Terrier, I’m pregnant.
Darla and I made a fast, angry love, full of loss and necessity, and with a cruel understanding that we weren’t helping each other much, but just enough for now. It was the sort of brutal sex that hurt, and not necessarily in a good way. We were both driven to prove something to ourselves and each other, and in the end all we demonstrated was how selfish and forsaken we were. I wondered if she could actually be a new love. I wondered if she would, somehow, manage to slip the blade between my ribs and at last destroy me.
I lay there panting with her arm thrown over my belly, her face against my throat. She was smiling. I wasn’t. The pain was pushing through. She said, “That was nice.” It wasn’t. I told her, “Thank you, I needed that.” I did. I knew that when my Alzheimer’s hit this interlude would be one of the first memories to go.
Darla put her robe back on, left for a few minutes, and returned with tea, some finger foods, and another Percocet. I ate and slurped down the tea without tasting any of it. I popped the pill. She sat beside me, leaving a few inches between us that felt as deep and wide as the valleys of the moon.
“I don’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you,” she said.
Strange, but there it was. “You didn’t. You were very giving. Thank you for helping me.”
She nodded at that. “So you want to be with me. You’re not just here because you misdialed.”
“No.”
“Was it because you simply needed somebody? Anybody?”
It was an honest question, and I didn’t have an honest answer. Apologizing wouldn’t help. Fucking her again wouldn’t help. I didn’t know why I’d phoned her. Calling my father would have made more sense. Or Wes.
“I was battered,” I said.
“Yes, you were.”
The pill started to take effect. My head got lighter. I started to drift. I held my hand out to her and she took it. “I’m sorry if you feel like I used you.”
“I don’t feel that way at all. I was glad I could help you, and let me say that you helped me just as much. We made love and you were sweet and shy and careful. It’s been a long time since a man, any man, made me feel so warm and right. I’m just wondering why.”
“Why?”
“Why you went to such lengths to show such intimacy. I knew you were different. But you said you were worse. You didn’t act worse.”
“Did you really want me to be?”
“I’m not certain. I think I might have initially. MPerhaps as much as a quarter millionre couple of y feelings about such things are … complicated. Even more so after my divorce.”
I wasn’t sure what she was saying. I was pretty certain she didn’t know herself. I wanted to be a proper sounding board and come up with insightful discourse. I wanted to assure her I would never hurt her, except I couldn’t, and she wouldn’t want to hear it anyway.
“That’s what I’m investigating,” she said, “those impulses, by doing this.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t look so shocked.”
“I’m not.”
“Then don’t look it.”
I tried not to look it. I didn’t know how not to look it, so I made an effort to wipe all expression from my face. It hurt. The tape tugged.
“There’s a lot of bad people out there,” I said. “I think you shouldn’t go looking for them.”
I thought she was too good for the life, if that’s what she was in, but I didn’t know why. I didn’t know anything about her. I thought maybe I wanted to. A hundred questions were backed up inside me, but the Percocet wouldn’t let me get to them.
I found myself on my feet and Darla whispered, “Come back to bed.”
I did as I was told.
“I’m not sure I like it,” she said, glancing down at my chest. She traced the borders of my dog tattoo, which took up the entire left side of my chest. It covered three bad scars including the one from where my father had yanked out my busted rib. “It’s garish, but beautiful, in its own way. Speaking from a purely aesthetic viewpoint.” She let the pause hang there for a full three count before adding, “Of course.”
I wasn’t sure what other point of view you could have besides an aesthetic one when discussing a tattoo, but I was sort of out of it.
She let her fingers roam along the bandages, snarling in the runway of hair leading down to my belly button. She pressed her knuckles into the scar tissue, hissing a little as if the wounds were fresh and she was the one feeling the pain. Everywhere else hurt, but not the scars. They were barely visible beneath the deep black ink of a howling dog. Darla stroked me, stroking the dog’s head.
Her robe fell open. She rolled closer. I slid against her and tightened my jaws. She said, “You’re one of those guys who likes to be in love when you do it.”
“I suppose I am.”
“Don’t fall in love with me.”
“I probably won’t, but it’s a weird thing to tell somebody.”
“I know, but you’re the type to fall hard and get hurt.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I get hurt just fine all by myself.”
I expected a titter at least, but she didn’t even crack a smile. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to fall in love with you?”
“I might if there was any chance of that.”
“There’s always a chance.”
The pain had grown muted. The Percs did their job. Darla’s touch became more insi Intimate Clinical Strength Antiperspirant and Deodorant Advanced Lady Solid Speed Stick, Light and Fresh pH-Balanced. h Mstent. She moaned and said my name again. For the first time I liked the way she said it. We clasped and grappled. I squawked when I twisted the wrong way. Or maybe it was the right way.
She kept murmuring beneath her breath, “It’s all right,” trying to comfort me or simply commenting on my performance. I wondered if she’d picked up any of the beaten-down bastards at the Elbow Room after I’d skipped. As I nipped her shoulder I couldn’t help looking past her, searching out signs of male spoor. I was somehow remorseful and jealous at the same time.
Darla whimpered, “Yes.”
Our second tussle was brief and full of a sort of blunt affection that wore away into sharpness.
Afterward, her breathing steadied and deepened and soon she was asleep. I checked the clock and the numbers melted together. When they came back into focus two hours had passed. Darla was still sleeping.
A small alcove turned out to be a stand-up kitchen. I found ice in the fridge and dumped it in the bathroom sink and soaked my face. The bruises were turning funky colors already. My nose wasn’t broken. The tape job to my side was holding my ribs in nicely.
I called Chub. He answered with a formal “Wright’s Garage,” a lilt of laughter hanging there like somebody in the room had just finished a joke.
“It’s me.”
The second he heard my voice he disconnected. The Percs kept me steady. I tried again and it went straight through to voice mail.
I said, “This is serious. Call me back.”
I waited two minutes, then drove over to the garage. I pulled up and parked next to his ’64 Shelby Cobra 289 Roadster, another classic muscle car he’d restored himself. I stepped into the first bay">“No,” I saidplas and watched the three mechanics he had working for him under the hoods of three different cars. They didn’t know anything about Chub’s other career. He’d always managed to keep his lives separate. I’d tried that for five years and had still fouled it up.
Chub stood in his office, staring through the front window with a faraway look in his eye. I opened the door and stepped inside.
I could clearly see the outline of a blade in his back pocket. It wasn’t much considering how much firepower the crew carried, but it must’ve given him some sense of safety. It was stupid of him to carry anything except an automatic with a hair trigger on his hip.
If the knife was for me, that was another matter.
He sat down, his feet up on his desk. I said his name
and sat across the desk from him. He nodded but didn’t divert his gaze. The last time we’d met like this we’d at least shaken hands. I could feel the heavy tidal drag of resentment straining around us.
“Keep it short. What do you want, Terry?”
“To warn you off of the latest crew you’ve been dealing with.”
He shifted in his seat a little but that was it. The vehicle in the nearest bay started up, sputtering and popping badly until the mechanic fixed the timing chain. The car quieted and finally hummed.
“I know all about that already. They stopped over here a couple hours ago and told me they’d been followed from the garage. I knew it was you, you pain in the ass. I had a feeling you’d been watching me. After they shook you, they trailed you home. You nearly shook them a couple of times. The driver was impressed. I can see by your face they told you to go away. So why don’t you go away?”
“They know where I live. My family could be in jeopardy.”
“And whose fault is that? I told you to quit bracing me, Terrier.” He jerked his feet off his desk and leaned forward. “You act like you’re trying to protect my wife and daughter, but I know what you’re really about. You’re hoping I take a header. You want me in the bin. Or dead.”
“It’s not true,” I said.
That got him grinning. Sorrowful and pained, but the old Chub was there, the guy I knew and had once loved. “You can’t even find the guts to sound insulted.” His expression drifted through different shades of the same things: frustration, pity, disappointment. “You gave that crew a reason to distrust me. For the first time my ass is really on the line.”
“It’s always been on the line, ever since you decided to plan escape routes and sell getaway cars. What I don’t understand is why you’re still doing it.”
“Ask your father.”
“Let’s pretend I’m asking you.”
“Why was your old man still a cat burglar climbing across rooftops when he had more than enough cash set aside?”
“He was born into the life, same as me. You weren’t.”
“You have no idea how ridiculous you sound, do you?”
Maybe I did but I ignored the question. “No matter how careful you are you’re going to fuck up. Kimmy—”
He leaped up in a blur of Intimate Clinical Strength Antiperspirant and Deodorant Advanced Lady Solid Speed Stick, Light and Fresh pH-Balanced. h M motion. He was this close to taking a poke at me but held himself back at the last instant. “Don’t. Don’t mention her name.”
“All right.”
“Keep away from her.”
“I have.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Good, you’re wising up. You shouldn’t believe me, even if I am telling you the truth. I’m a thief and a liar. So is that crew. No pro outfit needs that much hardware on a job. Even the driver was carrying. A driver never carries.”
“You scared for me or for yourself?”
“Mostly for your wife and daughter.”
He pulled a disgusted face. “Oh, don’t give me that shit again. We’ve already been through this.”
I nodded. I tried to find the right words. They weren’t there. I licked my lips and almost spoke my brother’s name. I didn’t know why. He wasn’t talking in my head at the moment. “Look,” I said, “I’m a jealous, bitter prick, and for the past couple of months I’ve had a heart full of vipers I wouldn’t wish on anybody. What matters right now is that you wise up about these guys. They’re righteously bad news.”
“Why? Because they beat the shit out of you? You deserved it.”
“Probably,” I admitted.
“You got what you were after.”
“Not quite.”
“If they were as wrong as you make them out to be they would’ve put six in your face instead of letting you walk away. I trust them more than I trust you, Terrier. So back off. I’m not telling you again. Stay away from me and my family.” He glanced aside. He couldn’t keep his eyes on me anymore. “Just stay away from us.”
There was nothing else to argue about.
Maybe I didn’t know Chub that well anymore but I did recognize a man who was full of fear. For all his bluster Chub was worried. The crew had spooked him. Part of it was my fault. They had probably pushed him hard when they found out I’d followed them. I had meant to protect him and I’d put him in danger. They might think he was leaking info. They might think we were planning a rip-off. Only our reputations had saved us so far. But you could never be sure who might overreact, overindulge, overreach.
“Go on, get out of here,” he said.
I waited. I had a reason. Chub had a screen saver on his computer showing a recent photo of him, Kimmy, and their daughter, whom I called Scooter. It bounced around and grew larger and smaller. When he’d jumped out of his seat the screen saver had cleared. I waited for it to return.
It toomy agony. I&#x
My father stood on the porch with a man who looked so much like my dead brother that all I could do was sit in my car and stare. I was still a little buzzed on the Percs but I didn’t think I was so far gone that I’d be hallucinating. Maybe I had a concussion. Maybe I was lying in a coma in an ICU while my parents agonized over pulling the plug. JFK trundled down the steps and crossed the lawn. He rose onto his hind legs, put his front paws on the hood, and stood looking at me expectantly through the windshield.
The guy who looked like Collie was talking animatedly with my old man. He used his hands a lot, waved his arms all around. He bent over violently and guffawed. He flashed teeth. My father showed no emotion and sipped from his beer. He shouldn’t be drinking at all. I imagined the arguments my mother had already had with him trying to get him to stop.
He leaned back against the railing like he was relaxed, but I could read tension in his body language. I swung the car door open and climbed out. I stepped up the walk filled with the same dread I’d felt when visiting death row. For my sins I was doomed to repeat myself. I dry-swallowed another pill. JFK stayed close at my side.
My father said, “Here’s Terry now.”
A chill breeze broke like cold lips on my neck. The guy gazed down at me as I approached. He even had Collie’s white streak in his hair, same as me. It seemed like he could barely contain his joy. Number six. The expression on the face of the man who looks just like your brother, who looks just like you.
My father noted my bruises. He cocked his head, a cloud of worry crossing his features. “You all right?”
“Sure.”
“This is your cousin John.”
“I don’t have a cousin John,” I said.
“You do,” John said. “I’m your mother’s nephew. Your uncle Will’s son.”
There didn’t seem to be much of a reason to point out that I didn’t have an uncle Will either.
I shouldn’t have taken the last pill.
“Hello, John,” I said, putting out the only one I had leftc himself my hand. “I’m Terry.”
We shook. “Oh, I know who you are, Terrier.”
“Yeah?”
I didn’t like the way he said it, as if he’d been checking up on me. He had a rich deep voice. He had a charmer’s grin. He was bad news through and through. I vibed that he wanted to hug me and stepped out of his reach. JFK went and crouched in the corner. He shivered in the presence of a ghost.
My cousin John wasn’t drinking beer. Someone had mixed him a drink with a lot of ice. The glass was nearly empty. He took a deep breath and let out a warm laugh that I knew was going to be the precursor to a long story.
“Let me freshen that up for you,” I said, and snatched the glass out of his hand. I stepped into the house and made sure to shut the door.
On the stove simmered a pot of stew. My mother sat at the kitchen table, talking quietly on the telephone. We were the last people in the western hemisphere who still had a landline and a phone with a cord. The cord was stretched across the length of the kitchen like a clothesline you could garotte
yourself on.
I couldn’t read her, which worried me. I threw down the meds and the bag of my sister’s beauty products. I was home by dinner. I had done my duty. Liquor and cola and an ice bucket were out on a tray situated in the center of the table. I sniffed at the tumbler. Smelled like Dewar’s. I drank it down.
The second she got a look at me my ma said into the receiver, “I have to go now, yes, tomorrow, goodbye.” She hung up. She rushed over and checked the tape job and scabbed-over cuts. She gripped my chin and turned my face this way and that, considering it from different angles. She tsked as loudly as a rifle crack.
“You stole the meds,” she said.
“I didn’t steal the meds.”
“And they caught you and they punched you out.”
“Ma, listen—”
She ran a hand through her auburn hair. “Now I can’t go back to Schlagel’s.”
“You can go back to Schlagel’s.”
“We have to find a new pharmacy.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Do you know what a nightmare it is dealing with the doctor’s office and getting them to call in prescriptions to a new place?”
“You can go back to Schlagel’s, Ma. Now, forget that, right?” I motioned toward the porch and nothing but a little groan came out and then my voice kicked in again and I said, “This guy? John? He says he’s my cousin? What the hell?”
“What are you on?” she asked, staring into my eyes. “What did you take, Terry?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t tell me nothing.”
“That’s not important right now.”
“It is important, Terrier. When I ask you a question like this you answer. That’s what you do. So, what did you take?”
“Some Percocet.”
“I don’t like you messing with drugs.”
“Ma, I’m not me the only one I had leftc himselfss—”
She cut me off with a hand slicing through the air. “Don’t drink any more liquor, then. Who punched you out?”
The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel Page 6
