Twisted River

by Siobhan MacDonald

  Kate flashed a look of concern at Mannix. But Mannix wasn’t listening.

  Before she could say anything else Du Bois had turned on his heel and made for the door as if already regretting what he’d said.

  Mannix

  OCTOBER

  He was doing his best to enjoy himself. He really was. Cracking jokes, jollying everyone along, trying to say all the right things. But his heart wasn’t in it. Every now and then shards of anxiety cut through him. Why now? When he was on the other side of the ocean? He thought it had all been sorted out.

  “You okay?” Kate asked, her eyes locking onto his, like the grand inquisitor she was. He knew she smelled blood.

  “Of course,” he answered casually. “That’s some size of a bath in there. Big enough for two,” he added, winking.

  “That’s the third time you’ve been since we arrived, Mannix.”

  “Good God! Can’t a guy go to the bathroom in peace? If you must know—I’ve been feeling dodgy ever since that airport sandwich. I thought it looked funny.”

  “Take it easy, I was only saying.”

  It was Kate’s turn to look aggrieved now but he needed her off his case. The truth was, while he did feel queasy, the bathroom was the only place he could text in peace.

  “Okay, then, I’m good to go now—everyone else ready?”

  It looked chilly outside. He tightened his scarf and tucked his mobile safely into his parka pocket. It was set to mute.

  The kids were in overdrive now, awed by their surroundings, reveling in every new experience. Fergus was bug-eyed with tiredness. Izzy, stoic as usual, was drawing on her stamina.

  “Not too far on our first night, okay, Mannix? Maybe that Italian that Hazel Harvey mentioned?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see,” he said, bustling everyone out the apartment door.

  Nothing irritated him more than strangers or people of passing acquaintance proscribing how he should spend his holidays or his free time. He remembered an old school report card—Mannix does not take kindly to instruction. You could chalk that one down.

  “Fergus has been poring over the map,” Kate whispered, on her tiptoes. Her breath felt warm and damp. “Fergus is going to direct us, isn’t that right, Ferg?” she said loudly.

  Fergus nodded, all business, holding on to the shoulder straps of his holiday backpack.

  In the lobby, Kate engaged the Du Bois guy in conversation—asking him where they should go for breakfast. Were there any bakeries nearby? The sort of thing they could easily figure out for themselves. That too irritated Mannix. Could they not just head out on the street and find this stuff themselves? There was no need to ingratiate themselves with this guy.

  “Your new best friend?” he asked as they hit the pavement. Almost instantly, he regretted his surliness.

  “Oh . . . don’t be such a grump!” Kate said pleasantly. “You know what, kids? I think someone is hungry and just a little tired.”

  Kate looked to Fergus for support, but he was Daddy’s boy. Recriminations were not forthcoming. Mannix linked his son’s arm and pulled him close in the cold.

  “Careful, Dad!”

  Fergus switched the map from one hand to the other as if it were the key to some ancient treasure. Kate threaded her arm through Izzy’s and the two of them walked ahead together, chatting and laughing.

  It was true Mannix was withered from traveling but his short temper was due in larger part to the unsettling text messages. There had been only the odd one over the past few weeks but now there was a steady trickle. He could block the number but something told him he should play along for now.

  “Three blocks down before we turn?” Kate shouted over her shoulder. She cut a vibrant figure in her ocher velvet coat.

  “Three blocks downtown and four blocks east,” said Fergus with authority.

  “Spoken like a New Yorker,” said Kate.

  Mannix felt heartened at this little exchange. Fergus was relaxing into his new environment, delighted to have a job to do, easily able to decipher the neatly laid out streets with their grid system and numbering. His son might be a poor reader but he had a facility with numbers.

  As Mannix watched his wife happily chatting, he felt a burst of affection and admiration for her. Instinctively, Kate knew how to stroke Fergus, how to make him feel good. But her razor-sharp intuition was something to be feared. Kate knew something was up. He’d tell her soon. Perhaps here, while they were on holiday. He’d tell her some of it. He’d probably only confirm some of what she already suspected. However, it should be enough to keep her at bay. For now.

  Kate inspired in him a feeling to do better, to be a better person. Much as he tried, he all too often felt he let her down. He knew she’d married him against her mother’s wishes. He also knew that it had taken a lot for her to do so. Sometimes, the debt of loyalty and gratitude he owed her felt too onerous. Too burdensome. He simply wanted to go back to loving her as he had in the beginning. But that was the trouble about beginnings. There could be only one. Still, where they were at today was way better than where they’d been at a year ago. He should stop tormenting himself and connect with the present and his surroundings.

  Once they crossed Broadway, they found themselves on a residential street decked out with Halloween decorations. Mannix began to feel that he’d drifted onto the set of a Batman movie. Gotham City. Swirls and puffs of steam escaped from grilles in the ground. They spewed out white clouds that curled and vanished into the night air. Hollowed-out pumpkins cast a mellow yet eerie glow. Sirens screeched close by. Mannix imagined Batmobiles swooping out of the sky.

  “One more block.” In the gloom Fergus consulted the map.

  “Well, you managed to get us here, Ferg,” said Izzy a few minutes later as they descended the steps to the restaurant.

  “Dough balls, here I come,” said Mannix, patting his stomach.

  The restaurant was perfect. Absolutely fit for the evening’s purpose. Not stiff or formal, which Mannix loathed, but low lighting, low chatter, and low-key.

  “Four? This way, sir.”

  A shapely woman in high heels snaked her way through the busy tables right through to a corner table at the back. Mannix hadn’t realized his admiration was quite so obvious until he caught his wife’s bemused expression.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “You know what,” she said tartly.

  “I’ll take this chair . . .” said Mannix, making for the chair with its back to the room. He knew that Kate would enjoy a bird’s-eye view.

  “I’d like your chair, Dad,” Fergus piped up. “I’d like to see the photographs.”

  On closer inspection, the exposed brick wall hosted black-and-white movie stills. Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday, and, of course,the original King Kong movie. What could be better? Everyone was happy. And to crown it all, the menu was reasonably priced.

  Mannix looked around at the clusters of people, eating and chatting much as he imagined they might do in their own homes and kitchens. They were informally dressed, the men with rolled-up shirtsleeves and casual jeans, younger women in weekend sweaters with little makeup, as if the decision to eat out were last minute and casually made. As if dining out in this neighborhood café was a regular occurrence, no ceremony required.

  The one exception to this was a table of elderly well-groomed ladies. Their hair and bones looked stiff.

  “Nice to see,” remarked Kate.

  “The old ladies?” said Mannix.

  “Yes. It’s nice that they feel safe to come out at nighttime. To enjoy themselves in company. Not be invisible.”

  “Wow, look at all that jewelry . . .” Izzy tried to whisper, joining in the conversation.

  “Ssshhh . . .” said Kate, as their shapely waitress arrived with Cokes.

  “Class!” said Fergus. Usually he had to
beg and cajole for a Coke, but to have one arrive without any groveling was a pleasure indeed.

  Kate took out her camera and snapped a happy Fergus and his Coke.

  “Mum, stop!” hissed Izzy. “You’re making us look like dorks.”

  “You’d better get used to it, Izzy,” said Kate. “I’ll be taking tons of photos on this holiday.”

  As they waited for their calzones they discussed their schedule for the next few days.

  “Empire State tomorrow, pleeease?”

  Fergus coughed as bubbles went up his nose.

  “The guidebooks say that Sunday can be the best—the queues are shorter,” said Kate. “Do you think you could wait until then?”

  Fergus crossed his arms and thought. “Mmmm . . . I suppose if the queues are shorter and it means we get to the top quicker . . . Yeah, okay, we’ll wait till Sunday.”

  “Good call, Soldier.” Mannix patted him on the back.

  “The planetarium at the Natural History Museum tomorrow?” Izzy asked. “If that’s okay with everyone? There’s supposed to be a really cool show—I read about it on the Web. A big bang simulation and stuff about black holes.”

  Kate looked at Mannix.

  “I don’t see why not. That’s okay with me. How about you, Mannix?”

  “Sounds like a plan!”

  Mannix’s list of must-sees was modest: Greenwich Village, the Dakota, Strawberry Fields. Kate’s included the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenheim. A thought struck Mannix.

  “Hey, Ferg, give me the map a minute—something I want to check,” said Mannix. “Thought so!”

  “What?” said Kate.

  “The Dakota—it’s just across the street. We have to take a look-see when we finish here. That’s where John Lennon lived just before he was shot.” He looked from Izzy to Fergus.

  “Yeah, Dad—we know.” Izzy rolled her eyes.

  “Hey, Izzy—how many eleven-year-olds can say they’ve seen where Lennon lived?”

  “How many would care?” Izzy retorted.

  “Are you sure we tipped enough?” asked Kate when they left the restaurant after a pleasant meal. Outside the air was biting, but it was a dry bracing wind, unlike the bone-drenching wetness of the west of Ireland.

  “Well, it’s a bit late now if we didn’t,” said Mannix. “Now, one slight detour, guys. It’d be a pity not to take a look. We’re so close . . .” And he marched them across the street and around the corner.

  “That’s Central Park, isn’t it, across the road?” said Izzy, as they stood admiring the Dakota.

  “Sure is,” said Mannix. “We’re in a great location. We’ve lucked out with the apartment, all right. Haven’t we, Kate?”

  “We sure have,” Kate agreed.

  “It’s odd, though, don’t you think?” Mannix said. “The Harveys doing a house swap? They can’t be short of money.”

  “I know. It is odd.” Kate looked thoughtful. “But you know, there are some people who just don’t like staying in hotels . . .”

  “That’s just as well, then,” Izzy piped up. “Because our house is no hotel!”

  Back on Riverside Drive, the doorman had changed. A fresh-faced guy in his early twenties. He looked like a college student.

  “Hi, I’m Henderson, the night porter. You folks must be the O’Briens. Du Bois filled me in. Did you all have a nice evening?”

  “Lovely, thanks,” said Kate. “It’s so pretty, everywhere decorated for Halloween.”

  “You guys going to the Halloween Parade in Greenwich Village Monday?” He looked at the kids.

  “Can we, Dad?” Fergus tugged his arm.

  “That’s a definite maybe,” Mannix replied, smiling. Their schedule was shaping up nicely.

  Back in the apartment, Kate went to settle the kids into their bedrooms. Fergus was asking probing questions about time zones, which could become complicated. Mannix went into the kitchen to sort out a nightcap. His body was telling him he was stupid with fatigue but his mind wouldn’t rest. His head had gone into overdrive. He kidded himself that a drink would knock him out.

  There were a couple of bottles of wine chilling in the fridge, together with bottles of orange juice, eggs, and ready-to-heat Danish pastries. Mannix wondered if Kate had left a similarly stocked fridge at home. Best not to ask.

  His mobile vibrated again as he stood there staring into the cold white light of the fridge. He’d ignored it in the restaurant. Maybe it was work this time. He scrolled through the messages.

  “I see you,” came a whisper from behind.

  He jumped. He tried to slip the mobile into his pocket.

  “It’s Spike, isn’t it?” said Kate. “You never look this worried about work. Come on, Mannix, I know it’s Spike. I know there’s something going on.”

  He was trapped. He’d have to give her something to chew, at least. And that something might as well be Spike. He’d intended to tell her, but not like this—not at the end of their very first day in New York.

  “Can’t it wait, Kate?” He handed her a glass.

  “I think I’ve waited long enough, don’t you? I never asked why Spike stayed, not the real reason. I never asked what was going on—I didn’t want to know. I went along with your cock-and-bull story. I don’t want whatever it is to spoil our holiday but you’re on that thing all the time. You’re obviously uptight. God knows, it’s not that I want to know what Spike’s been up to, but this can’t go on, Mannix.”

  Kate sat down. Waiting. Looking at him patiently. God, he hated when she spoke to him like that. Like he was a kid. Like he was going to disappoint her again. Which he was.

  But it was a question of where to start and where to call a halt. Where was the beginning of this thing and where was the end? He could just about remember how it started but it wasn’t over yet. He might as well start with Spike.

  “Look, you’re right, Kate. Spike’s in a spot of bother. With the Bolgers.”

  As soon as he said it, he realized how ridiculous that must sound. Being in a spot of bother with the Bolgers was rather like saying he’d had a brush with the Taliban or a minor skirmish with al-Qaida. The Bolgers didn’t do spots of bother. They did mayhem. Revenge beatings, drive-by shootings, and in the last few months scalped a guy they felt had slighted them. The Bolgers were hard-core psychotic criminals.

  “What kind of bother?” Kate asked. Her eyes were wide, searching.

  “The Bolgers want Spike to let their guy into the club. A dealer. Hard stuff—not weed or E or any of that stuff. Serious stuff.”

  “Like heroin?”

  “I dunno exactly. Yeah, heroin, I guess. Crack cocaine, crystal meth . . .”

  Kate looked stunned. Shit—he’d miscalculated! Maybe this was too much. He should have kept his mouth shut.

  “I take it he’s refused?” said Kate.

  “So far.”

  “Out of conscience?” She sounded derisory now.

  “Jesus, Kate. Of course out of conscience. What do you think he is?”

  “He wouldn’t just turn a blind eye?”

  “I really don’t think that’s an option, Kate. He turns a blind eye to the softer stuff. But heroin—he could lose his license. Be put away himself.”

  “Tell me why, Mannix. Tell me why the Bolgers are asking Spike to do this. There are other nightclubs in town. Why pick on Spike’s?”

  He’d hoped she wouldn’t ask him that. He really had. A forlorn hope. His wife always asked the incisive questions. The questions other people missed. He’d thought he was prepared for this. Sitting on the plane, he’d played the scene out in his head. It was one secret less if he told her. The last few months, all the secrets had made him feel isolated and lonely. But there was a price to pay for everything.

  “They’re calling in a debt,” he said.

  Her blue eyes
looked almost black in the half-light.

  “At least that’s the way the Bolgers see it,” he said. “They think they did Spike a favor, you see . . .” He looked away, unable to hold her gaze. “They helped him find a buyer for some stuff, helped him shift it. Put it through the right channels.”

  “What stuff?”

  “PCBs—printed circuit boards—you know, computer circuitry.”

  “I don’t get any of this, Mannix. What would Spike be doing with printed circuit boards?”

  Here it was. The moment of truth. It was here. He dug his nails into his fist.

  “Spike was doing it for me, Kate. For us. This was a good while ago. Two years ago. In my last place. You remember . . . before we sold the beach house. Before you went back to Art College. The bank was hassling me, phoning me all the time. It was that time we got the enormous bill for Fergus’s assessment and they threatened to cut off our electricity supply . . . remember that?”

  Kate sat in stunned silence. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. She leaned back against the chair instead. Mannix looked out through the big windows to the twinkling lights of the skyscrapers across the river.

  “Other guys had done it. I knew that. Some of the whackos on the manufacturing floor had tried it. Some got caught. Some didn’t, and made a bit of money. But I figured out a way. A way not to get caught. The other chancers—you see, they all involved someone else. I didn’t. Kept my mouth shut.” He remembered how smugly guilty he’d felt at the time. Sealing the boards in watertight ziplock freezer bags and stashing them two at a time over in the quieter toilet cubicles in Zone F. It was stealing. Of course it was. But as a plan, it was neat and simple.

  His throat was dry. He didn’t dare look at her but could hear her breathing softly a few feet away.

  “There were a few of us randomly chosen from QA to do spot checks on the lines. The night shift—everyone’s a bit more relaxed, less cautious. I only took two or three at a time. Hid them in the cistern of a toilet at work. No CCTV in the cubicles—obviously.” He stole a glance in her direction. She was listening intently, her fingers stroking the stem of the wineglass.