Fathers

by Matt Rogers

  He tilted his chin in the vague direction of the front door as she came through it, but didn’t look at her. It was about the best greeting she could hope to receive these days. It wasn’t entirely his fault, she knew that. Work was beating him down, grinding him to a fine paste, and he was barely holding it together. The booze was so he didn’t think about what he did on the job, and a natural side effect was the dulling of his vibrant personality she’d fallen in love with in the first place.

  But this time he said, ‘How was work?’

  She almost didn’t answer. Almost left him in silence so maybe he’d realise it wasn’t good enough, the way he was treating her. The question was a morsel to feed her discontent, keep her complacent until the next time she got frustrated with him.

  She couldn’t resist, though.

  ‘Not bad,’ she said, walking into the kitchenette and fetching a bottle of Shiraz down off the shelf. She poured herself a tall glass and took a drink before she elaborated. ‘Mostly nothing happened, but there was this one thing…’

  ‘What’s that?’ he murmured, barely able to muster the energy for the follow-up question. It was like the television had him in a trance, except he couldn’t care less what was on it. It was an escape from reality, nothing more.

  Where’s the Myles I know? she thought.

  Again, she thought about leaving him hanging. Again, she ignored her better judgment. There was no one to really talk to at work, so it was nice to be able to have even a one-sided conversation with someone, anyone.

  ‘This woman was giving birth,’ she said. ‘She had a pretty name. Violetta. Her husband was with her. It was their first kid. They were over the moon. There was another woman there too, a friend. The friend’s partner showed up — her husband, boyfriend, whatever, I’m not really sure — and he had a kid with him. The guy and the kid were dark, and the woman was white … not that that matters. But I felt the kid was too dark to be theirs together. I thought it was the guy’s son from another marriage or something. Then the other guy — the white guy — asked, “Who’s that?” Talking about the boy. And the dark guy got very hush-hush. Didn’t really want to talk about it, at least not in front of me. And the whole time the kid just stood there. He didn’t know where to look. I’d never seen someone so uncomfortable. How weird is that, Myles? Like this guy just brought some random child along with him? I was certain they all knew each other. Two couples, two families. You know…? What do you think?’

  She’d let her gaze drift off into space while she talked, cradling the wine glass one-handed as she stared unfocused out the small window above the kitchen sink, so she didn’t notice Myles sitting bolt-upright on the sofa. When she turned and noticed he was straight-backed and looking right at her, she couldn’t hide her shock. ‘You okay?’

  Myles rocked back and forth imperceptibly, like he couldn’t decide on something.

  ‘Myles,’ she said, trying to snap him out of it. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Myles reached for the fingerprint-smudged glass of Jim Beam on the coffee table and finished it. He squinted to work through the burn snaking down his throat, then said, ‘Tell me everything you can remember about this boy. And the guy who brought him in, too.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Please,’ he said, and for a moment he sounded like his old self. That was someone she couldn’t resist.

  ‘The boy was tall and skinny,’ she said. ‘Like he’d just been through a growth spurt. He was maybe eleven, twelve? The guy was thirty-five, maybe? Forty? Hard to tell. He looked a bit younger, but … hard to describe. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke … he'd been through some shit. I see people like that every day, but he was different. It’s like he was … haunted.’

  ‘Rebecca,’ Myles said harshly, cutting her off. ‘You think I give a shit about the energy he gave off?’

  She bowed her head, embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed with colour. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Physical description. Please, Rebecca. It’s important.’

  Another please. She couldn’t believe her ears. She knew he was only doing it to coax information out of her, but she still felt uplifted from the attention, no matter what it was motivated by.

  ‘The guy was a bodybuilder, I think. Or a sprinter, maybe. Some kind of athlete. Like six feet tall. Actually, he was exactly six feet, because my coworker Terrence walked past him in the hall, and he’s six feet, and they were the same height. He was bald, dark skin, green eyes. So green. I’ve never seen a black man with eyes that green. And a looker, too. Really handsome. Looked a bit like that actor Michael B. Jordan if he was fifty pounds heavier and a whole lot angrier, with those green eyes I talked about. And the kid … I don’t know, nothing too remarkable about him. He had kinda bronzed eyes. Amber, maybe. Tall for his age, like I said. Five-seven? Very thin, though. Still has to fill out…’

  She was going to keep rambling, only because it had been weeks since Myles had listened to anything she said, but already she could see she was losing him, so she cut herself off.

  He sighed, tugged at his hair with stubby fingers, then said, ‘Fuck. That’s them.’

  ‘Who’s them?’

  ‘They’re persons of interest,’ he said. Then added, ‘At work,’ even though it was unnecessary.

  She paused, bit her lower lip. She had that falling stomach sensation of suddenly being caught in the middle of something serious.

  He said, ‘I need to go,’ but his body language said otherwise. She could see he absolutely didn’t want to involve himself in this. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so apprehensive. Maybe because he’d already had a few drinks, or he was stiff and sore, or he thought his rank didn’t deem him worthy of dealing with something like this. But he overrode all those impulses and stood up.

  She wished he would put that much effort into their relationship.

  She asked, ‘When’ll you be home?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  He hustled to the door.

  She said, ‘Myles.’

  He stopped maybe a foot from the door. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Your uniform.’

  He sighed. ‘Right.’

  She stood rooted to the spot in the small kitchenette as he went into the bedroom to change. The wine magically disappeared from the glass. It was empty by the time Myles re-emerged, his dark blue long-sleeved shirt untucked. He was doing up his belt as he beelined for the door again, staring down at it so he didn’t have to make eye contact with Rebecca.

  ‘Myles?’ she said again, this time a little quieter.

  This time he didn’t stop. Just glanced over his shoulder at her and said, ‘I’ll be back. I’m not sure when, I’m sorry. I love you.’

  That made her freeze.

  When was the last time he said—?

  He slammed the door shut.

  She poured another glass and carried it to the sofa, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

  She couldn’t be certain, but he’d almost seemed scared.

  32

  Alexis whipped up a veritable feast for dinner.

  Slater guessed she wanted to make Tyrell feel comfortable, but he figured it’d do just the opposite. Sure enough, the boy clammed up when they coaxed him out of his room and presented him with the spread. He almost didn’t know where to look. He sat awkwardly, perched on the very edge of his chair, and picked at a seasoned chicken drumstick and a few mouthfuls of the beetroot, chickpea and za’atar salad before murmuring something about feeling unwell and scurrying back to his room.

  Alexis grimaced and said, ‘Did I try too hard?’

  ‘I think so,’ Slater said. ‘You should have seen where I pulled him from. This is like a royal feast in his eyes. This house, these dishes. He’d probably be more comfortable with a gun in his face.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not your fault. I just think we need to keep it simple for a while.’

  ‘“A while”? Is there a timeline yet?�
��

  ‘I need to be sure he’s not being hunted by gangsters. Then we’ll figure out what’s next.’

  ‘How will you be sure there aren’t people looking for him?’

  ‘I’ll go back for the Porsche tomorrow. See if anyone fucked with it. I’d imagine that’s the only way they might track us. If someone saw us swap it for the rental car and the gang gets to that witness…’

  ‘And if someone has fucked with the car? Or it’s not there?’

  ‘Then I’ll know it’s time to play offence.’

  Alexis didn’t say, ‘Are you sure?’ or ‘Isn’t there another way?’ or ‘Is violence the right answer?’

  If she had ever needed to ask those sorts of questions, she never would have fallen in love with someone like Will Slater in the first place.

  She just said, ‘Poor them.’

  They cleaned up, and Slater said, ‘I’d better check on him.’

  He put his hands on Alexis’ hips and she pulled him in a little closer, so she could look up into his eyes.

  ‘And if you two bond?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘What if there’s a reason you found this kid the very day King became a father?’

  Slater shook his head. ‘I don’t believe in fate.’

  ‘When we met in New York,’ she whispered, her face inches lower than his, ‘I opened my door for you. When I absolutely shouldn’t have. Some impulse told me to do it. You got an impulse right now?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Like I told you. To go check on the kid.’

  ‘Then maybe that means more than you think it does.’

  Slater shrugged it off. Kissed her on the lips then went down the hall to the spare room. He knocked and got no response. He paused to give Tyrell enough warning, then opened the door and slipped into the room.

  Tyrell sat cross-legged at the head of the single bed, back ramrod straight, staring out the window onto Pleasant Street. In his lap was an old smartphone.

  Slater asked, ‘That yours?’

  The only light was weak and yellow and came from a tasteful lamp on the nightstand, so when Tyrell turned to look at Slater the shadows drew his face out, made him look more gaunt, more drawn-out, more terrified. But his tone was quiet, almost bored. ‘Yeah, man.’

  ‘So you didn’t throw it away like you said.’

  Tyrell shrugged. After a long pause he said, ‘I know what you thinking.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You thinking someone might call. One of Dad’s buddies, or Uncle J’s.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Slater said. ‘That’s what I’m thinking.’

  ‘I won’t answer.’

  The kid sounded like he meant it. Slater nodded. Nothing more to it than that. This wasn’t the time to be a disciplinarian.

  His thoughts must have been elsewhere, because he didn’t notice Tyrell’s eyes had watered up until a tear rolled down his cheek.

  Slater crossed the room and sat down at the end of the bed, keeping respectful space between them. ‘You good?’

  Tyrell wiped his eyes with his sleeve. ‘It ain’t about today. What I did. What I had to do. It’s about … I dunno … bad luck.’

  ‘Bad luck?’

  ‘It’s like … I’m an alien here. Feel like I’m from Mars. If I was born here, shit, I’d be all proper and stuff. You know? Manners, and bein’ nice, and eatin’ fancy food that’s put in front of me. Now I feel real bad. I don’t want to feel like a fuckin’ alien.’

  Slater let the spiel settle, then waved a hand around the room, encompassing the whole house. ‘You think I was born into this?’

  ‘You musta been.’

  ‘I lived in group homes growing up. I could have been homeless twenty separate times. I made it into the military by the skin of my teeth.’

  ‘Group homes? You ain’t had parents?’

  ‘My mother disappeared.’ He left out that she was taken and sold to human traffickers down at the docks. There were some things a twelve-year-old shouldn’t hear, no matter what they’ve seen already. ‘My father couldn’t bear it so he took his own life.’

  Tyrell was still in emotional shock, so he was never going to outwardly react, but the weight of it seemed to hit him. There was a shift behind the eyes. ‘Shit, man.’

  ‘I was as broken as you feel now, Tyrell.’

  ‘I wish my daddy did what your daddy did,’ Tyrell murmured.

  ‘This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, right?’ Slater asked. ‘What happened today.’

  Tyrell nodded.

  ‘Everyone has a worst day of their life,’ Slater said. ‘Some aren’t all that bad. Some are hell. Yours was hell.’

  ‘Why it have to be like that? Why couldn’t you have been my dad?’

  Slater froze like he’d been turned to stone. He had to do that, to stop himself choking up. When he pulled it together, he said, ‘Because life’s not fair to anyone and a whole lot of life is shit, no matter how good you have it. Some people don’t realise that until they’re old. I know it probably doesn’t make sense, but the sooner you realise that, the happier you’ll be, because you’ll be so grateful for what you do have.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  Slater shook his head. ‘I think you will, one day. Maybe soon. You’re a damn smart kid, and I’m not just saying that.’

  ‘So you think maybe I’ll be happy one day?’

  Slater clenched his teeth, held the emotion back. ‘Yeah, Tyrell. Real soon. Because when you have the worst day of your life there isn’t anywhere to go but up.’

  He left it at that.

  Got up, walked out, and gently closed the door behind him.

  33

  Myles didn’t drive to Boston PD’s District B-3 station house in Mattapan.

  That’s where Rebecca would think he was going. He’d almost lost it when she mentioned the uniform. He’d wanted to snap at her. ‘You moron, can’t you see that was a shitty lie? This isn’t police business.’

  But as much as she irritated him, he still wanted to stay in the ring with her, if not just for the meagre companionship. He didn’t really like talking to her, but it was nice to have someone there in the apartment. The rare evenings he was home would be unbearable if he had to ride them out solo. He didn’t want to think about what his drinking might be like if he lived alone.

  He’d never stop refilling his glass, chasing that dragon until it killed him.

  He drove north toward the city, up through Roxbury and South End until he hit the small neighbourhood of Columbus, just south of the great flowing mass of the Charles River. It was dark and cold and the city was shrivelled, everyone hidden behind closed doors and drawn curtains. Only the desperate and the hopeless were out on an evening like this.

  He parked in front of the Five Horses Tavern, which happened to be the only sign of vibrancy and life in the neighbourhood. Laughter and the muffled din of live music drifted out of the brick-walled venue. If Myles had two pennies to rub together he might have gone in and ordered a whiskey to steady his nerves. Instead he crossed Columbus Avenue, hustled down Worcester Street and ducked into the all-encompassing shadow of a frosty alley between darkened rows of commercial buildings.

  He kept striding, hands in pockets, until he came to the fire escape he knew so well. He scaled the metal exoskeleton of the rundown apartment block that had been dumped on the land in the centre of this block. It faced no streets, only the backs of the buildings positioned along Columbus Avenue. Compared to the gentrification of the rest of the neighbourhood, it was a forgotten relic. Myles had worked up a sweat by the time he came to the fourth floor — not from the sheer exertion, but from the nerves. He knocked on the right window and a moment later the access door beside it swung open.

  Dwayne Griggs had been expecting him.

  The dealer ushered Myles into the dimly lit apartment, but his face was ashen. He was African-American, six inches taller than Myles, wi
thout an ounce of body fat on his long, athletic frame. Genetically gifted, too, his muscle insertions sharp and pronounced. He’d look built even if he didn’t lift weights, but he did so religiously. His frame was so big that he looked lean even with considerable muscle mass.

  Maybe Myles especially noticed it tonight because Dwayne looked ready to punch the first person to come close to him.

  ‘I’m sorry to come here,’ Myles said, awkwardly shuffling into the kitchen. His breath still clouded from the cold, but there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He didn’t want to reach up and wipe it off at risk of looking jumpy.

  Dwayne said, ‘Better be important.’

  His eyes were hollow and sunken.

  Myles took a breath, felt rivulets of sweat run down his skin as he inhaled, catching in his brows. ‘If this is all too raw, I can come back. But I thought you’d want to know…’

  ‘Does it have to do with the murder of my brothers, Myles?’ Dwayne asked.

  Marcus and Jeremiah, Myles thought. Both gone, forty-five minutes apart.

  Dwayne’s voice was strained, like he could barely contain his anger. Like all he wanted to do was kill, slaughter, destroy, no matter if his victims were involved in the attack on his family or not.

  Myles said, ‘It does. That’s why you contacted me today, right? That’s got to be why you told me what happened. So if I sniffed something out, I’d know if it was connected or not.’

  ‘And you sniffed something out?’

  ‘Not really. It fell into my lap. Coincidence.’

  ‘You’re a lucky guy.’