Counting to Infinity

by J. L. Abramo

  “Jesus, I didn’t think of that.”

  “Think about it. You’re more than welcome to stay with us here in the city, but a month in a wheelchair with Angela’s cooking and you’ll look like Marlon Brando. It would be the same if you moved in with your mother. Get away, Jake. Go to the island. They have doctors there, take Darlene. At least Darlene will save you from cardiac arrest and she’ll be glad to have something to do for you if she can’t be at the office. Or we could get a nurse to come in. The windows look out on the ocean. There’s more than enough room and plenty there to distract you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “Good,” Joey said. “I need to get going.”

  “What time is it?”

  “One in the morning.”

  “Pretty late for visiting hours,” I said.

  “Visiting hours don’t apply to me, Jake. I’ll be here or anywhere you want whenever you need me, just don’t ask me about Chicago until you’re able to walk. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “Good,” Joey said, rising to leave. “I’m out of here.”

  I tried to find a way to thank him before he left. It wasn’t the first offer of help I had received that day, but it was the one with the most teeth.

  The sharpest teeth.

  “Joey,” I said as he crossed to the door.

  “I know, Jake. Just get well,” Joey Russo said.

  And then he was gone.

  But I didn’t feel terribly alone anymore.

  Seventeen

  My options were dictated by my circumstances.

  For the first five days, I wasn’t going anywhere.

  There would be follow-up X-rays, physical therapies, eye exams, counseling sessions, and patient education. I learned a lot about my handicaps. Humbling and dreadful.

  I would not be able to get up on my feet at all, at least until the ankle cast was removed and the joint was strong enough to carry weight. Two to three weeks, minimum. At that point, maybe I’d be able to get around with a walker or with crutches, and in time very tenuously with a cane while the right leg was still in plaster.

  While both legs were incapacitated, I would require assistance getting into and out of the wheelchair until the wrist was healed and strong enough to lift my body.

  The thought of having to take Vinnie Strings along on every trip to the bathroom was horrifying. It was almost as disheartening as trying to figure out where I would have to put Vinnie to keep him handy.

  Particularly since I wasn’t very clear about where I was going to put myself.

  I wasn’t feeling quite ready for a Caribbean vacation.

  I wouldn’t be in any shape to attend Sally’s funeral, physically or emotionally. I tried finding courage to call her mother and her adoptive parents, but I didn’t know what I could possibly say to help them deal with their loss.

  On Monday morning, my mother called the hospital with news that, under the circumstances, could only be considered a lucky break.

  My cousin, Bobby Senderowitz, known in the biz as Rob Sanders, was coming up to the Bay Area to act in a motion picture. Bobby would be staying at his mother’s house, the house in Pleasant Hill where my mother lived. It meant that I would be rooming with Mom and Aunt Rosalie, at least for a while, but Bobby would be there to help when he wasn’t working. I told my mother that it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. I insisted she promise she would not try to move my weight class from light heavyweight up to sumo.

  Darlene came bouncing into my hospital room just after I had sealed the deal with my mother.

  “Look, Jake,” she said, “you can stay with McGraw and me at my place when they cut you loose. I’ll have time on my hands to care for you and you don’t have to worry about help getting to the bathroom, since I’ve helped you before.”

  “Oh?”

  “Joey Russo’s New Year’s Eve party.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I’m all set, Darlene, thanks,” I said. “My mother and Aunt Rosalie will take me in, and Cousin Bobby will be around. What exactly happened at Joey’s party?”

  “Nothing,” Darlene said. “I was bluffing.”

  “What do you have there?”

  “I brought you something to read.”

  Darlene walked over and handed me a worn paperback copy of The Brothers Karamazov.

  “Where did you get this?” I asked. “It looks a lot like mine.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “Everything in your apartment that was salvageable has been moved into storage while the landlord works at trying to clean the place up. I took a quick look last night. I spotted the book and thought you could use it,” Darlene said. “There’s not very much left, Jake. Fortunately, you won’t be called upon to wear long pants for a while.”

  I tried not to picture it.

  “Where did they take my things?”

  “A small room at one of those storage places over on Army Street. It’s not very organized, just thrown into boxes. I was looking for the letter from Jimmy to Harry Chandler and Battle’s metal ball when I came across the book,” said Darlene. “No luck on the other items.”

  As was very often the case, Darlene had answered my question before it was asked.

  “I see,” I said.

  “Look at it this way, Jake,” said Darlene. “If Battle grabbed the letter and metal ball, maybe Lansdale will give up thinking of you as a threat.”

  “I doubt it, Darlene. I’m more of a threat to him now than I ever was, and I’m sure he knows it.”

  “What are you thinking, Jake?”

  “I’m trying not to,” I said. “Joey Russo asked me to put it out of my mind, to put it on hold for a while. I have to trust him on that. I need his help.”

  “Okay, then, let’s change the subject. Any word on when you’re getting out?” asked Darlene.

  “Probably Friday, Thursday at the earliest.”

  “Just let me know, and I’ll take you out to Pleasant Hill. And my offer of room and board is always good, in case you change your mind or it doesn’t work out at your mother’s.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Okay, next topic. Lopez needs to talk with you.”

  “Now there’s something to look forward to.”

  “The lieutenant said she would give you a little time to recuperate, but she sounded as if she’s on a very short fuse,” said Darlene. “Lopez seems to think that there is a lot you know that you’re not telling her.”

  “You would think she’d be used to it by now,” I said. “The joke is that I don’t know a damned thing.”

  “You should be used to that by now,” Darlene said, taking a wild stab at lightening the mood.

  “Nice try,” I said. “Darlene, I want you to stay away from the office until this business is settled. Check calls from home, or have calls forwarded. If there is something worth following up, shoot it over to Tom Romano or to the Fennessy brothers. I don’t want any arguments, Darlene. Diamond Investigation is on sabbatical. There is enough money in the account, make sure that you cut yourself a check every week until we’re back to work. Are we clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say it.”

  “We’re clear, Jake,” Darlene said, “crystal clear.”

  “Good. Now go do something fun. Please ask a nurse to come in; I need to visit the water closet.”

  “Jake.”

  “No thanks. I’ll go with trained medical personnel.”

  “Would you like me to bring you something for lunch?”

  “No, thanks, Darlene. Come back tonight if you like, we’ll see what’s on TV.”

  “Okay, have a good day.”

  I resisted the urge to tell Darlene that I had other plans.

  The next four days went very slowly. Most of my time was spent sleeping, reading Dostoyevsky, or being poked by nurses and doctors.

  My e
yes seemed to be fine. X-rays of the ankle showed that the sprain was not as serious as first diagnosed, and that once the swelling went down I should be able to lose the cast and begin strength exercises. In as soon as seven to ten days, I might be able to walk with crutches. The stitches were removed from the gash above my eye. As I had predicted, I was going to have three eyebrows henceforth.

  Darlene visited often; Joey Russo stayed away.

  Tom Romano and Ira Fennessy came in Tuesday night with a pizza and a deck of pinochle cards. Romano had tried to smuggle in a six-pack of beer but was busted at the nurses’ station.

  Lieutenant Lopez finally nabbed me Wednesday morning.

  Fortunately I was warned by Vinnie, who spotted Lopez coming into the hospital. When the lieutenant came into my room, I tried my very best to look even more pathetic.

  “I didn’t come here for a song and dance, Diamond,” she began.

  “I won’t be dancing for quite some time, Lieutenant.”

  “Do you have any proof that it was Ralph Battle who set the bomb in your apartment?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “I reached out to the Chicago Police Department,” said Lopez. “They did some asking around. There are three men in Detroit who will swear that Battle was in the Motor City with them from Friday morning until Sunday evening playing poker. All weekend, no breaks.”

  I knew better. I suppose it was possible that someone else had placed the explosives on behalf of Max Lansdale, but I had no doubt that Battle was nowhere near Motown on that Friday evening when Harry Chandler was gunned down.

  “How did he do in the card game?” I asked.

  “Don’t be cute, Diamond.”

  “I can’t help it, Lopez, it’s a curse.”

  “Look, Jake, I don’t want to badger you,” Lopez said, “you look too damned pathetic. But if that’s all you can give me, there’s not much I can do for you.”

  To the lieutenant’s credit, she didn’t try to throw guilt my way for putting Sally in the line of fire.

  Lopez was smart enough to see I needed no help in that department.

  “I appreciate the good intention, Lieutenant,” I said, meaning it. “You need to learn how to be better at accepting help, Diamond,” Lopez said.

  “I’m working on it,” I said.

  “Good luck,” she said, and then she was gone.

  Vinnie was back on Wednesday evening, his third visit of the day. He walked into the hospital room struggling with a large cardboard box.

  “I hate to ask,” I said.

  “I have two sandwiches from Molinari’s,” Strings said, reaching into the box. “Eggplant parmigiana or sausage and peppers?”

  “I’ll take the eggplant,” I said.

  Vinnie tossed the sandwich. I made a stabbing catch with my good hand to save it from smashing into the wall above my head. Vinnie placed the other sandwich to the side and reached into the box with both arms. He pulled out a thirteen-inch television.

  “There’s a TV up on the wall, Vin,” I said.

  “This one has a VCR built in, Jake,” Vinnie said, setting the TV up on a chair facing the bed. “I brought two videos, my favorite and your favorite. Which do you want to watch first?”

  I was well aware of Vinnie’s favorite flick, a 1960 French New Wave film directed by Jean-Luc Godard. Vinnie had a large poster of Belmondo on a wall in his apartment. I had no idea what Vinnie considered my favorite movie; I was only certain it wasn’t one that I had a bit part in. I hoped that trying to figure it out might keep me alert enough to read subtitles.

  “Let’s start with Breathless,” I said, trying to get the foil wrapping off the sandwich single-handedly.

  “Need help with that, Jake?”

  “I think I’ve got it, Vinnie.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to watch Mean Streets first?” asked Strings, ruining the suspense.

  “Let’s save it, Vinnie,” I said.

  I held the large sandwich in my one good hand. I decided that it was going to be a challenging evening.

  I was released into my mother’s custody on Friday morning. Joey Russo had arranged transportation.

  Russo had leased a large van with a hydraulic lift. The lift carried me in the wheelchair up into the rear of the van. As I rose off the ground, I felt like Raymond Burr in Ironside, which brought to mind the importance of watching my diet while at my mother’s. The van took me to Pleasant Hill, Darlene and Mom following in the Toyota.

  I lasted two weeks with Mom and Aunt Rosalie. The cast came off the ankle and I was able to hobble around on my own. Bobby finished his work on the movie and needed to get back to Los Angeles. The sisters bickered constantly. I called in an SOS to Darlene and she came running to rescue me.

  Two weeks later, the cast came off my wrist. By that time, sharing a one-bedroom house with Darlene and the mutt was getting very claustrophobic. I told Darlene that I was thinking about taking Joey Russo up on his offer. She said that she would love it and began brushing up on her French. Joey agreed to look after Tug McGraw, and Darlene and I took the trip to St. Martin.

  Two and a half weeks later, the cast came off my right leg. The next afternoon, I gazed out the window of Joey Russo’s condominium. Out to the Caribbean. Down at the poolside, Darlene was batting off hopeless Casanovas like flies.

  I limped down with a cane and a tennis racket to give Darlene a hand.

  I sat at the edge of the pool and hung my legs into the water. The knee pad on my right leg soaked up the chlorine like a sponge. Darlene came over and sat down beside me.

  “This is too much fun, Jake,” Darlene said. “I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

  “I called Joey this morning,” I said. “I told him we would be flying back the day after tomorrow.”

  “Thank God,” she said. “What’s the tennis racket for?”

  “I couldn’t find a flyswatter.”

  Darlene and I came off the plane at San Francisco International.

  It was a Saturday evening, exactly eight weeks after the explosion. Joey Russo and Sonny the Chin met us at the baggage-claim area and helped us collect our bags.

  Sonny and Darlene walked ahead, toward the parking garage. Sonny carried Darlene’s suitcase and was talking to her in whispers. Joey Russo carried my suitcase and I limped alongside with my cane.

  “Is it my imagination,” I asked Joey as we followed, “or do I sense something conspiratorial?”

  “Sonny will take Darlene home,” Joey said; “you’ll be riding with me.”

  “Should I ask where to?”

  “Not yet,” Joey said.

  We parted at the vehicles. Darlene gave me a hug and hopped into Sonny’s car. She seemed to know what was going on. I climbed into Joey’s car and we headed out of the airport.

  “You look a lot better, Jake,” Joey said as we drove.

  “It was the only way to go, Joey,” I said.

  “How do you feel, Jake?”

  “Not too bad, Joey.”

  “Good,” he said.

  And then Joey remained silent until we pulled up in front of the house in the Presidio twenty minutes later.

  “What is this, Joey?” I asked.

  Joey killed the engine and turned in his seat to face me.

  “Hear me out before you say anything, Jake,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Sally’s will was read two weeks ago. She left the house to you.”

  I looked up at the house. The house Sally and I had shared when we were married.

  I looked back at Joey and started to open my mouth to speak. He held up his hand and stopped me.

  “Hear me out, Jake,” Joey said. “There are three good reasons for you to walk into that house and make yourself at home as quickly as possible. First, you have no place to live. Your apartment is uninhabitable, it will be for quite a while, and, no offense, it was never what could be called a showplace to begin with.”

  “No offense taken,�
� I said.

  “This house was as much your home as it was Sally’s before you split up. I really think you might have been living back here before too long even if this tragedy had never occurred,” said Joey. “I believe you belong here.”

  “And reason number three?”

  “It is what Sally wanted. Look, Jake. I’m not going to drag you in there; I can find you a place to stay. I’m only asking that you feel it out. Sonny and I brought your things over from storage, what little there was. We picked up a few new shirts and two suits to help get you started. No ties, I know how picky you are about neckwear. There is food inside. There is a bottle of George Dickel. There is a working telephone. If you have a problem being here, you just pick up the phone and I’m on my way back.”

  “Want to come in for a drink?” I asked.

  “No, thank you, but I’ll walk you to the door,” Joey said, handing me the house keys.

  We both got out of the car, I grabbed my cane, and Joey grabbed my suitcase from the backseat. As we moved to the entrance, I spotted my Toyota in the driveway.

  “The Impala is in my garage,” Joey said. “We can move it over here when you’re ready.”

  I unlocked the front door and pushed it open. Joey placed the suitcase just inside and reached for my hand.

  “Welcome home, Jake,” he said.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I said.

  “You have tonight and all day tomorrow to get settled, Jake,” Joey said as he turned back to his car. “First thing Monday morning we get to work.”

  I stood and watched Joey drive away. I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me. I went looking for the bottle of bourbon.

  I drank to Sally French.

  Again and again.

  Eighteen

  By noon the next day, Sunday, thanks to a forty-five-minute scalding hot shower, a fistful of extra-strength Excedrin, and a pot of black coffee, I was able to focus for the first time on the details of my surroundings.