I called Samantha like I promised I would. She was at her mother’s house. After Sam thanked me for saving Richard Heimsack’s life, her mom got on the phone and told me what a hero I was and how she always knew I’d do something heroic because I was such a hero and blah, blah, blah. Then she asked me whether I wanted to come by for Sunday dinner because she wanted to bake me a cake and introduce me to some of her friends who she’d already told what a hero I was.
I said thanks but no thanks, as I had prior commitments for Sunday afternoon.
First, Ceepak and I are going to his father’s apartment and toss his things into a U-Haul so he’s ready to head back to Ohio or wherever he wants to call home when he’s released from the hospital. In grudging gratitude for his son’s lifesaving administration of CPR and expert use of the AED, Joseph Ceepak has promised never to darken his son’s door or life again. He has also taken a solemn vow to leave Ceepak’s mom the hell alone.
After we pack up the old man, we promise Marny Minsky we’d check out her apartment. Make sure none of the sugar daddies booby-trapped it or planted miniature video cameras in her ferns. What can I say? She’s still a little paranoid. But starting Monday, she’s turning over a new leaf. Rita made a few phone calls, got her a job at Santa’s Sea Shanty. Less bling. More jingle bells.
When Marny’s settled, we’ll head back to Ceepak’s place and the little patio behind the Bagel Lagoon.
We’re going to give his stepson T.J. the Farewell to Sea Haven/Hello, Annapolis party he truly deserves. There will be no putt-putt. No roller coaster rides. We’ll simply crack open a couple of beers, toss some meat on the grill, eat some of Rita’s potato salad, and tease T.J. mercilessly. Then we’ll let him know how proud we all are of him.
You see, when Ceepak and I first met T.J. Lapscynski, he was a punk kid with a paintball rifle and a bad attitude causing trouble up and down Ocean Avenue just for the hell of it. But Ceepak saw something in him that maybe nobody else ever did. Talent. Character. The way he looked out for his mom, Rita. Over the years, Ceepak helped turn the kid around, saved his life, probably, the same way he saved his father’s today.
My partner’s pretty good at that.
Hey-look how far he’s come with me.
Oh, by the way, Layla will be at the cookout. We bumped into each other again at the house when I went there to put on some warmer clothes after the medics checked me out. I thanked her for the assist. She said I looked cute in my swim trunks.
Layla Shapiro is her name.
Jen Forbus, the officer who’d been debriefing Layla, said the two of us made a good team.
Who knows. Maybe we do.
Maybe we will.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-58d269-5f2e-6c46-ae9c-a435-6e4e-da9973
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 21.10.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.36, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Chris Grabenstein
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Rolling Thunder jc-6 Page 25
