If Angels Fall

by Rick Mofina

  Molly stepped closer. He could smell her perfume. “I’ve given you a handful already, Tommy. When are you going to put them to use?”

  He liked her perfect-teeth smile, her ice-blue eyes inviting him to a place he was tempted to enter.

  “See this?” A perfect fingernail tapped a memo. “Could be exciting, don’t you think?” Molly said before leaving.

  It was a managing editor’s notice calling for applications for the paper’s new South American bureau in Sāo Paulo. Reed took five seconds to ingest the idea of applying and the consequences of success before returning to his desk for his jacket.

  “Any problems?” he asked Duggan on his way out.

  “Good piece. Just in time for first.”

  “I’ll cover the Becker press conference tomorrow?”

  “No, you’re working the night shift in here tomorrow night.”

  “But I’m the lead reporter on this one.”

  “Benson called in the order. You’re off the story.”

  Myron Benson, the editor of the paper’s largest editorial department, controlled fifty reporters. Invoking Benson’s name gave any instructions immediate currency. Duggan stared at Reed. No elaboration was needed. The screw-up last year, and that Benson had nearly fired him and kept him on indefinite probation were known facts.

  “Fine, fine. I get it.”

  Duggan gave him an opened white business envelope addressed to the paper. It bore Metro University’s seal and came from a Dr. K.E. Martin of the psych department. Reed’s name had been scrawled on it.

  “What’s this?”

  “Benson wants you to do a feature on this bereavement group.” Duggan nodded at the envelope. “He wants you to tie it in with the anniversary of the Donner murder and the Becker kidnapping.

  Reed was wounded. Again. He swallowed it.

  “Sure. I’ll get right on it.”

  Crumbs and crap, that’s what they were feeding him. Reed tucked the envelope into his jacket and headed for the parking lot.

  TEN

  The distant horn of a tug echoed from the Bay as Tom Reed walked across the Star parking lot. Cool Pacific breezes carried the stench of diesel and exhaust from the freeway overhead. The green ’77 Comet he had bought after Ann left waited like a lonely, faithful mutt.

  Reed lost his awe for San Francisco--the lights of Coit Tower, the financial district, the pyramid, the hills, the bridges, the Bay.

  He ran a red light entering Sea Park, a community of uphill mansions whose views rivaled Russian Hill and Pacific Heights. It bordered a small park dotted by stone tables topped with permanent chessboards. Old European men brought their own worn pieces here to play friendly games and reminisce. Beyond the houses were rows of condos. A sedate community. Gleaming Jaguars, BMW’s and Mercedes lined the streets. Precision clipped shrubs and hedges hid the pong of tennis balls, the splash of a private pool, and the occasional whispered investment tip.

  Reed parked near the three-story Edwardian house where he lived with five other men. The owner, Lila Onescu, was a Rumanian grand dame with gypsy blood who lived in a condo two blocks away. After Ann left with Zach, Reed couldn’t bear living alone in their house. A buddy told him of Lila Onescu’s place, a jewel in Sea Park, well-kept, quiet. A hundred bucks a week for a room on the second floor where he would share a bathroom and kitchen with two other tenants. This was his home.

  Reed creaked up the staircase, welcomed by the typed note taped to his door. “Where is rent? L. Onescu.” He was two weeks behind. He would give her a check tomorrow he promised, fumbling for his key.

  His room had three bay windows overlooking the Marina District and the Pacific. A dorm-style single bed with rumpled sheets was against one wall. A mirrored dresser stood against another near an ornamental fireplace. A small desk sat opposite the bed, and a tattered, comfortable sofa chair was in the middle of the room, which had hardwood floors and faded green flower-patterned wallpaper. Reed’s framed degree, his two awards, a Star front page, and silver-framed pictures of Ann and Zach, were leaning on the fireplace mantel, hastily placed in the hope they would be collected at a moment’s notice. A stack of newspapers tottered a few feet from the floor next to the dresser. It had started growing the day he moved in--three weeks after Ann moved out of their bungalow in Sunset. When she left, their house had become a mausoleum for their marriage. He had to leave, or be entombed. They agreed to rent their house.

  Reed went down the hall to the kitchen for ice. In his room, he poured some Jack Daniel’s, stripped off his clothes, casting them onto the pig-sized heap in the corner, slipped into jogging shorts. He opened the bay windows and watched the twinkling lights of the Golden Gate.

  All he ever wanted in this world was to be a reporter. The dream of a kid from Big Sky Country. His dad used to bring him a newspaper six days a week, The Great Falls Tribune. He’d spread it open on the living room floor and read the news to his mother. When he was eleven, he started his first Trib route. Trudging through the snow, shivering in the rain, or sweating under the prairie sun with that canvas bag, nearly black with newsprint, slung over his shoulder like a harness. Dad had knotted the strap so the bag hung just so, like an extension of himself. He would read the paper as he delivered it, dreaming of seeing his stories in print. He had forty customers and every day, by the time he emptied his bag, he’d have read the day’s entire edition.

  Life’s daily dramas enthralled him. He became a news addict and an expert on current affairs. In high school, he graduated from newspaper boy to cub reporter, writing stories for the school paper. He was accepted into J-School at the University of Missouri, where he met Ann, a business major with big brown eyes and a smile that knocked him out. She was from Berkeley and wanted children and her own shop to sell the children’s clothes she would design and make herself. That was a secret, she told him.

  He wanted a family, too, but he wanted to establish his career first and maybe write books. The last part was a secret. If you talked about writing books, you’d never do it.

  They were married after graduation. A few weeks later, he got a job with AP in San Francisco. Ann was happy to move back to the Bay Area, where she would be near her mother. And Reed was determined to prove himself in San Francisco.

  He hustled for AP, breaking a story about the Russian Mafia. He was short listed for a Pulitzer, but lost out. The San Francisco Star then offered him a job as a crime reporter at twice his salary.

  Ann got an administrative post at one of San Francisco’s hospitals. At night, she worked on her business plan and clothing designs. He traveled constantly, worked long hours and was rarely home. The years passed. Starting a family seemed impossible.

  Then boom. Ann was pregnant. He was stunned. Unprepared.

  She had forgotten her pills when they vacationed in Las Vegas. He hinted that she’d done it purposely. Not true, she said. They didn’t want to argue. In the following months, they retreated, withdrew into themselves. Ann welcomed the coming of a baby, Reed braced for it.

  When he witnessed the birth of their son, he felt a degree of love he never knew existed. But soon, he grappled with his own mortality. It frightened him, overwhelmed him with the realization that he had little time in his life for accomplishments. He was a father. He feared he would fail fatherhood. He compensated the only way he knew: by striving through his job to leave Zach a legacy as a man who had made his mark. Someone Zach could be proud of. Consequently, the Star became his mistress and family. It seemed Ann and Zach became people he appreciated only when needed. They shared the groceries and the furniture. On the surface, he was like any other young husband and father. In truth, he only gave of himself when it was convenient. It was cute how Zach imitated him and wanted to be a reporter, just like his daddy. It was reassuring how Ann understood that he never had time for them. But something was crumbling, little by little, day by day. Reed was blind to what had happened, oblivious to Ann’s achievement of single-handedly getting her small shop off the ground
while raising Zach alone. He had become a stranger forcing them to survive without him.

  His mistake last year on Tanita Marie Donner’s murder brought it all to the surface. He had deceived himself about priorities. What he invested every day in the pursuit of vainglory could be had by anyone for fifty cents. But the price exacted from his family and himself was incalculable. Now he was alone in his room with everything he had thought valuable: his awards, his job, himself, and a pile of newspapers threatening to spill across the floor.

  How could he have been so stupid?

  What had he done to Ann? To Zach? He was so sorry. He had to call them. Had to tell them. Right now. He heard the chink of glass as he rose to go to the phone and nearly fell down. It was three-thirty in the morning. He was drunk. Forget it. Staggering to bed, he noticed the Metro University envelope sticking from his jacket pocket. Scanning the letter about Dr. Martin’s bereavement research, he scoffed and tossed it. Then he saw another envelope in his jacket, from the photo department. The borrowed snapshot of Danny Raphael Becker. Someone had slipped it in his pocket with a note suggesting he return it to the Beckers in person. He looked at it for a long time. Well, this was one story he wouldn’t be messing up. Tenderly, he propped up Danny’s picture on the mantel next to the little framed photograph of his son, Zach.

  ELEVEN

  The phone jangled. Half asleep, Reed grabbed it.

  “You up, Reed?”

  “No.”

  Silence. Reed squeezed the receiver. “Who the hell is this?”

  The caller sighed “You sober, Reed?”

  Myron Benson’s voice rattled him out of drowsiness. Since the screw-up, the metro editor no longer acknowledged Reed in the newsroom. Why was he calling? Bored, tormenting him with probation? Did he reach a decision on Reed’s fate? Reed hadn’t seen today’s paper. Did he screw up? Was that it? Was Benson going to fire him now?

  “What do you want?”

  “Read your story today. Good job getting the father.”

  Reed waited for the “but.”

  “I want you to cover the Becker press conference today.”

  Reed sat up. “Duggan told me last night you pulled me off the story.”

  “Changed my mind. For now, you will now be involved in our coverage. I want to see where this abduction thing is going.”

  “Well, I have a few theories.”

  “Shove ’em. I want solid reporting. Understand?”

  “I understand.” That you’re an idiot.

  “I also want a feature on Dr. Martin’s bereavement research at the university. I read her letter. Tie it in with the Becker case.”

  “Right.”

  “And Reed, any incompetence will be noted.”

  Like pulling wings off of flies. You loving this, Benson?

  Quit moping and do something about it, he decided after shaving and dressing. He had under an hour before the press conference. No time for breakfast. He snatched two bananas to eat on the way. Remembering to grab the snapshot of Danny Becker from the mantel brought him face-to-face with Ann, Zach, and his own guilt.

  Quit moping. Do something.

  He checked his watch. There was time.

  He punched the number. It had been weeks since they had talked. What if she’d called a lawyer? How would he begin? I love you and Zach more than anything and I want us back together. He now realized he may be wrong and was ready to admit it.

  It rang twice.

  “Hello?” Ann’s mother said.

  “Hello, Doris.”

  “Oh, hello, Tom.” No malice. Doris was not an interfering mother-in-law. She was always pleasant to him.

  “I see you’ve been busy.” Doris was a faithful Star reader.

  “Yes.” Not knowing what to say, he said, “I hope you’re well.”

  “I’m fine, Tom. And you?”

  “Me?” He saw the empty Jack Daniel’s bottle. “I’m okay.”

  “It’s so terribly sad, don’t you think?”

  Was she referring to the kidnapping, or her daughter’s marriage to him? She continued. “That little boy, Danny Becker. His mother and father must be sick with worry.”

  “I’m sure they are.”

  The extension clicked.

  “Tom…?”

  Ann’s voice was balm to him. For he accepted that he could have been wrong and wanted to tell her. She and Zach were his life. He knew he could not live without them and he wanted to tell her. But he didn’t.

  All he managed was, “Hi, Ann.”

  “Hi. How are you?”

  “Well, I’ve been better. How are you two doing?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Do you guys need anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How’s the car running?”

  “The transmission feels funny.”

  “It was starting to slip just before you...” He stopped himself before saying: just before you left me. “Take it to Otto’s. The warranty’s still good.”

  “Okay.”

  “Want me to make the appointment?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  A few awkward seconds passed.

  “I read your story today about this horrible kidnapping. If anything ever happened to Zach...”

  “They’re going hard on the investigation. I’m headed to a press conference. Ann, I want to see you, to talk about things.”

  “It’s Zach, isn’t it?”

  Zach? He was puzzled. “Why do you say that?”

  “I thought he might have called you. He’s been having nightmares.” Her voice became a whisper. “He misses you.”

  “He misses me?”

  Reed seethed with conflicting emotions. What did you expect, Ann? You paint me as some evil leper because I enjoy my job. You yank him out of the only home he’s known, take him away from his friends, his neighborhood. He’s probably scared to death of this kidnapping stuff. He’s got to get up at five-thirty every morning now to be driven across the bay to school. He’s had to miss soccer, which he lives for. You throw his little world into a blender. He misses what you took him away from: his home.

  Hold everything.

  He was wrong. Only a fool would blame Ann. Blame yourself, Reed.

  “I miss both of you,” he said.

  “Then why haven’t you come to see him?”

  “When you moved to Berkeley I took it to mean that you didn’t want to see me. I swear that’s what I thought you wanted. I had to fight the urge to see you. I used to park down the street from your mother’s house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.”

  “You did?”

  “I don’t know what the rules are, Ann.”

  “Zach came home from school one day, asking about you and when we were going to stop being mad and all move back home.”

  “He cuts through the crap, doesn’t he?”

  They both chuckled faintly, leaving Zach’s question alone.

  “Ann, I want to get together. I have some things I want to say.”

  “Well, Zach’s been waiting to visit you at the paper. Why don’t we drop by and have lunch sometime this week?”

  “It’s a date. Do you think he wants to talk to me for a bit?”

  “Sure, just a minute.”

  Ann put the receiver down. A few seconds later Tom heard the pounding of Zach’s sneakers approaching the phone.

  “Dad?”

  Reed felt something in his throat. “You being good, Zach?”

  “Yup.”

  “Are you being nice to Grandma?”

  “Yup.” Then he whispered, “I even remember to leave the toilet seat down after I go to the bathroom.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Dad, are we going to move back home?”

  “We’re working on it. We’re working on it, okay?”

  “Dad, you want us all to move back home, right?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Me, too. Mom does, too. I heard her telling Grandma.”

  “That’s
good. I’m glad. Anything you want to talk about?”

  “That little boy that got kidnapped yesterday, I saw his picture in your paper. Is that boy dead?”

  “Nobody knows. The police are working real hard on the case.”

  “But the police are going to catch the kidnapper, right? They’re going to catch him before he takes more kids, right, Dad?”

  Reed ran his hand over his face. “Zach, your mother and I love you, more than you’ll ever know. Do you hear me, son?”

  “I guess.” His voice was weak.

  “And it’s all right to be a little nervous and extra careful to always not talk to strangers. But Zach, don’t let things go crazy in your head over it. Don’t confuse it with what’s happening with us. Okay? Mom and I are working on moving back together.”

  “But when, Dad? I want to go home....” Zach’s voice broke into a gut-wrenching plea that nearly winded Reed.

  “I don’t know when, son.”

  Zach was crying softly.

  “Zach, it’s all right to be sad. I’m sad, too. But you have to be strong and patient for Mom and me. Can you do it?”

  “Uh-huh, I’ll try.”

  “We’ll do everything we can. Now, I promise I will talk to you again real soon.” Reed looked at his watch. “Tell Mom I will call her. Now I have to go, son.”

  Reed hung up and hurried to his Comet.

  TWELVE

  Danny Becker woke up afraid and hungry. This strange place smelled bad, like animal cages at the zoo. His mouth tasted funny. “Dad!” Danny waited. Nothing. “Mommy! Where are you?”

  Danny listened. Still nothing.

  Something was wrong. He had his shoes on. Mommy never let him sleep in bed with his shoes on. His breathing quickened. He was so scared, sitting here on the smelly old mattress. The room was lit by a naked, dim bulb casting long shadows on the concrete walls. One tiny window had bars on the inside. Newspapers covered the glass. Danny noticed a cup of milk, plate of cookies and a sandwich on the floor.

  He cried as he ate. The sandwich was peanut butter and jam. Not nice like Mommy makes. The jam was dripping off the sides. The cookies were cream cookies, the fat ones. He remembered being on the subway with Daddy when he got bumped out the door and fell. He was lifted up from behind by hands that were strong like Daddy’s. But they weren’t Daddy’s. They held him funny. At first Danny thought it was a game because they were going somewhere fast. But when the person carrying him stumbled, he said a bad word. Danny tried to scream, but a stinky wet cloth smothered his face.