Forever Haunt

by Adam Carpenter

  As he dashed out into the early evening, he saw streaks of dark blue light hovering across the western horizon. Another sign that winter was on the wane. He also noticed a moving van in front of the building, but again, he didn’t see anyone milling about. Like a ghost was moving in, not yet ready to reveal its intentions. Jimmy refocused on the task at hand. His mother was nothing if not a stickler for time, and the fact she was missing an ingredient for her weekly family dinner probably had shifted her own mood. Meaghan didn’t come by hers innocently. He had to hurry.

  His destination was a deli on 10th Avenue, a mainstay, even though it had changed owners over the years. Still, it was the same one which had changed Jimmy’s life and where his father’s life ended. Breaking up a robbery on what should have been a quiet morning. Jimmy continually saw the shrouded assassin stop, pivot, shoot. His mind, his eyes, focused on the firepower from the bullet rocketing through the shaft. So quick but also somehow in slow motion. Joseph McSwain had gone down, Jimmy had cradled him. Felt the warmth of his blood as it soaked into his clothes. Heard the man’s final breath escape his lungs, felt his body shudder.

  Jimmy would never forget the notion of life draining out, as though it was that easy to die. Now he was opening the glass door of the scene of the crime, as he had so often over the years. For such a simple thing, too, a yellow bag of Nestle chocolate chips. He found them on a back shelf, then went to the cooler and grabbed a six-pack of Bass. He wasn’t sure what was in the fridge back home; not like it would go to waste.

  “Evening, Habib,” Jimmy said.

  “Interesting combination,” the clerk said looking at Jimmy’s chosen items.

  “What can I say, you can’t control your urges.”

  “The choices from customers get more interesting as the night goes on,” he said. “Usually Red Bull and condoms.”

  Jimmy laughed as he paid, grabbed the plastic bag and started back up 10th Avenue. As he approached his building, he noticed a young woman emerge from the back of the moving van. She awkwardly carried a cardboard box that seemed too heavy for her toward the door.

  “Hey, how about we switch?” Jimmy said.

  The woman paused. Then she smiled, lighting up an already pretty face. She was probably no more than twenty-five, Hispanic it appeared, with long dark hair and high cheekbones.

  “I’m fine, it’s not heavy, just bulky. But if you could get the door.”

  Jimmy did as asked, slipping his key into the front-door lock. “There is a catch, where you can secure the door so you don’t have to keep opening it,” he said. He then demonstrated, flipping a metal clasp to the lower part of the front door.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should do that…” she said. “Leave it unattended.”

  “It’s pretty safe here. Really, let me take that box.”

  Jimmy set down the bag from the deli and the woman relented, seemingly glad to have the weight off her arms. Jimmy went into the building, the woman directing him to the rear apartment on the first floor. Just as he’d suspected, Mrs. O’Brien’s old place. He smelled fresh paint as he entered the small apartment. He saw more boxes, no furniture. Setting the box down near them, he wondered if anyone was helping her. A boyfriend, or a husband…hell, even a hunky moving man would do. He supposed he’d just stepped into that role.

  “You’re moving in by yourself?” he asked, turning to her. She stood in the doorframe, like she was afraid to step across the threshold. Afraid of her new home or perhaps an uncertain future. Or a bad past? Something unwritten, or unplanned?

  “No, no…I have…”

  “Mom…mom…I saw a bug in my room…”

  Jimmy spun around to see a young boy, probably no more than five or six. He had the same dark hair as his mother, wide brown eyes and a sudden fearful expression on his face when he saw Jimmy. The boy stopped in his tracks.

  “Who’s he?”

  “Actually, I don’t know yet, but he lives in the building. He had a key.”

  Words that sounded like assurances. To the boy, and to her.

  “Jimmy McSwain,” he offered. “I live on the fifth floor. My mother and sister do, too.”

  The woman finally stepped into the apartment, her hand extended. “Carmen Ramirez. This is my son, Sonny.”

  Jimmy smiled at the boy. “Almost sounds redundant.”

  Sonny looked like he didn’t understand his comment, or at least like it. “Mom, I’m hungry.”

  “We’ll eat soon. Just a few more boxes. Why don’t you run out, get the easy stuff? Lamps.”

  “Okay.”

  The boy dashed past Jimmy without even a cursory glance. As though Jimmy didn’t exist, a phantom needing to be exorcised from his new home. Worse than any bug he might find. Maybe the boy was used to men not being around. It seemed to be Carmen and Sonny against the world.

  “Don’t mind, Sonny. He’s a…cautious kid.”

  “No worries,” Jimmy said. “Welcome to the building.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for your help with the box. You didn’t have to.”

  “Are there many more?”

  “Just a few. I can handle them. Furniture movers arrive tomorrow. Not that we have much.” Jimmy nodded. He sensed a vulnerability within her, an emotion she was trying her best to hide but failing in her attempt. He read her body language, arms wrapped around herself. The bag from the deli had been set down on the floor just inside the apartment. He went over to it, withdrew two bottles of the Bass Ale. Maybe she could use a cold brew, even on a winter day. Moving was worse than work. It was life-changing.

  “No, that’s okay, but thank you, Jimmy. You are very sweet.”

  Jimmy realized the bottles weren’t twist off. He’d have had trouble opening them anyway. A flush of embarrassment hit him, as though he’d failed her. Which was a ridiculous notion. He didn’t know this woman, nor did he bear any responsibility to her. Didn’t stop him from an inner need to want to help her. Then he caught a view of the bag of chocolate chips. His mother was no doubt waiting for his return with her usual Irish impatience.

  “Carmen, I’m just a few floors away. You need anything, just let me know.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Jimmy nodded, picked up the deli bag after putting the two bottles back inside their carrier. He paused at the doorway, turned back to her. A question formed on his lips, and even though he knew the answer was none of his business he felt the urge to know. He felt a sudden responsibility to the new residents of his long-standing home.

  “If I may ask, is there a Mr. Ramirez?”

  Carmen paused. Was she wondering whether to answer, or what the right one was?

  “Sort of. Somewhere,” she finally said.

  “I’m sorry,” Jimmy said. “Anything I can help with?”

  “How could you possibly help?”

  He stepped back toward her, this time extending his hand. “Jimmy McSwain, private eye.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  His expression said otherwise. “Carmen, are you in trouble?”

  “I’m fine. Sonny is fine,” she said, dismissing Jimmy’s concerns with a wave of her hand. Then she paused before continuing. “Really, everything will be fine. Thank you, Jimmy. I should see what’s keeping Sonny. He likes to put up a brave front, but he’s moved around a lot. He’s only six. New surroundings can confuse a child.”

  “I’ll let you go to him,” Jimmy said.

  “I’m sure I will see you around. Goodnight.”

  Jimmy knew a dismissal when he heard one. He left with a mix of emotions, thinking she’d used the word fine too much. And the phrase “will be.” Usually an indication things were anything but. Walking back up the stairs with the weight of the world squarely on his shoulders, he tried to tell himself Carmen’s troubles were none of his business. If she didn’t want help, who was he to force his services on her? Except he felt something gnaw at his insides, a sense that there was much more to their story, and that whatever the R
amirez family’s story was, it couldn’t be good. Carmen might have sent him away now, but he believed she’d come knocking eventually.

  Carmen Ramirez was living in fear. That was no way to raise a son. That much he knew.

  § § § §

  “Clara O’Brien was a good friend, as feisty as they come.”

  “Ma, coming from you, that could be taken as an understatement.”

  Maggie reached out and stuck the tines of her fork in Jimmy’s forearm. “Smart-ass. Clara’s daughter, Maeve, told me the family was holding onto the place and would sublet it.”

  “Cheap rent, lucky,” Meaghan said. “I should have asked about it. For me and the baby.”

  “You’re going nowhere, missy,” Maggie said.

  “Clara was like ninety, right?” Mallory asked, taking a bite of her chocolate chip cake. She dipped it in fresh whipped cream. “Lived a good, long life. Now another family gets her apartment and the chance to create their own memories. I think it’s great. Circle of life.”

  “Kind of sentimental, Mal,” Meaghan said. “What, you itching for a family now? You and Taylor moving forward? Gonna move back to the ‘hood?”

  “Taylor and I are just fine. Status quo,” she said. A bit defensively. “And no.”

  “Ouch,” Meaghan said. “What about you, Jimmy. How’s the hot cop?”

  “No comment,” Jimmy said. He took a sip of his beer. Not exactly the best complement to the sweet chocolate chip cake but he wasn’t in the mood for a cup of tea or coffee. All through dinner he’d been reflecting on Carmen and her son settling into a new place with no furniture and whatever makeshift dinner they conjured. Probably a pizza they had delivered. He pictured the two of them gathered on the wood floor amidst the array of unopened boxes, their future sealed with tape somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow. Unlike the staid comfort found in the McSwain household, where they’d enjoyed steak, potatoes, green beans, and now, an indulgent dessert that was fresh from the oven. Jimmy put some whipped cream on his fork, ate it. Sometimes life could be sweet. Didn’t happen often.

  “How I raised three such ornery children, I’ll never know,” Maggie said, “and in case any of you think to answer, know that mothers can ask rhetorical questions. Mallory, it’s your week to do the dishes, and Meaghan, you need to get some rest. Which means go to your room. Jimmy, I suppose you’re out to save the world tonight?”

  He smiled. “Haven’t decided.”

  “Still thinking about the woman and her boy?”

  “Something seemed off. I’m thinking Help is Here might…well, help.”

  A charity for which Jimmy had done some work for last December, Help is Here did good work for people in trouble. The Ramirez family could be eligible for financial assistance or even counseling, depending on their circumstances. Jimmy still assisted them as he could, so perhaps he could direct Carmen to Melissa Harris-J’Arnoud and her staff while also offering his investigative prowess for whatever was going on with the errant husband. What he didn’t want to do was make them feel like a charity case. She’d barely let him lift a box for her.

  “Better them than you. Last thing you need is to take on the responsibility of a mother and her young son.” Maggie paused, sipping at her tea. “But I admire your chivalrous nature, Jimmy. Even if it meant you were late in bringing the chocolate chips here. Okay, enough motherly advice for one night. I think I’m going to turn on Jeopardy!.”

  It was a typical night at the McSwains, each of them going off to their respective corners after a shared meal, highlighted by an exchange of ideas, barbs, and memories. Jimmy continued to sit in his usual chair, sipping at his beer while his mother and sisters went about their tasks. He was left alone at the table, but in truth he didn’t feel that way. Because the empty chair at the head of the table called to him. Joseph McSwain had sat there, and he’d always enjoyed his beer, too. Each Monday night when the family gathered, Jimmy would pour a glass for his father, and there it fizzed until it was rendered warm. Seeing the empty chair made him think, not for the first time tonight, about the situation with young Sonny Ramirez’s father, who by Carmen’s response at least seemed very much alive. He hated when things nagged at him.

  Jimmy got up from his seat, the scrape of the chair against the floor catching Mallory’s attention.

  “You okay, Jim?”

  He thought about his answer. An easy one didn’t come to him. “I’m going out.”

  “Big surprise.”

  Mallory stood before the sink, water pouring over dirty dishes. He kissed his sister’s cheek. “You have concerns about Taylor, solve them. Not like you to take a back seat to anything. That’s not the tough as nails defense attorney I know.”

  “Relationships are complex,” she said. “Speaking of, say hi to Frank for me.”

  Jimmy paused. “Maybe I’m just going to Paddy’s.”

  “Jimmy, since the new year you two have been inseparable, though private. When are you going to invite him to dinner? Give us a chance to get to know him.”

  “Maybe I’ll invite him to your wedding.”

  She playfully punched him. “You’re an asshole.”

  “I think Meaghan beat you to the punch,” he said.

  Meaghan’s laugh followed him back down the stairs, echoing against the walls in the hallway. Nearly to the front door, he took a cursory look at the rear apartment. He saw only a closed door. He heard no voices, and a glance outside showed no moving van. He reminded himself the Ramirez family was none of his business. He grabbed his iPhone as he hit the sidewalk. It had gotten colder tonight, the temperature having dropped in the two hours since he’d gone on the deli run. He shot off a text.

  SEE YOU SOON?

  He walked a few blocks before a response came in.

  HOME. BAD DAY. NEED YOU.

  Such suggestive words were all Jimmy needed to spur him forward. He edged his way over to Ninth Avenue, where the downtown traffic flow was thankfully sparse. Hailing a cab, he hopped in and instructed the driver to take him to 18th Street and Ninth. After a quick trip, Jimmy was in Chelsea. He paid in cash, giving a good tip for good service.

  His heart suddenly beat faster as he realized how near he was, who he was soon to see. It had been a week since he’d last seen Frisano, as the police captain had been preoccupied with the murder of one of his officers. Today had been the funeral for Officer Denson Luke. Jimmy had watched the somber ceremony on NY1News. He felt the wound in himself when he witnessed the man’s young children standing there as his casket was carried out of the church by eight men in blue. He wondered what they thought. He wondered if they understood. Reality would soon settle in. Daddy wasn’t coming home.

  Too many fathers were missing.

  He approached the squat building, pressing the buzzer for apartment 3A, when he received an immediate response. He pushed open the door, and entered. Francis X. Frisano was subletting this place, so it wasn’t quite home but it was the closest either of them had to share. Jimmy’s office was just too impersonal, and he had yet to invite Frisano home to officially meet his family. Sure, they were aware of him, just as Frisano’s family had heard of Jimmy. In fact, Lieutenant Salvatore Frisano had last December given what passed for a blessing, so long as they kept their relationship on the so-called down-low. As a captain in the NYPD with bigger ambitions, the younger Frisano couldn’t risk a scandal, but even in today’s world of tolerance and acceptance being gay qualified as a strike among the blue rank and file. Jimmy came to the door and was about to knock when it opened wide.

  “Hi,” Frisano said.

  Frisano was dressed in a simple pair of blue jeans, a button-down shirt left untucked. Jimmy felt a rush of desire spread through his body at the sight of this sexy man. A welcoming smile hit him. Frisano, without effort, sparked a passion deep within him, down to a place he’d never known existed.

  “A sight for sore eyes,” Jimmy said.

  “Backatcha.”

  Jimmy entered the apartment, smac
king a kiss on Frisano’s lips. Frisano took hold of him, locked him in a tight embrace of strong arms and growing heat. The kiss lingered, hands searched. Complex emotions filled Jimmy’s heart, his lungs suddenly seeking air. The door closed behind him, sealing the two of them inside. Discretion was a third member of their relationship.

  “Rough day?” Jimmy asked.

  “Can we talk about that later?”

  “You want to talk about something else?”

  Frisano paused before saying, “I don’t feel like talking.”

  Suddenly both men were kissing hungrily, fingers undressing each other. Buttons undone, zippers sliding down, clothes to the floor. To the bed they went, their bodies entwined as though they’d become one person, and in truth that’s how it had been since their relationship had solidified. They spoke a different language when alone, silence except when allowing the room to be filled with groans, with grunts, both sounds consuming them now.

  This moment wasn’t going to be one of foreplay, now wasn’t a time for them to toy with the anticipation of what would eventually happen. Jimmy sensed Frisano’s needs. His cock was immediately hard. He tossed Frisano onto his back, opened up his legs. He readied himself, a smile on Frisano’s lips welcoming the moment. My God, the man was the sexiest thing Jimmy had ever seen, and he was here with him. With this man beneath him, waiting for him, loving him even when that word hadn’t yet been exchanged. What was going to happen between them now was an affirmation of life. That’s what happened when you dealt in death every day. You wanted sex. You craved it.

  “Take me, Jim. Don’t ever stop.”

  Jimmy stared down at Frisano, running fingers across his dark scruff, down his hairy chest. He loved how rough it felt, the hair so dark, so plentiful. Nipples jutted out from the dense ruff as though striving for attention.