The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

Once again I’d been instructed to turn tail. Only I was a detective, not a fucking dog. If I wasn’t going to let Lauren’s dismal family dynamics stop me, I sure wasn’t going to bend over for her temper. Stephen and Lauren were lying about her car, Biancho was hiding something behind Clifford’s fists, and I was bumbling. But fuck it, I was going to keep on, bumbling or not. Boots knew me well.

  I toyed with visiting Alexis but quickly nixed the notion. Whatever possible rationalization I might concoct, seeing her was just more masochism. So I decided to talk to Paul Brown and see what he’d noticed the early morning of the drive-by. Paul had arrived on the scene before me and questioning him couldn’t be construed as messing with kids. Anyway, the man owed me a sweatshirt.

  By the time I found his modest brick house it was late afternoon.

  “I don’t know when to expect Paul,” Anne said at the front door. “Lately he’s been dropping by Vivian’s after work.”

  “Vivian’s?”

  “Lauren’s mother.” Anne’s tight, pinched face didn’t brighten at the thought.

  “May I come inside?”

  Anne looked flustered. “I generally don’t have people in without Paul.”

  “How about I promise not to sell you a vacuum?”

  “It’s been easier now that Heather’s back,” she said.

  “You always stay home by yourself?”

  Anne hesitated then opened the door. “Come in, but if Paul does return, you just got here, okay?”

  Nothing like long term trust, but who was I to woof? “Paul the jealous type?” I asked, stepping through the screen door.

  “Things are complicated these days,” Anne replied, leading the way to the living room. “Would you care for something to drink?”

  “A beer would be great. No glass necessary. And an ashtray if it’s all right to smoke.”

  “It’s fine. Paul doesn’t care for it, but that doesn’t stop Heather. Or me, for that matter. Make yourself comfortable.”

  The room was nondescript, the only splash of color a tilted oil painting on one of its walls. Though smaller than the canvasses I’d seen at Stephen’s, the picture was just as good.

  Anne returned with a Miller, a glass of water, and a large curved sea shell blotted with old yellow stains.

  “Let me take those.” I put the beer and shell on a dark coffee table and pointed toward the picture before sitting at one end of the tired couch. “Original?”

  “Heather gave it to us as a gift when she moved back in.”

  “I met her at Lauren’s party. She seems like a real nice kid.”

  “Everybody thinks so—except the man she lived with. Like mother, like daughter,” Anne murmured under her breath sitting down on the other corner of the sofa.

  I lit a cigarette and waited for her to continue.

  “May I have one?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Truth is, Paul gets furious when he catches me smoking,” Anne said. “I usually mooch off Heather.”

  “No big deal.”

  Anne inhaled gratefully. “You haven’t lived with Paul Brown. Anything can be a big deal.”

  Her not so between the lines was beginning to bum me out. “Actually, I’m here to talk about the shooting after Lauren’s party.”

  Anne shrugged, “The police think it was a gang thing.”

  “I want to make sure.”

  A fresh look of recognition crept into her eyes. “I knew we’d met at the party but I completely forgot about seeing you that morning. I’d taken a couple of sleeping pills and was pretty woozy. You came in with Alexis, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Paul was pissed you kept her out for that many hours.”

  “He gets angry a lot.”

  Anne sighed. “He usually keeps it to himself or at me when he’s around.”

  “Was he upset at being dragged out of bed?”

  “Don’t be silly, it was Lauren who called.” Anne stubbed her cigarette into the shell that I’d placed between us. “Do you mind if I take another? I don’t get many opportunities to smoke when Heather’s not home.”

  I handed her the pack, “Take as many as you like.”

  Anne took three and slipped two into the breast pocket of her short-sleeved blouse. “Do you remember the song “Whatever Lola Wants”?”

  “Lauren gets?”

  Anne nodded.

  “Did it surprise you that she called? Paul was in his cups when he left the party.”

  “The surprise was that she called the police. Lauren always calls here when there’s a problem.”

  “You sound annoyed.”

  Anne coughed and stubbed out her cigarette. “I am.” Her tight, thin lips began to quiver and almost immediately a few tears rolled down her cheeks. I automatically moved the makeshift ashtray, slid next to her, and awkwardly patted her shoulder.

  “I never thought things would work out this way,” she gulped. “I keep waiting for it to change but...”

  “You don’t have to talk,” I said removing my hand as her eyes dried.

  But my questioning uncorked Anne’s pent up unhappiness. “It’s all so crazy. Paul spends more time and money taking care of Lauren and Alexis than he does us. We barely scrape by. Look around, you see us living high off the hog?”

  Anne didn’t wait for an answer. “Everything up here costs three times as much as anywhere else. Of course, it’s a privilege to live near the ocean,” she finished sarcastically.

  “Can’t you move?” I asked edging back to my corner where I lit two more cigarettes and handed her one.

  “I’d leave in an instant,” Anne said. “Paul says it’s the kids, but it’s really just Lauren and Alexis. And these days it’s probably Vivian as well. We’d do okay if he didn’t keep forking over half his check.”

  Anne puffed nervously. “I can’t believe I’m talking like this. I don’t even know you.”

  “I can appreciate what you’re saying. I’ve watched my father-in-law grow incredibly absorbed with Lauren and her family.”

  A small smile tickled the corners of her lips. “Lou seems like a very good man. It just adds to the shock.”

  “Of the shooting?”

  “No, no,” she waved her hand. “No one ever imagined Lauren would get serious about anyone, especially a man so traditional. I’m no shrink, but I’m sure Ian’s suicide attempt had something to do with their relationship.”

  No shrink, but honest enough to call Ian’s “accident” what it was. And the same as Stephan’s analysis. I tried to make her feel better. “Well, the divorce ought to help with your money problems,” I said, finishing off my beer. “I don’t think Lauren will need Paul’s money.”

  “What divorce? What are you talking about?” Anne appeared dumbfounded.

  It took a moment to realize that no one had told her about Lauren’s decision. “Lauren’s going to finalize the divorce.”

  Anne’s jaw clamped shut, her eyes blinked, and the hand that jammed the cigarette into the shell trembled. I reached for my pack to offer her another but she shook me off.

  “I’ve smoked too many already,” she said, her voice frozen steel. “I’ve talked too much as well,” she added, rising to her feet.

  “And I overstayed my welcome,” I apologized, joining her in a rapid walk to the front door.

  “I want to keep this conversation between us.” She looked at me, “The entire visit, if it’s not too much to ask.”

  “No problem. Any particular reason?”

  “If Paul finds out that I was crying about our relationship to a stranger I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  By the time I returned to my car, the afternoon was dreary and gray. Matched my mood. Worse, the weather gave promise to an early fall. I told myself the North Shore caught cold before Boston, but it did nothing to sweeten my sour. The vapid emptiness of a lifeless relationship squeezed me like a juicer. Worse, there was something about Paul’s attachment to the Hacienda that just seemed od
d. I got his connection with Alexis, even his distance from his sons—but the house and Lauren?

  And I didn’t bounce back when I got to my apartment. Didn’t bother with the lights, either. Just rounded up the usuals. I sat at the table rolling a joint and pouring a double before admitting I was operating on auto. It was one thing to get high for a party, another to shut down my personal demons; but what did it say when I lined up inebriates to prepare for a night with my old lady?

  I slapped the loaded shot-glass on its side. My mouth watered at the smell, but that just made me angrier. I watched the whiskey drip off the edge of the enamel and puddle onto the waterproofed fir. This was all one sick joke; I was the dick who didn’t do domestic.

  It took time and more hair shirt before I pulled myself together. Anne’s loveless life with Paul, coupled with my cheat then fuck-up with Stephen, had produced another funk—but I told myself I didn’t have the luxury to wallow. Those had been real bullets in the Hacienda’s door, real hurt behind Biancho’s warning, and real love in Lou’s proposal.

  Boots mixed herself a gin and tonic then asked if I wanted one. The question shoved my nose right back into the earlier spill. But I calmed my beating heart with a nod. And found myself able to hide the rest of my down behind Boots’ talkative nervousness. I knew enough to let her keep talking until she was ready to tell me what was really on her mind.

  Supper was spicy shrimp served with Boots’ non-stop chatter. I learned more about fiber optics and the competition between Internet providers than I ever wanted to know. I hated technology.

  Finally finished with corporate America, we talked about Stephen and Jayson, stage four emphysema, art, Lou’s proposal, Lauren’s demand to leave things be, and my decision to ignore her.

  “You’re just looking for dirt to throw in their faces,” Boots said harshly.

  “Twenty-four hours ago you told me to hang in there.”

  “I said I expected you to. There’s a difference. And now it’s not just Wash and Lauren warning you off. Lou wants you to leave things alone as well. What are you trying to prove?”

  “B’wahna’s talking hitch, Boots. Damned if I’m gonna play best man without knowing what this woman’s about, without understanding what’s actually happening.”

  “So it’s back to ‘this woman’ again?”

  “I’m not sure it was ever anything but. That was your take. Anyway, our conversation ain’t about Lauren, or about me, sweetheart. Something is going on with you.” Either my question reflected an honest attempt to talk, or more self-destruction. We had us here a ‘pick ‘em.’

  There was a long pause. “I’m nervous about you staying over tonight,” Boots finally said.

  “Why?”

  “The other night scared me.”

  “Clifford does that to people.”

  “I’m not talking about Washington Clifford. It was us, our lovemaking.”

  “I couldn’t move around too much, but I’m feeling a lot better,” I smiled.

  Boots slapped her hand on the low glass table. “Don’t start with your fucking jokes.”

  I lost the smile and took a deep drag on my cigarette. “Sorry, maybe you better say a little more.”

  Boots took a cigarette out of my pack. “You kept fading in and out. Half the time you weren’t there. It was almost the same as the night I suggested buying a television. When I woke up, you were gone.”

  “I was out here.”

  “You weren’t with me.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that convoluted, Boots. You know how wired I’ve been, and you know why. How many times do we have to talk about this?”

  “As many times as you hide.” Boots rubbed out her cigarette and took a deep breath. “The other night you were plenty comfortable about Lauren and Lou, so please spare me that one. What you haven’t been comfortable about is Lauren’s daughter,” she said, a brittle tone to her voice.

  “What?” I asked, my stomach plummeting.

  “That’s right, Alexis, and you know exactly what I mean. We’ve lived through these situations before.”

  “Lived through what situations?”

  “You and other women,” Boots blurted, the brittle vanishing, its place taken by round eyes and a voice full of history and hurt. “I haven’t forgotten what you were like when you fucked Melanie,” she said, recalling a difficult period in our relationship. Now, like then, Boots neglected to add Hal, her own ex-lover to that particular mix. But unlike then, I wasn’t gonna either.

  “I’m supposed to believe you spent half the night with her in a goddamn car? If all you did was talk, why do you change the subject every time I bring her up? Or act like she doesn’t exist? You should have seen your face when I suggested you question her. Tonight, you didn’t mention her once. Are you sleeping with Alexis, Matt? Was that your ride?”

  Nut-cracking time—divulge or dance. Tell the truth, explain, apologize, get tossed. Say goodnight, gather my shit, and walk out on my own. Only Boots was my life, and I wasn’t ready to lose her. “There’s nothing going on between me and Alexis Brown.”

  Boots began to tremble so I stepped forward. “There’s nothing going on between me and Alexis,” I said again. “She’s a very hot ticket so I steer clear of her. I just don’t want anything to screw us up. My drifting is about you and me. About us. We’re at some kind of crossroads and there are times when it freaks me out. But not all the time. I ain’t missing now, am I?”

  Her tears were falling. “No, you’re here now.”

  Babba Ram Matt. And, despite my lie, it was true. Maybe because of the lie, I didn’t know. But I did know that Boots’ painful vulnerability sliced and diced the alligator skin I’d lugged into her condo for protection.

  I slowly knelt by her side. Maybe I should have said more. Reassure her, reassure myself that despite the cheat, I was where I wanted to be. But right then I needed no assurance, no whip to keep me on my knees. All I needed was to let Boots cry herself out before I stood and pulled her to her feet where she leaned into me, her arms wrapping tightly around my body.

  I tried to show her how I felt. Tried to show her with my hands and lips everything that I couldn’t say. Make her understand how much she meant to me and how afraid I was of losing her.

  I also tried to avoid any more questions.

  If I hadn’t woken up alone I might have bagged the whole idea. Stayed in bed and convinced Boots to stay there with me. But it was morning and Boots had already left for work. The choice was clear; self-destruct, or stick with my plan.

  No trek home for the guilty. I stopped for a couple of coffee rolls and two large containers of watery black before pulling into an alley to watch Jayson’s doorway. I had no idea when, or even whether, Stephen would leave; my only option was to kick back and hope.

  I’d eaten a meatball sub for lunch and was contemplating some mid-afternoon tokes when the converted warehouse door finally swung open and I saw Stephen jump into his Cherokee and pull away.

  It was time to shake my slouch, slap my face, and go to work. For the first time since I’d left Boots’s apartment, all my anxious reservations returned, so I lit a last cigarette and stalled. And stalled, until I sucked it up to do the dirty.

  I was surprised at how readily Brook okayed my visit. When I arrived inside the loft he was standing in front of the elevator with the help of a walker but still attached to his breathing machine.

  “If you don’t mind I’d like to sit,” Jayson said softly, ignoring my sharp, deep inhale.

  “Whatever is easy,” I managed.

  “Nothing is easy these days,” he said with an ironic smile. “But sitting helps.”

  I followed him to the comfortable conversation area, torn between staring at his skeletal frame and losing myself in the surrounding beauty. As usual, negative compulsion won.

  He grunted as he sat down in his straight backed chair next to the machine. “I might have to stop talking once in a while,” he apologized.

  I sh
rugged, sat, and wondered if he’d let me take a hit to loosen my own constricted chest. Just what he needed. Smoke in the house. Fuck me, he was dying and I was struggling with fears about my mortality.

  “Stephen’s not here, but I expect you already know that.”

  Surprise replaced some of my angry self-hatred.

  “Stevie actually thought he had you convinced.”

  “He doesn’t seem like a ‘Stevie.’“

  “That’s only because you don’t know him. There’s a lot of little boy left inside.”

  “Too old to act like one, don’t you think?”

  “Everything is relative, I’m too young to die.”

  I felt myself pale.

  I guess he noticed. “Sorry, sometimes my humor makes people uncomfortable.”

  “Listen, with what you’re leaving behind you’ll never be dead,” I said impulsively, waving at the walls.

  A pleased expression crossed his gaunt face, “That’s quite kind of you.”

  “No kindness intended.”

  “Are you interested in art?”

  I shrugged. “If a know-nothing like me is blown away, we’re talking good.”

  “I think you know more than you let on about a lot of things.”

  Jayson gave me the opening to steer our conversation, but I wasn’t ready to turn the wheel. “Can you still work?” I asked, somehow less afraid of real contact.

  “Occasionally. I’m doing a self-portrait, and I’m committed to staying alive until I finish it. Most of my stuff is light, but this one is serious.”

  “From where I sit, it’s all serious, even the funny ones. Makes you look twice at what we take for granted.”

  Jayson seemed pleased and proud. “Would you like to see the self-portrait?” he asked shyly. “It’s almost done.”

  “I’d feel privileged.”

  Jayson struggled to his feet and, without thinking, I walked over to give a helping hand. “Do you need me to move the machine?” I asked.

  “No, I’ll be all right. It’s set up so I can get around the entire apartment. Just don’t trip on the plastic tube.” He looked at me and smiled. “You don’t seem as uncomfortable today.”