ON Edge

by John W. Mefford

  “Fuck you, Tomas. I got shit going on. It’s just, you know… I’m working hard. Trying to provide…to make money. Trying to keep my life on track.”

  “Life. Hmmm.”

  Alfonso could feel a rush of adrenaline zipping through his veins. “What are you saying?”

  “How’s that minimum wage working for you?”

  “Wish it was more. But it’s steady. A paycheck every two weeks.”

  “Of course, they gotta take out Social Security, other taxes, and shit so the rich white folks can have their pristine roads in their gated communities. It’s all a scam. But I guess you know that, huh?”

  Alfonso turned his eyes to the TV screen, but the blur of the action on the field didn’t really register.

  “You really living much of a life, Alfonso?”

  “Dude, I got two little girls I gotta take care of. So, yeah—this life is real.”

  “I hear you’re flipping burgers. You want your daughters to grow up with that picture in their minds? Dear old Dad, the greaser.”

  Alfonso shot up on the couch. “I ain’t no greaser. It’s just my first step in the working world. If I put in the time, maybe I can become a real chef and work in one of those fancy five-star restaurants off 2nd Street or something.”

  “Come on, Alfonso. Get real. No matter how good of a cook you are, you think they’re going to hire you to do anything more than clean their toilets? You got more ink on you than a newspaper. At one point in your life, you were keeping it real, dog. That’s right. You commanded respect. You made real cash.”

  There was silence. Alfonso didn’t know what to say, and his thoughts were taking him places he shouldn’t go.

  But why the hell not? It was a free country. Who said he had to achieve success in just one way? Lupita’s way. Fuck that.

  He emptied his second can of Budweiser. “So, why did you call, Tomas?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Five minutes later, Alfonso glanced down the hallway and heard Lupita squawking out a laugh. He grabbed his keys and walked out of the house.

  It was time to regain his respect.

  4

  I could hear Dad’s voice from the nurse’s station. Carrying a fresh cup of ice chips, I hoofed it down the hall, took a left, and swung open the door. My brother was pacing on the other side of the bed. He looked like a crack addict who was about to…crack.

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked, my eyes shifting to Dad. Pillows propped him up as he sat there and tried to smile at me. His eyes nearly disappeared inside the folds of skin hanging under his eyes.

  “We’re just having a friendly discussion, Oz. Everything’s good. I see you have my ice. Thank you,” he said, reaching in my direction.

  I handed it to him while looking over at Tobin. I tilted my head as if to say, “Did you provoke Dad into getting upset?”

  “What?” he said.

  Tobin obviously missed my nonverbal signals. I had no choice now. “I heard yelling from down the hall. We both know Dad can’t afford to get upset. Not in his condition.”

  He pursed his lips, then pointed at Dad.

  “Spit it out, Tobin.”

  “What Tobin’s trying to say is that I, uh, convinced him to give me my phone. I just had to check on a couple of things.” Dad smiled again and held his phone where I could see it.

  I shook my head at the idiocy, the complete lack of regard for doctor’s orders. “You heard the cardiologist in here just a few minutes ago. No work. No stress. Not until you go through your cardiac rehabilitation, and after that, only in small amounts.”

  “This hardly counts as work. I punched a few buttons on a little rectangular device. Your grandfather would say that’s the laziest form of work he’d ever seen.”

  Dad had a tendency to manipulate the situation to his benefit. I wasn’t completely certain if that was due to the environment of running a law office or if that was how he’d been since the day he spoke his first word. Nonetheless, it was good to see him have a little spunk, especially with the countless wires crisscrossing his body and the fact that he looked like he’d been given two black eyes.

  I dropped the confrontation about him having his phone, although he’d just opened himself up to my questioning. “So, what was so urgent?”

  He tilted his head and then shrugged, as if my question were meaningless.

  “Dad, please. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  He splayed his arms and looked to Tobin for some type of political backing. Tobin simply retreated a couple of steps.

  “Just a minute ago, you didn’t want me to say the word ‘work.’ Now you want to hold a tense discussion.”

  He loved putting words in my mouth. Actually, it wasn’t exclusive to me. I’d seen him do it with just about every witness, colleague, or family member. Professionally, of course, it made him a damn good lawyer. In his personal relationships, it had the opposite effect. I blew out a breath and tried not to focus on the things I couldn’t change. “Did your text or email have anything to do with the federal agents who raided our office?”

  He jiggled the cup and let more ice chips fall into his mouth. After we’d endured an agonizing minute or so of watching him chew on ice, he set the cup on his side table. “Now, where were we?”

  A delay tactic meant to work on a four-year-old. Had he been taking lessons from Nicole? “The text?” I made sure to keep my tone measured.

  “Didn’t you know it was Arie’s birthday today?”

  I looked off, trying to remember if I’d seen any balloons or cards or signs at the office. Nothing came to mind, but I also knew I’d been less than attentive when I’d walked in earlier this morning.

  “How old is he?”

  He scoffed at me, even flicked a wrist my way. “You think I know the age of every employee we’ve got? I just know he’s getting close to seventy.”

  He was impossible. I blew out a breath as he picked up his ice again and began crunching away. I saw Tobin looking past me, over my shoulder. I flipped around to see one of the FBI agents casually strolling by the door and adjoining windows. He had his thumbs tucked into his belt loop, as if he were some type of western cowboy ready to round up the villains.

  Once he passed, I said to Tobin, “They haven’t tried to talk to Dad, have they?”

  “Nope. But that Bowser guy keeps passing by every few minutes.”

  I thought about what could happen over the coming days. Dad’s alertness was a blessing, but I knew that might also quicken the time to when the Feds would want to talk to him.

  “Son, you look worried.”

  I glanced up and saw the dad I recalled as a kid. He was demonstrative, larger than life in some respects. But he seemed to have a warm spot for those closest to him.

  “Well, our firm is virtually at a standstill. Everyone went home for the day, and I’ve been pinged by a dozen of them wondering if the office will be open tomorrow.”

  “So you are worried,” he said, nodding. Then, just like that, he looked down and started shaking his head. His face had regret written all over it.

  “Dad, we can get past this, but I need you to be honest with me.”

  “When have I not been honest with you?” he asked, pointing a finger.

  He sounded offended.

  “Transparent. That’s a better term,” I said.

  He tried to pop a knuckle—another habit that wasn’t great on the body—as if he were deep in thought, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Why were you in handcuffs? What were they arresting you for?”

  “Honestly, I have no clue.”

  “So they cuffed you and didn’t tell you why you were being arrested? Come on, Dad. This isn’t frickin’ Russia.”

  He waggled a finger at me. “I love your sarcasm, son. Don’t lose it. It will always be a good way to reduce stress.”

  And yet again, he didn’t answer my damn question. “Agents from the FBI, IRS, FDA, and Homeland Security were in our off
ice. They weren’t searching for a couple of joints in someone’s desk. They had a sealed warrant. And they won’t tell me the nature of the indictment. So, it’s probably related to one of your clients, right?”

  He shrugged.

  “Are you going to force me to log into our cloud service and search through all our historical files? Hell, I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I can at least separate your clients from everyone else’s.”

  “You won’t find anything.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to review with Mr. Novak his options for dinner this evening.” A young woman with dimples waltzed in as I replayed what Dad had just said. You won’t find anything. How could that be?

  Tobin appeared in my space.

  “Dad gets all the breaks, huh?” He shifted his head toward Dad and the girl. He was referencing the fact that the girl had to be no more than twenty-one and was rather attractive, in a college-coed kind of way.

  “Yep. He just leaves all the shit for us to clean up.”

  “Hey, man. I know this isn’t easy for you. But at least you have nothing to worry about on the health front. I’m the one who has to worry about my heart now.”

  He was referring to the fact that I was adopted, though that still didn’t make any sense—I could have something horrible running through my DNA. I didn’t know I was adopted until I was eighteen, when doctors thought Mom was going to lose a kidney. I’d insisted on volunteering one of my kidneys. That was when they finally told me the truth. It rocked me, although once I’d had some time to think it through, the signs were there, in appearances if nothing else. But I didn’t harp on it. My family had always shown me a lot of love, and I never felt any different from Tobin. Well, there was one thing—the ownership of Dad’s most beloved child, Novak and Novak.

  I noticed Tobin’s gut hanging over his belt loop. He was a miniature version of Dad. I didn’t want to alarm the guy. “You said you got in touch with Mom, right? She was up at some Jewish retreat in the Hill Country?”

  “Never actually talked to her, because that group has a weird rule where they turn off all communications during their two days of discussion. I talked to the manager, though. Said he’d relay the message and ensure that she left as soon as possible.”

  I checked my watch.

  “Oh my God. How is my darlin’ doing?”

  I knew that West Texas twang. I flipped around and saw her. Bianca. The other woman in Dad’s life. She put a hand to her face, one that had been stretched and tucked in a way that made her look part alien.

  “Nathaniel, my poor baby. You need some Bianca love.” Puckering her lips from ten feet away, she sauntered over to Dad’s bed while tossing a fur off toward a chair. She missed. All eyes went to her leopard-print outfit—some type of onesie that looked like it was painted on her.

  I tapped the face of my watch and traded a quick glance with Tobin. This time, he understood my signal. Operation Separation—the term Tobin and I used to keep Mom and Dad’s girlfriend from crossing paths—had just hit red-alert status.

  “Oh shit,” Tobin whispered to me, looking over my shoulder.

  I couldn’t force myself to turn around.

  5

  A man cleared his throat behind me, and I released a deep breath—it wasn’t Mom. Yes, Tobin and I were the ultimate enablers for Dad’s philandering. I couldn’t recall exactly how we had gotten ourselves in this position. Maybe later I’d try to retrace the series of events. For now, though, that painful task wasn’t on my top-ten list. Leaving Bianca to dote on Dad in the way only she could, I flipped around and walked to the door to talk to Agent Bruce Bowser.

  “What’s up?”

  “I thought your dad was in such a serious condition that he couldn’t take visitors?”

  “The cardiologist said as much, and you were right there when she said it. Do you not see the tubes and wires connected to him?”

  He nodded. “I see tubes, but I also see a blond bimbo about ready to go down—”

  The hospital candy striper interrupted Bowser as she walked past us. “I’ll be back with Mr. Novak’s first meal in a bit.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She went on her way, and Bowser moved into my personal space. “You tell your father he better have all the fun he can with Leopard Skin Lilly. Tomorrow, he’s going to have to deal with us.”

  I wanted to shoot back a verbal response that would make Bowser back off. But I knew it would be false bravado.

  “You ever going to share with me the specific charges?”

  “I guess you’ll find out tomorrow, if you plan on representing your father. Oh yeah, depending on the bylaws of the firm, I’m not sure the bar association will allow you to continue practicing law. Looks like you might be on the outside.”

  This asshat knew things about how the firm was set up that I didn’t even know. Dad had always said he’d share it with me in due time, giving me ample opportunity to gain experience and not worry about how to run a law office. Due time had come too late. Well, it certainly had made things more complicated. Dad had to spill everything he knew, or I’d have to hunt down Arie Steinberg, the only minority partner, to understand where we went from here.

  I could feel my neck and face turn red. Bowser chuckled and walked off.

  I muttered, “What an ass,” as I turned around and found Bianca in the bed with Dad, rubbing a hand against his cheek. “Jesus, Tobin,” I said, looking for someone, anyone, to be the adult in the room.

  “No reason to get your panties in a wad, Ozzie.” Bianca smooched Dad on the cheek, leaving her mark of red lipstick. She had always tried to figure out ways to extend her sphere of influence, hoping something would spur Dad to divorce Mom and bring her into a legitimate position. It hadn’t happened in fifteen years, so why did she think it would change now?

  Dad acted like a shy little boy, not saying much. He just had an “aw, shucks” smile and stared at his phone.

  Tobin shrugged, as if to say he had no control over Dad or Bianca. He pulled out his phone and read something on the screen. “Crap.”

  “What now?”

  He walked up next to me. “Mom’s on her way up. I’ll go try to delay her a bit.”

  “And I’ll try to shove— I mean, I’ll urge Bianca to take off.”

  He took one step toward the door and then leaned back, as we both could hear Bianca talking to Dad like he was a cute puppy dog. I rolled my eyes when Tobin said, “How many times have we pulled this off?”

  “Too many. Get going.”

  A nurse walked in and checked Dad’s vitals, which, thankfully, meant Bianca had to roll out of Dad’s bed. I pulled out my phone to see if I’d missed anything important. Six text messages from various employees, including Stacy, asking about Dad’s condition and if the firm was still in business. But strangely, nothing from Arie. Unless…

  I brought my phone to my chin and studied Dad for a moment. Maybe he’d been swapping messages with his old buddy, ensuring the whole operation would sail smoothly while he dealt with these charges. Not that I wanted Dad to worry about anything. He should be focused on eliminating stress and his upcoming rehabilitation. Hopefully, Arie and I could manage the clients and a worried staff.

  After the nurse left, Bianca said, “So what are all these federal agents doing around your room, baby?”

  Dad looked straight at me. I wasn’t going to save him, not with her.

  “They want information, that’s all. And you know me—I’m a bit of a bulldog when it comes to protecting my clients. So, I drew the line, and now they think they can threaten me with all sorts of warrants. But I’m not intimidated. The good guys will win. We always do.”

  He gave her this half-wink. That was one of his most epic manipulative moves. I would have been impressed had we been in a court of law. But we weren’t, so I wasn’t.

  She put her hands on top of his, then looked at me and took a hard swallow. “Ozzie, just promise me that you
won’t let anyone hurt my baby, okay?”

  Your baby? I shuffled my feet. “I’ll do the best I can.”

  “Good, because we want Nathaniel here to be around a long time. We still have a lot of memories to make. Am I right, baby?”

  She only wanted to make sure that her free ride wouldn’t disappear. I was almost certain that Dad picked up every bill she incurred, from her rent on some condo in downtown Austin to her extensive, albeit exotic, wardrobe.

  “You’re so very right, Bianca,” Dad said.

  “So you haven’t forgotten about that trip to Italy?”

  Most people would expect Bianca to be a bit subtle about her arrangement with Dad, especially around one of his sons. Not her. No way. I suspected she viewed us as the outsiders, and, if she wanted, she could snap her fingers and Dad would push us away. I wasn’t sure I agreed with that notion, but I never forced it. Probably because we were so young when it had all started. So, it was one of the unspoken truths about our family, which coupled quite nicely with never talking things out. No one did with Dad. But I was now seeing the error of my ways.

  You go around thinking that things will always be the same—health, relationships, your job—and then one day you wake up and things change. Instantly. And while you play through scenarios of what you could have done to change the outcome—hindsight is our deadliest weapon to incite guilt—it still feels like a kick to the crotch. It takes your breath away, makes your knees wobbly. You look for something or someone to provide a little bit of sanity and stability. Dad had been that person for me growing up on a number of occasions. In the last few years, though, I’d grown accustomed to dealing with life’s pitfalls mostly on my own.

  When Nicole and I were married, it seemed like I picked up a copilot. She didn’t stifle me or nag me. She was there, supportive but not demanding. It seemed like we were equals in this journey through life.

  And then, just like that, we weren’t. At least we didn’t seem as close. Again, I knew there was at least a small possibility that I was dreaming all of this up. Adding together all her odd brush-offs like it was some type of mathematical equation.