“Because the rest is true,” you said. “Philip and I’ve been together since I was sixteen. I met him at a college summer program. And we love each other. I love him, Jack. Can’t you understand that? I love him so much. My parents went crazy when we first met. I was a teenager and had just come out and he was almost thirty, but they love him now too. We’re a family and my mother is sick over doing this, we both are, but I would do anything to help him, Jack. I would do anything. That’s love and please I’m sorry, it was wrong, but please help us anyway. You said you could and I am begging you. I had to tell you the truth. My mother told me not to, but I had to, but please help my boyfriend. This is my fault, not his. Please help him.” You were crying by then, coughing and rocking back and forth on the bench a little.
“So, Ken Carson, he’s your real father?” You nodded. “And Carrie told you to tell me that story? To find me in a diner and pretend that you were my son? That was her … idea?” It was impossible to believe. You said nothing. “I get it, Mark,” I said. And then, you probably remember, we sat in silence on those plastic chairs for nearly fifteen minutes. Carrie did what anyone would do; she did what was best for her. What was more remarkable to me was what you did when you decided to tell me the truth, despite the massive motivation you must have felt to do otherwise.
You were not my son after all, but again, nothing felt different. I felt no sense of resentment. I liked you more even. We sat there, not speaking, for a long time. You calmed down, but continued to wipe at your eyes and sniffle. My primary thought was this: I’ve done more harm with the pain I’ve held on to than the pain I’ve caused. It occurred to me that everyone makes mistakes, every single one of them, and everyone is flawed, and everyone is awful sometimes, and we either let it go someday, or we die alone. And no one else cares what we decide.
You eventually stopped crying and sat beside me for several more minutes. “How did you get involved in this?” you asked me then.
“Mark, you should paint, not be a lawyer. Or become a veterinarian or something. But not a lawyer.”
“But I’m not really going to be a lawyer. I’m going to be a lawyer like Philip,” you said, speaking with a confidence that seemed new.
“I can help him,” I eventually said. “I think I can get Philip what he needs. But I need some things from you.” You shook your head, grimaced again against the oncoming tears a little, and still did not speak. “Tell Philip it’s okay. Tell him it will work out. Try and get his father to be a little more patient, even if Philip is getting worse. That’s going to get very hard soon, but I need you to make sure that nothing happens to change anything. The current plan can save him, Mark. But he can’t be moved until I tell you otherwise.”
After a moment you nodded. Then you quietly asked, “You’ll still help us?” I said nothing. You added: “His father will pay you a lot, you know.”
“Yeah. Five million.”
“I’m so sorry, Jack.”
And you were. You’re a good kid, Mark. The world’s tough.
“I wasn’t doing it for you anyway,” I said.
“You’re doing it for my mom? … For Philip?”
“No. ”
I felt like I’d been hit by a truck, but I straightened up and went home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:
LOVE AND LAST CHANCES
On Friday Wallace called again. I was taking a break from writing this letter, contentedly watching the people and the traffic below on the streets of Soho.
“Wolff says you aren’t leaving New York until Sunday. Not doing the procedure until next Tuesday,” Wallace said, obviously agitated.
“Why are you talking to Mel Wolff again? That doesn’t help things, Wallace.”
“Do you really not get this, Jack? I’ve been talking to Wolff since the day after you started socializing with the fucking family of that Marlene Brown last Christmas.”
There was silence. It was one of those moments where you either take your toys, go home, and never see each other again, or you let it go and you grow up a bit.
“Wallace,” I said calmly, “I understand that there is a breakdown of trust between us. That we are going to have to reevaluate and sort that out once this is done. But please stay focused right now.”
“I am the one who’s focused.”
“If you want to get this done you can’t be talking to my contacts in Jozi. I told Wolff the same thing. I handle it, or it doesn’t happen. I have reasons for doing things the way they are done and it has to be done correctly. We are leaving in two days so settle down.”
“He is fucking tanking. This guy’s vitals are deteriorating. He may not even make it until Sunday and now he has to fucking fly. They’re thinking about putting in the L-VAD now and that would mean more delays.”
“No L-VAD!” I said. “You’re right. It would hold him up. You can’t do a transplant directly after surgery like that. Have the client tell the doctors to stabilize him with meds until we leave for his procedure. It will work.”
“You should have left a month ago. I can’t believe this guy is getting on a fucking plane now and we only got a deposit of one and a half. If he tanks, I promise you that your share won’t buy you a pizza.”
“He’s flying in a bed with an attending nurse and a half a million in medical equipment. This isn’t a regular client. It’s going to work.”
“But it didn’t have to be this way, Jack.” Then something happened to Wallace’s demeanor and he said it again. “It didn’t have to be this way, Jack.” He said it with a hint of regret, and it was the most threatening thing anyone has ever said to me. It occurred to me that he and Wolff and Kleinhans might have already decided that my continued participation was unnecessary. They were ready to write off a resident of Alexandra in order to procure one needed part. Would they eliminate an unsound partner, if they thought he might get in the way of earning a fortune in coming years?
“We leave Sunday,” I said. “I just need to confirm something with you tomorrow. In person, Wallace.”
There was a pause. There we were again, my friend and I, acting coy and playing cat and mouse again. Ten years of this.
“We don’t need a meeting,” Wallace said. “You said it’s all arranged. You said you have a plan and a schedule. The client has a plane ready. I know that myself. This Pierre guy, Wolff says he has the part.”
“But I need to discuss something with you before I can leave.”
“It’s a sixty-forty split, Jack. The fact that you’re trying to shake me down at the last minute actually makes me feel a little better, like maybe you’ve come to your senses about priorities, but there’s still nothing to discuss.”
“It’s not the money, Wallace. It’s something else. Not for phones. We need to have a brief meeting before I go. Like we sometimes do.”
“All right,” Wallace said suspiciously.
“Great. Meet me at noon tomorrow at the patient’s hospital.”
“The hospital?” Wallace asked. “I try to stay away from hospitals.”
“Yes, you’re much more comfortable at country clubs and hedge funds. I know,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“That’s correct.”
“Well, I know my way around hospitals like this pretty well. You’ll be in good hands.”
◆
I waited a few minutes before making my next call.
“How goes it?” I asked Special Agent Vinny Pearl.
“Oh, not bad. My wife’s trying to get me to go to Bermuda over the holidays.
Thinking about it. I don’t actually like the beach as much as she does, but you know … You? How goes the kidney thieving?”
“This is it, Vinny. It’s time.” I was keeping it even. After all, I’m New York Jack. But there were tears in the corners of my eyes and I had to think about you, Mark, in order to keep talking at all. My banter with Pearl had taken on an ironic tone, laced with barbed-but-friendly witticisms, reminiscent of how Wallace and I used to talk. I miss
ed him—Wallace—before he was my problem. I missed the old days, when we felt like international spies and still thought we were Robin Hoods, and not Al Capones.
“So does that mean you want to meet, Jack?”
“How good is the file on Royston and Wolff?”
“It’s thick. Will you testify?”
“No.”
“What if you have to?”
“Vinny, assume that somehow I don’t testify. As great a secret agent as you are, imagine for one moment that you can’t get me to testify. What then? How good a case can you make against Royston without me?”
“We’ve got a lot, but it’s a fucked up country and different rules, so you never know. Jack, you have to testify. You are obviously doing this for a reason.”
“But you have records?”
“I’ve even had my own people inside the hospital. It was risky. But we have a lot, Jack. We’ve been working with the South African Hawks—”
“That’s their FBI?”
“Yeah. They don’t have resources like we do, but they still don’t like their toes stepped on, so they were looped in. Also, I’ve got a colleague at Interpol who has a file of his own. You know, you aren’t their only friend at Royston. They distribute to a few of your competitors as well.”
“Of course they do… .” Actually, I had not considered that or its possible scope. There was some silence again. I had been on the phone too long already.
And then a different question occurred to me. “Vinny, is The Siren real?”
There was silence.
“Vinny?”
“I’m The Siren,” he said without further hesitation.
I didn’t respond at first. Finally, I asked, “What does that mean?”
“Well, I’m not saying I’m the only guy who goes by that name, but sometimes it’s me. And of course I’m not luring drunk salesmen into hotel rooms to drug them and cut out their kidneys. I lure in guys like you Jack. Guys who do what you do but sometimes get greedy or sloppy. Now that I’ve told you that, you’re not going to go and screw that up for me, right? You’re trying to do something good you said, so you won’t go and tell your buddies about my sometimes-alias will you? …”
“Wait. Then you’ve spoken to Wallace?”
“Wallace from Florida? Yes. Is he a friend of yours, Jack? He’s got some scary ideas that guy. I haven’t heard from him in a while but I expect I’ll catch up with him eventually.”
I shook my head and closed my eyes.
“Jack? Jack? So where do we meet?” Pearl asked.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I said.
“You going to maybe disappear on me now, New York?”
“No,” I said.
“So what then?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow, Vinny,” I said. “Then it ends. I’m trying to do something right, like you said, I want to do something right and now you can help me. I was just making a living, Vinny. Not like Wolff and the setup at Royston. I never meant to hurt anyone. I’m going to try to fix some of it.”
“Wait a minute,” Vinny Pearl said, more animated. “What do you mean? What are you going to do, Jack?” he asked, speaking more quickly.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Vinny. Stay reachable.”
“No, no, no!” Pearl practically yelled into the phone. “Now, wait a minute, Jack. What are you gonna do?”
“Help you. Just help.”
“No. That’s Uni-bomber martyr talk! Murder talk! What the hell’s going on, Jack? You don’t need to do anything. You just tell me what you know and we handle it. The Man from Dallas, Jack. Remember, the Man from Dallas? He’s barely ever done time! In France for a few months once, but never here in the states. I can help you.”
“Vinny, you’re kind, but we’ve been on the phone way too long. The whole thing has gone on too long,” I said. I turned off the phone and unceremoniously tossed it into a garbage can, SIM card and all.
◆
A week or so ago Michelle told me she loves me. It was in bed, in the morning. We had just woken up. It was early and we had time. I stared back at her like a mute dog. Most people seem to think that love lives in your heart or your head, as a thought or a feeling. It’s not true, and this much I do know: your pain, your relief, your justifications and your machinations, your joy … they don’t matter. In the end, we are measured by our actions. And while poets may think it’s complicated, I think it may actually be simple: when you put someone else’s interests ahead of your own, in your actions, that is love. That’s what The Man from Dallas meant. That’s also what Michelle meant when she said it to me, and it’s why I could not respond.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE:
CHOICES AND APOLOGIES
When I awoke this morning, Michelle was dressing for work. I stayed in her bed, hands behind my neck, staring at the blank, white ceiling. She had showered while I was still sleeping. She had already put on her makeup. She was nearly ready to leave.
“Jack… .”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going.”
“Okay. I should go too,” I said. I was focused.
“Really? Where will you go? Your office? Is that the story for today?”
“Michelle, what are you talking about?” I said, as I got up from bed and gathered my clothes.
“You off to your secret operation? That office? Or maybe you’ll just hang out in the park today.”
I was surprised to learn she was aware I didn’t go to work anymore. “Things are pretty slow lately,” I said, “that’s true.” I started getting dressed, sitting on the edge of her bed. I wanted to spend the day with her. I wanted to get back into bed with her. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. That wasn’t the way I wanted to tell her, or Carrie, or you, Mark. I wanted to write it down and present it all fairly. So there was nothing to do but let her go to work.
No one spoke for a long moment. “You’ll have to tell me eventually, you know,” she said.
“Tell you what?” I asked.
“Everything, Jack. Whatever it is that you still don’t tell me.”
“Yes, I know that,” I said.
◆
I never planned to go to law school. I never planned to get into the business. I never planned to have a son, or not have a son, or become a drug dealer and I knew that I couldn’t just let Philip die because of my ambivalence. Does protecting the life of one doomed resident of Alexandra really warrant what I intended to do?
I’m the one who’s sorry, Mark. How did I go on not telling you? I began by saying that I wouldn’t apologize, that I would just tell you the truth about what has happened—let you all judge everything for yourself, objectively. But that was a lie too. You apologized for your lies, and I’m sorry too.
Remember this, Mark: Doing the right thing when it’s convenient says nothing about a man’s character. When you told me the truth about you not being my son, you sacrificed your own interests for mine, in order to do what’s right. I might have told you to go to hell and not helped Philip, but you stood up anyway. I need to do that. For once. I am so sorry now, I really am, for everything really, and I can’t even believe what I’ve done, and what I haven’t done yet, but will, and how sorry I am and how I know that I cannot avoid the massive regret that I am getting paid back with, but it’s fair, and I am terribly, terribly sorry and I deserve it. I am sorry to everyone. To every poor wretch in some third world country who sold a kidney for chump change because I so slickly facilitated it all. To every buyer misled into thinking this was a clean and guiltless transaction. I’m sorry. I really am terribly sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I am.
◆
Before I left Michelle’s apartment I called you on your cell.
“I wanted to tell you, Mark, I wanted to let you know that it’s going to be okay.”
“For Philip?”
“He’s going to get the thing he needs. I promise you.”
“You’re certain?”
“He’s really sick, Mark. I can’t sa
y how he’ll do. But I can tell you that he’ll have a chance. And yeah, of that I’m certain.”
“Did you do that?” you asked.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Wait, Jack. My mother thinks you’re a good person,” he said in a rush. “You’re a good person who just did the wrong things. ‘People are complicated,’ she says. And even twenty years later, they remain the same deep down. That’s what she thinks. And she said she’s very sorry that we lied to you. She said to tell you that she’s sorry.”
“Okay.”
“And you never answered me about how you got to doing this? Did you start selling coke because your father was shitty to you and wouldn’t pay your tuition, like my mom says? Do you really do this now? As a job? And do you care about these people?”
“And that’s how you’ll decide if I’m worth knowing?”
“Can we stay friends somehow afterward, Jack? Maybe my parents, maybe they can help or something… . They’re both lawyers.”
“Yes, Mark,” I lied. “We’ll be friends. And I’ll tell you the truth about it all soon,” I said, “but not like this. I can’t do it over the phone. Let me deal with this thing with Philip and then I’ll tell you everything. All of it.”
“I’m sorry I had to drag you into this. That I lied to you.”
“Mark, it’s good. It’s given me purpose that I never had that before.”
“Helping Philip did?”
“Meeting you.”
I hung up without saying goodbye.
◆
It was on July twenty-third that I had left you and Philip at Cornell and started walking south through Manhattan. That was the day I decided that I couldn’t let Wallace and Wolff and Pierre Kleinhans go on a murder spree that I had unwittingly helped to make possible. And I couldn’t just let Philip die on you, not when I could change it. That was the first time that the idea of how to fix it first surfaced in my mind. But just an hour later I met Michelle. I’ve heard many kidney recipients say that they didn’t know how sick they were until after they got a transplant. Then, after their procedures, they felt so much better that they realized, for the first time, how bad off they had been. I guess the same thing is true of loneliness.
The Organ Broker Page 22
