Killer (13 page)

That was a low blow considering how my mom lost almost all of her family in concentration camps. I tried joking it off, though, telling him there wasn’t a thing I could ever’ve done to have made my mom proud. Michael sat staring at me, unmoved.

“This was so long ago, Michael,” I said. “I was a different person back then, and so much has happened since. But even still, I always cared about you, Allie, Paul and your mother. I never wanted to do anything to hurt any of you. Can’t we move on from all that?”

“So your explanation is that you have no explanation,” he said, more to himself than to me.

“That’s not it,” I said. “I tried the best I could for all of you. There’s got to be a way we can put what I did in the past and talk about other stuff.” I stopped for a moment, still tongue-tied, still feeling like I had a mouth full of marbles, then more to change the subject than anything else, asked him what he did for work.

Michael shook his head, said, “That’s not something I want to tell you.”

He didn’t say this peevishly or with anger, just matter-of-factly, his eyes lost as he stared off into the distance. Awkwardly, I asked him about Allison and Paul, whether he kept in touch with them and if he could tell me how they were. Almost as if he were waking up from a dream, he looked at me and shook his head. “I’m not telling you about them either,” he said.

“Is there anything about your life I can ask you?” I said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

He got up to leave, took several steps, then stopped, his lips twisting into an uneasy smile.

“Yeah, there is something I’d like to know,” he said. “After Mom died, how’d you keep getting my phone numbers?”

“I used a service,” I said.

He thought about that, nodded to himself. “Did you get more than just my phone numbers? Like maybe my addresses and pictures of me and my wife and kid?” he asked.

“No, all I could afford was your phone number. Allison’s also.”

“What about Paul’s?”

“I tried, but the service I used couldn’t find him.”

He nodded again, a distant look on his face. “Good for Paul,” he said. He turned his back on me and started to walk away.

“This isn’t healthy for you, Michael,” I called out. “We should talk this through.”

He waved his hand angrily as if swatting at a swarm of gnats, and kept walking. I watched him until he was out of sight and knew I’d never see him again. I wondered briefly if there was any chance I’d ever see Allison or Paul, but accepted that that wasn’t much more than wishful thinking, especially after the way Michael had acted. Of the three of them, he was always the peacemaker, the one who would try to smooth out hard feelings and get people talking again. If he couldn’t forgive me there wasn’t much chance the other two ever would.

I sat for a long moment feeling a weakness in my legs and an emptiness filling up my chest. For a moment it was as if I were drowning in it. Then I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. I don’t know what else I could’ve been expecting from him, not with the way he ignored my calls when I was in prison and left those early letters of mine unanswered – the ones I wrote when Jenny was still alive to forward them to him – and not with the way Jenny would change the subject whenever I’d bring up Michael or the other two kids.

I got myself to my feet and decided to walk the four miles to the bus stop. It wasn’t as if I had any place to be, and I figured the walk could help clear my head and maybe loosen some of the stiffness I was feeling in my shoulder. I thought about Michael’s comment about me being “emotionally distant”. I certainly wasn’t when my kids were young. Maybe later there was some truth to that, especially when I started becoming paranoid that they’d be able to smell the stench of death on me. Or maybe it happened later after they became teenagers – maybe that was when I felt like I couldn’t relate to them any longer. I don’t know.

I glanced upwards for a brief moment towards the sun before looking away. Christ, I wished I had worn my baseball cap and sunglasses, especially with the way the sunlight made my skull feel like a vise was being tightened around it. I thought about seeing if anyone inside the coffee shop could spare some aspirin, but decided against doing that, thinking that someone there might’ve overheard part of my conservation with Michael and not feeling up to facing any of those people right then. Instead, I took off on foot to retrace the path that the cab driver had taken.

I waited over an hour for the first bus, then close to another hour for the second one. The day so far had worn me down, and at some point while riding back to Waltham I dozed off. The next thing I was aware of was a presence taking the seat next to me. A familiar voice then asked me for my autograph. I opened my eyes a crack and saw Sophie Duval, a brightness in her eyes and her lips curved into a thin smile while she studied me. Once I realized who she was I turned away quickly to wipe off some drool that I felt running down the side of my mouth, then I told her that I charged more than she could afford.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” she said. “Especially after your heroics from yesterday. That was quite a video they showed on TV.”

“I haven’t had a chance to see it yet,” I lied.

“You should. It’s impressive. Vintage Chuck Norris-type stuff. And best of all, you left the talking heads on TV baffled. They don’t know what to make of you any more.”

Any other beautiful young woman sitting next to me would’ve sat tensed and compact in their seat, making sure there would be no bodily contact with me. Sophie, on the other hand, sat relaxed with her arm and leg lightly touching mine. As I mentioned before, part of her con required her to hint at a vague promise of sex, or at least intimacy.

“It’s a pleasant surprise seeing you on this bus,” I said.

“An even bigger one for me,” she said. “I thought I was seeing things when I walked onboard and saw you back here snoozing away. I would’ve thought reporters would be all over you for interviews.”

“They probably would be if they knew where to find me.” I glanced out the window trying to get some sense of bearing but was unable to recognize where we were. It wasn’t rural like Medfield, but we weren’t in Waltham either, at least not so I could tell. “What are you doing out here?” I asked.

“A job prospect,” she said.

“Did it go well?”

“We’ll see.” She leaned in close to me and rested her hand lightly on mine. The feel of her skin was electric. With her brow furrowed and her voice low, she whispered to me, “Leonard, you should be more careful about falling asleep in public. I’m sure that car was following you a few days ago. And I’m sure you have more than your share of enemies.”

I nodded, acknowledging her concern. She relaxed back in her seat, still keeping her arm and leg touching mine. Even though there was fabric separating our skin, the touch of her made me lightheaded. We sat making small talk, mostly her joking about how I should get a set of action figures marketed for myself; that with enough publicity I could be the next Rambo. After we entered Waltham, I caught a glimpse of a calculating shine in her eyes, and I waited for what I knew was coming. We were maybe two blocks from our stop when she mentioned about how when we first met I had asked her if she was a writer.

I nodded slowly.

She said, “I don’t have any training as one, but your story is amazing, especially after what you did yesterday. Leonard, with the two of us working together I’m sure we could still write a kickass book, one that we could get paid a lot of money for. I mean, how hard could it be? And who knows, maybe we’d even be able to get a movie deal for it. So what do you say?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” I said, my voice catching on me.

“Please do.” She placed her hand again on top of mine. “I’ve been going though a rough patch, to put it lightly, and this could really bail me out. And it would be so much fun. Think of it, Leonard, the two of us getting to work hard through all those nights together.”

I should’ve turned her down. But the thing was, even though she was just playing me, and had only been playing me ever since we met, I knew something that she didn’t. That there was a genuine connection between us. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I could feel it just as much as I could feel the electricity of her touch. No matter how good a con artist she was, and she was damn good, she couldn’t have felt as comfortable with me as she did without that connection existing, and I knew that part of it wasn’t an act. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

“Can we meet tomorrow and talk about it?” she asked, a faint pleading in her voice. “Maybe you can give it some thought tonight?”

“Sure,” I said.

A hint of a sly smile showed on her face then. We agreed on where and when to meet, and after the bus rolled into our stop we walked together with her arm hooked through mine until it was time for us to go our separate ways. I stood still and watched as she walked down a side street, a lump forming in my throat. I should’ve turned her down since I knew there was no way I was ever going to let a book be written about me, at least with my help. I couldn’t do it, though. Just as she was playing me I was going to have to play her as long as I could. If I could buy another week or two of her needing to meet with me, maybe by then she’d understand the connection between us too.

I found myself already looking forward to when I’d see her the next day.

I was near dead on my feet by the time six o’clock came around, and decided to treat myself to a steak dinner. The restaurant I went to wasn’t fancy or anything, but it was several cuts above the places I had been eating. My waiter clearly recognized me from how nervous he acted. He didn’t say anything to me, though, not even to take my order, just stood sweating and looking like he was about to keel over. Before too long other diners were shooting furtive glances my way, and I heard their hushed whispers, but none of them said anything directly to me either. I didn’t care. I ignored them all, and after a sirloin steak, baked potato, piece of apple pie with vanilla ice cream, and half a dozen cups of black coffee, I felt mostly rejuvenated and up to working my job.

That night the kid working security avoided eye contact when I checked out the office keys, his mouth forming a sullen, hurt look. I decided I preferred it this way than to listening to any of his smartass cracks. My shoulder was still sore and I couldn’t lift it any higher than I could that morning, but it didn’t slow me down and I was able to keep my usual pace. The talk shows were still talking about what I did the other day, and the calls were still all over the place about my motive, with some callers suggesting I had some nefarious reason for avoiding the reporters who’ve been wanting to interview me about the incident. I listened to them for the first hour, then switched over to music.

Later, as I was vacuuming the offices I thought I heard voices again drifting in from the lobby, but by the time I turned the vacuum off they were gone. This time I didn’t bother checking it out.

Chapter 21

1985

I can still smell that dense, musky smell coming from my skin.

I’ve been sitting in the steam room at the Y off and on for over two hours now and I can’t seem to sweat it out of me. Deep down I know the smell doesn’t really exist, that it’s some sort of obsessive compulsive thing going on, but it doesn’t help me much. I took the target out hours ago. It was a clean hit, too. No witnesses, no surprises, not even a drop of blood on me.

I play the hit over in my mind. The guy I took out is a piece of shit, and nobody’s going to be missing him much. I have no remorse over what I did. This isn’t anything like that. No guilt is eating away at me. It’s just that when I smell that odor, even if I know it’s only in my mind, I don’t want my kids anywhere near me. I can’t help feeling that if I have any physical contact with them, I’ll get that stench all over them too, and I don’t want to stain them that way. Even if I know it’s all just in my head.

And that’s the rub. Because today is Paul’s sixth birthday. Jenny’s throwing a party for him, something she’s been planning for a while now, and I promised her I’d be there. And fuck, I want to be there. But then I had to get that call last night. Sal Lombard needed the hit done this morning. I couldn’t argue with him. He’s not the type of man you can argue with. Besides, I wouldn’t have had any good reason for postponing it. The hit went down easy and all it should mean is once less piece of scum in the world.

I leave the steam room to go back to the showers where I scrub myself under hot water for a good fifteen minutes. This is the third time I’ve done this. After I turn off the water I inhale deeply. The stench is faint, but it’s still there. Me, personally, I couldn’t care less about it, but I just don’t want it on my kids. As it is I know they sense something about me, at least Michael and Allison do. Michael’s always been a quiet and moody kid, and the last year it’s like he skulks around when he’s near me, never saying more than two words to me, at least not voluntarily. It breaks my heart having him like that.

Something’s up with Allison too. She always used to be Daddy’s little girl, always jumping into my lap when I’m trying to read the racing forms or watching TV. She doesn’t do that any more. Hasn’t for months now. Recently I’ve been catching this odd look on her, like she’s not quite sure what to make of me.

Jenny knows something’s not right with me and these two kids. She doesn’t say anything to me about it, but I can see the questioning looks she gives me when those two start moping around in my presence, like I’m abusing them or something. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve never once laid a hand on either of them. Never raised my voice either. So I ignore those looks Jenny gives me. What am I going to tell her? How am I going to explain that those two have a bad feeling about me? Christ, it doesn’t make any sense. Even the family cat still crawls into my arms as if I’m a decent person. Those two kids somehow see something that the cat doesn’t, or at least they think they do.

Paul’s different than Michael and Allison. Whatever it is that the other two kids think they know about me, he’s oblivious to it. Maybe it’s because he takes after me while the other two have so much of Jenny in them. With Allison it’s a good thing, you can see that she’s going to grow up to be a beautiful woman. Even with Michael I guess it’s probably good too; maybe he’ll escape having to be the same ugly fuck I am.

Paul, though, he’s already a miniature version of me. Short and thin and wiry, and with this ferociousness about him. He’s half the size of Michael, and only six years old to Michael’s eleven, but I’d still bet money on Paul having a first-round knockout if the two of them ever got into a fight. But there’s not much chance of that ever happening – whenever Paul tries pushing Michael into a fight, Michael backs down, and as much as he tries to pretend otherwise, it’s out of fear, not restraint.

I head back to the steam room to try to sweat out the last faint remnants of that stench, and I see from a clock on the wall that the party has already been underway for over an hour. I doubt it will still be going on by the time I head home. Jenny’s going to be disappointed, but she won’t say anything to me about it. She stopped voicing her disappointment years ago, besides, she knows whatever excuse I give her will be a lie. Anyway, deep down inside the last thing she wants is any hint of the truth. Paul, on the other hand, won’t let it faze him one way or the other. With Michael and Allison this will be one more grudge for them to hold against me.

I take a seat in the steam room and close my eyes, my head lowered, a towel hanging loosely around my neck. I don’t have much left to sweat out, but what else am I going to do?

If only I hadn’t gotten that call last night...