“They went to work out,” Jeraine said through the pillow. Bumpy grabbed the pillow and pulled it off his face. “Since we’re having lunch, they thought they’d go explore Denver a little.”
“Seth said everything’s on hold,” Bumpy said. “He’s flying to LA this morning and . . . ”
“Right,” Jeraine said. “Seth wants to check something out for himself. He should be back tomorrow or maybe the next day; depends on what he finds. Why?”
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Bumpy asked.
“Nothing,” Jeraine said. “The movie guys have some funding meeting for their next project. Downtown. All day.”
“No brain therapy?”
“It’s two days on one day off,” Jeraine said. “I have to give my brain some time to heal. I’d have to ask Tanesha but I think all I have is a training session Wednesday night.”
“Your woman keeps your schedule?”
“Mom keeps yours,” Jeraine said.
Bumpy made an irritated sound.
“She writes our schedule on the refrigerator,” Jeraine gestured out the door.
He felt his father leave the room. When he left, Jeraine pulled the pillow back over his head. He was almost asleep when Bumpy said, “Says here you don’t train until six.”
Jeraine pushed the pillow off his head and tried to sit up. He groaned and fell back to the bed.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bumpy asked.
“Terrible headache,” Jeraine said.
Bumpy looked at him for a moment and disappeared again. When he came back, he laid a cool washcloth over Jeraine’s forehead and eyes. Bumpy picked up his son’s hand and began putting hard pressure on the fleshy space between Jeraine’s thumb and the index finger.
“What are you doing?” Jeraine asked.
“How’s your headache?” Bumpy asked.
“Better,” Jeraine said. “That’s weird.”
“Weird that I know something or weird that it worked?”
“Yeah,” Jeraine sat up.
Scowling, Bumpy shook his head. Jeraine laughed.
“Did you want to do something tomorrow?” Jeraine asked.
“Tomorrow?” Bumpy asked. “Right. Yes. I need to take care of something. I’d like you to come with me.”
“Okay,” Jeraine said. “Are you going to tell me what?”
“It’s old family business,” Bumpy said. “We need to make some decisions. For the family.”
“Is Mom coming? LaTonya?”
“We are the men of the family,” Bumpy said. “We need to make this decision.”
“Mom’s not going to like that,” Jeraine said.
“She told me to take you,” Bumpy said. “And LaTonya?”
Bumpy shook his head.
“Yeah,” Jeraine said. “She doesn’t give a shit about any old family stuff.”
“Do you?”
Jeraine felt the weight of his father’s eyes on him. In the past, he would have had a surly answer to that question.
“You going to tell me what’s going on? Or leave me in the dark like a child?” He repeated something Tanesha frequently said to Rodney. “’Cuz I’ve got a lot better things to do than play child to your grown up.”
Bumpy nodded.
“Well?”
“That girl is good for you,” Bumpy said.
“What’s it going to be?”
“Tomorrow,” Bumpy said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Can’t do six,” Jeraine said. “I take Miss T to the bus stop at 6:30 a.m.”
“6:30 then,” Bumpy said. “Wear jeans, boots. You’re going to get dirty. Bring a hat, gloves and . . . Ah hell, I’ll bring that stuff. Your mother’s packing lunch. Might take all day.”
“I’ll cancel with the trainer.”
“Probably a good idea,” Bumpy said.
“What’s the emergency, Dad?” Jeraine asked. “I mean, you’re taking a whole day off from the office? Mid week? When was the last time you did that?”
“The day you were born,” Bumpy said.
“So this is a big deal,” Jeraine said.
“This is a big deal,” Bumpy said.
“And you’re going to tell me all about it?” Jeraine asked. “No half-truths? Long pointless stories to obfuscate the truth? No convenient I forgots or you wouldn’t understands?”
“Obfuscate? Where did you learn a word like that?”
Jeraine gave him a sour look.
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Bumpy nodded.
“Then I’m in,” Jeraine smiled. He shifted and the headache came back.
“You still up for lunch?” Bumpy asked.
Nodding, Jeraine got out of bed, grabbed his sunglasses, and started out of the house.
“Pull up your pants,” Bumpy said. “You’re not going to wear those glasses at lunch are you? You look like a fool.”
Chuckling to himself, Jeraine followed Bumpy out of the penthouse.
~~~~~~~~
Tuesday afternoon — 3:55 p.m.
“You’re sure about this?” The publisher looked over his reading glasses at Westword’s managing editor. “If we’re wrong . . . ”
“We’re not wrong,” Barton Gaston shifted forward. “He owns the duplex. The other apartments are used for the same purposes. The money all goes back to an account he opened almost twenty years ago. Expenses and profits. His taxes indicate that it’s a professional services group. They just don’t indicate which professional services.”
“And you’re sure it’s prostitution?”
“It’s prostitution,” the managing editor said. “Barton interviewed two of the women who work in his professional services group. They even have a website.”
“And the Denver PD?” While the question was for Barton, the publisher’s eyes never left the managing editors face.
“Know all about it,” Barton’s voice raised. “They’ve had to look away all this time.”
“And the Rodney Smith angle?” The publisher said.
“It was my decision not to include it,” the managing editor said. “We don’t have proof that there’s a connection.”
“But Alvin was the prosecutor in his case.”
“Yes,” the managing editor said. “That’s correct.”
“Do you believe they’re connected?” the publisher asked.
“They’re connected!” Barton’s intensity caused the publisher to look at him. Intimidated by the look, Barton settled back in his chair.
“The story is strong enough without adding that detail,” the managing editor said.
“Leave a bone for the Denver Post?”
“Why force a good man to face something awful?” the managing editor shrugged. “He only wants to live what’s left of his life in peace.”
The publisher blinked.
“You know me,” the managing editor said.
“I do know you, that’s why I’m asking,” the publisher said. “You’re always more than happy to slit an artery or two.”
The managing editor nodded.
“Then what?” the publisher asked.
“You remember that we ran a couple of stories about Rodney before and after he got out?”
“I remember.”
“One thing he said was that all he wanted was a chance to get Yvonne back and no matter where she’d been or what she’d done, he’d take her back with open arms,” the managing editor said. “There was something about the way he said, even on the tape, I . . . ”
“He had, like this light that came from inside him,” Barton nodded. “I remember that. She’s his real deal.”
“If we say that Alvin prosecuted Rodney to get Yvonne, we . . . ,” the managing editor said.
“It will come out,” the publisher interrupted.
“Maybe so,” the managing editor said. “We can run with it then. In the meantime, Barton can work through Rodney’s case. Is there any evidence that what we suspect is true? And after Rodney and Yvonne . . . ”
; “You old softy,” the publisher smiled. “You want them to get back together.”
The managing editor nodded.
“Run it,” the publisher said. “I’ll call the lawyers. Are you going to let his campaign know?
“After it’s on the trucks,” the managing editor said.
“After it’s printed,” the publisher said.
“Tonight then,” the managing editor said.
“Tomorrow morning is fine,” the publisher said. “We don’t owe them anything.”
The managing editor nodded.
“It’s going to be an interesting week,” the publisher said.
“It always is,” she said and she left the room. Barton hopped out of his chair and jogged after her.
Chapter Two Hundred and Four
Fire
Wednesday morning — 6:45 a.m.
Jeraine looked over at his father. He didn’t say a word when Jeraine got into the old truck. Bumpy just nodded and started driving.
“You were going to tell me what’s going on,” Jeraine said.
“How much do you know about my past?” Bumpy asked.
“Um . . . ” Jeraine scratched his head. “You went to East High School. You met Seth in the jazz band. They let you try all the instruments until you settled on the standup base. Uh . . . I know you lived with Grannie Louise in town while Gramps and your brothers lived out east.”
“That’s all?” Bumpy said.
“Um . . . yeah.”
Bumpy made a guttural sound that Jeraine couldn’t decipher.
“I thought Seth would have . . . ” Bumpy said. “Not even when you were in prison?”
“Seth?” Jeraine asked. “That man is the Bank of Information – a lot of goes in but very little goes out.”
“That’s the truth,” Bumpy said.
“And anyway, why wouldn’t you tell me?” Jeraine asked. “I know you’re sober, but I don’t know why. You told the therapist when I was in treatment that you had trouble with drugs and women too, but you never said boo to me about it. And . . . ”
“And?”
“You’re supposed to be telling me now,” Jeraine said. “Not asking me what I know.”
Bumpy chuckled. Jeraine scowled and looked out the window. They drove in silence until Bumpy got on the 270.
“How long are we driving for?” Jeraine asked.
“Couple hours,” Bumpy said.
“If you’re not going to talk, I need to sleep,” Jeraine said.
“Why aren’t you sleeping at night?”
“I am sleeping at night,” Jeraine said. “But I have to get at least ten hours of sleep a day. I only had eight last night.”
Bumpy scowled at Jeraine as if he was lying.
“Listen, Dad,” Jeraine said. “I’ve lost every single thing I worked my entire life for. I don’t have any money. I don’t have a record company or a recording contract. I don’t even own my own house. I can’t go to med school like I planned. I’m doing everything in my power not to lose Tanesha. And Tanesha believes this treatment is going to help me because that lady Delphie told her it was going to help me. So you can believe I’m lazy or you can help me get better. It’s your choice. Either way, I’m going to sleep for an hour because that’s what my treatment plan says I need to do – regular one hour naps throughout the day.”
With that, Jeraine crossed his arms and turned his body away from his father. Bumpy looked at his son for a moment then nodded.
“What?” Jeraine asked.
“There’s no cure for asshole,” Bumpy laughed.
“That’s the truth,” Jeraine laughed.
~~~~~~~~
Wednesday morning — 8:45 a.m.
“Where you think you goin’?” her keeper said.
He didn’t look up from his newspaper. He wasn’t a particularly nice man. Her daughter called him her “keeper.” After more than twenty years, he was like a familiar torn in her side. She smiled but he didn’t notice. He was reading the Denver Post at a small white plastic table in the middle of the four-plex lawn.
“Today’s my monthly visit with my daughter,” Yvonne Smith said. “Did I tell you she started med school this week? My Tanni is in med school. Can you believe it?”
Yvonne beamed at the man. He shook his head at her but never looked up from the paper.
“I asked you where you goin’,” he said.
“I got twenty dollars,” Yvonne said. “Mr. Aaron gave it to me to get something for my Tanni. I’m goin’ across the street to get my Tanni’s favorite flowers and a card.”
“Can’t go by yourself,” he said. “You ain’t allowed but one trip out by yourself a month. You want to use it going across the street.”
“No,” Yvonne said. “I’m going to lunch and getting my hair done. Today’s my day with my daughter. I get the whole day off. That’s what Mr. Aaron said. I wrote it down if you want to see. Her friend Heather’s coming to get me at noon. We’re picking Tanni up at school.”
“Guess you can’t go across the street then,” he said.
“You don’t seem to be doing much,” she said. “Come with me. You know those girls don’t get up for a couple hours. We’ll be back long before that.”
He gave her a sour look. He reached for his cigarette pack and found it empty. He looked up at her.
“I need cigarettes anyway,” he said.
She waited while he hefted himself out of the chair. After years of beating on Johns and hookers, his hips and knees were shot and pimping didn’t come with great medical insurance. He moved like a man a decade older than he was. He made a show of locking the other girl’s doors before walking toward the sidewalk.
“You’re wearing your new dress,” he said.
“I always try to look my best for my lunch date,” she said. “I look forward to it all month.”
“I know,” he said.
He took her elbow and they made a slow journey across Fourteenth Avenue.
“Someday, when my Rodney is home from prison, I’m going to shop here,” Yvonne said when they reached the other side of the street. “I’m going to drive my car here, load up on groceries, and drive home to make him dinner. Maybe Tanni will come over. And someday, she’ll even bring her kids.”
Her keeper scowled at her.
“I’ll wave to you when I pass,” Yvonne said. “Only seven more years now.”
“What makes you think he’s a gonna want the likes of you?”
“Because Rodney and I are one soul, two bodies,” Yvonne said. “We belong together, no matter what.”
He grunted something that she didn’t hear. They went inside the grocery store and immediately stood in line at the service desk. He wanted a pack of Winston cigarettes. When the woman brought the pack, he decided on a carton instead. After the cigarettes, he decided to get a lotto ticket and a few scratchers. Yvonne checked her watch a few times to make sure she hadn’t missed Heather. After scratching off the tickets, buying more, scratching a few more, and finally winning five dollars, he said they could go look at flowers.
“Look who it is!” Yvonne saw a familiar face in the flower section. “Delphie! It’s my friend Delphie!”
He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him.
“Did you set this up?” he asked in a mean tone. “You know you’re not allowed visitors.”
“Of course not,” Yvonne said. “I’m going to lunch today with Tanni. Why would I risk that?”
His eyes seemed to scour her very soul.
“Plus, you’re the one who sets up visits with Delphie,” Yvonne said. “You bring me because she’s my friend and gives us a discount.”
He released her with a jerk and she ran over to hug Delphie.
“What are you doing here?” Yvonne asked.
“You know Jill is on bed rest, right?” Delphie asked.
“Tanni said twin boys,” Yvonne beamed at having remembered.
“That’s right! Good memory,” Delphie said.
“I wr
ote it down,” Yvonne said.
“Well, Valerie’s trainer decided she needed some different food to lose the baby weight for her next movie and Jill was craving ice cream, and . . . ” Delphie leaned in to whisper to Yvonne. “I knew you’d be here.”
Yvonne hugged Delphie again.
“I was looking from over there,” Yvonne said. “I don’t see any yellow tulips. Do you?”
“Let’s look,” Delphie set her red shopping basket on the ground and began going through the flowers. “There’ve got to be some here. Why don’t you check over there?”
“Ok,” Yvonne trotted over to an area by the desk and began looking through the flowers. Her head was down when she heard her keeper get a phone call. She stood up to look at him. He scowled at her and gestured for her to hurry up. She smiled to herself and took her time. He would wait as long as necessary to be able to ask Delphie one question for free.
“I don’t see any over here,” Delphie said.
“I don’t either,” Yvonne said.
“What are you ladies looking for?” asked a clerk as she came out of the back.
“Yellow tulips for my daughter,” Yvonne said. “She started med school this week.”
“Congratulations,” the clerk said. “I think I have some in the back. Do you mind waiting?”
Yvonne looked over at her keeper. He was still on the phone.
“We’re fine,” Delphie said. “If you don’t mind checking, I think you’ll find some on the bottom shelf in the way back on the left.”
“Delphie’s a psychic,” Yvonne explained.
“I’ll definitely look,” the clerk gave Delphie an unsure smile and left the flower area.
Delphie and Yvonne settled in to chatting. Because Yvonne wasn’t able to remember anything she didn’t write down, Delphie did most of the talking. Yvonne knew Delphie well enough to know that Delphie was talking about nothing. Yvonne didn’t care. At noon she would see her daughter, her med student daughter. She laughed at Delphie’s jokes and listened intently to the patter of Delphie’s voice. Just listening to her friend, Yvonne felt calm and happy.
“Today’s going to be the best day of your life,” Delphie threw in the middle of her flow. Yvonne’s eyebrow raised and Delphie nodded. Yvonne smiled to acknowledge that she’d heard her friend. Delphie continued chatting.
Gold Hill Page 18
