came with the case he wrote—
Brian’s Song.
He arranged the case along with the three other cases that occupied a corner of his desk. Those three contained baseballs. Two autographed balls and a home run ball that had cost him a broken finger and some elbow flesh, from a slide across the concrete floor of the outfield stands at Fenway Park.
Battle scars. Worn with pride.
Tear-stained tissue. Displayed with pride.
I love Brian Piccolo.
Damn straight.
Babe had forwarded Gabriel’s file to the Bureau office, but all employment operations were suspended.
Where is he? What is he doing? Maybe walking all over Boston; just waiting.
That didn’t seem likely. Maybe he was walking from hospital to hospital— talking to old ladies. Babe could picture that.
What could he have said to that woman? Did he tell her that he was an angel? Was that what she thought? What she believed? Or…
These were the thoughts that ran through Babe’s mind as he drifted in and out of sleep; disturbing thoughts about the man that he had given his seal of approval to be trained as a Special Agent for the FBI.
The following Thursday the auditors announced to the RCI staff that they should be finished with their audit by noon on Friday. Babe called the hospital and was forwarded to Jack’s new hospital room. Babe invited Jordan and MG to join the rest of the RCI staff for lunch at Momma’s on Friday. Jack crossed his arms and made his pouty face. MG patted him and promised to bring him a leftover box.
“Uh-huh. MG and leftovers. I’ll be lucky to see a pickle,” Jack said.
Tom answered the phone at his desk. Babe and Millie were already waiting for him by the door. Tom sat down slowly and dropped the phone into its cradle. He buried his face in his hands for a moment and then shrugged.
“Christie just took her temperature and it looks like I’ll be going home for lunch today.”
“We’re going to get the play-by-play until you’ve spawned your whole litter, aren’t we?” Babe asked.
“I don’t know why you’re not shopping this to PBS. This kind of human drama documentary is right up their alley. ”
“If I had invested in a high quality turkey baster six months ago, I could be looking forward to a cheeseburger right now,” Tom said.
Babe and Millie arrived at Momma’s, where they found Jordan and MG seated at a table in front of a silent television. The Red Sox and Yankees were about to play the first game of a double header after being rained out last night.
Babe ordered a regular cheeseburger and fries. Jordan did the same. Millie ordered the Caesar salad.
MG studied the menu briefly before also ordering the Caesar salad.
“Wait,” she said to the waiter.
He was a regular night time employee, filling in for the afternoon.
“Can I get some shredded cheddar on that?” she asked.
“Shredded cheddar. Yes ma’am,” the young man said, gathering up menus. MG was holding her’s hostage.
“And some sliced turkey. Maybe a little diced ham,” she said, “and black olives. Please.”
“Ma’am, that’s pretty close to being the Chef salad. Would you like to have that?”
“Oh, no, I’m not really that hungry,” MG said, still looking at the menu.
“All right, then, I’ll get this start—” the waiter started to leave again until Jordan grabbed his sleeve.
Jordan shook his head discretely.
“On second thought, let’s m
ake that the bacon double cheeseburger. With fries.” MG said
“And a chocolate shake.”
“All right ma’am. Did you—”
“Double chocolate.”
“Yes, ma—”
“And one of those big pickles,” MG said.
The young man stood still.
“Better make that two pickles. Jack loves these pickles.”
The waiter moved one foot slowly, keeping an eye on MG.
“And a brownie. Just a small one.” MG said.
At this point the young waiter looked toward Jordan and then Babe, and then around the room, because he was certain that he was being Punked.
“So, instead of the salad—” the waiter began.
“Let me have the salad to go. I may be hungry later,” MG said.
“Yes ma’am.”
“The chef salad.”
The waiter looked at Jordan, who gave him a quick simple nod and the ‘Yes, you may go now’ look.
The young man looked exhausted.
Babe occasionally glanced at the baseball game. The last time he looked it was the bottom of the third inning, yet he had no idea what the score was or what had happened so far. He finally realized that he wasn’t really watching the game at all, he was watching the crowd; Watching for Gabriel.
Later that afternoon Babe was in the middle of a walk with Mr. Pendleton when his phone rang. He smiled at the display.
“Gabriel. There you are. What have you b—?”
“Hello? Excuse me, sir?” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“I’m sorry?” Babe said.
“Isn’t this Gabriel’s number?”
“That’s why I’m calling, sir. I’m calling everyone that was in my call log. My name is Lee. I’m in the Navy and I just got back into town from deployment. I called my phone company a year and a half ago to suspend my account since I was going to be on a carrier for at least a year. They said everything was cool, but when I got home last week they had given my phone number away. I called them back, and of course they had no record of that earlier call, plus they said that I had to do the suspension in writing. They had never mentioned that.
