Lamentation (14 page)

When I got back into town, without really thinking about it, I headed for Lamentation Bridge. I stood in front of my truck.
Engine rumbling, high beams backlighting me, midnight winds howling. I skimmed rocks off the ice and felt the big clock winding down.

By the time I pulled into Hank Miller’s lot, I’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes and pinched a nerve in my neck throwing too many stones. Too scatterbrained to see the police cruiser waiting for me until I was practically on top of it, I had to hammer on the brakes to keep from rear-ending Turley.

As soon he stepped out and I saw his face, I knew it was about Chris.

“Tried calling you,” said Turley, tugging on the furred earflaps of his brown police hat. “Someone spotted your brother.” He jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“He’s okay?” I asked, although it was less a question for Turley, and more for my own ears to hear. “Where is he?”

“On the run,” said Turley. “Got caught breaking into Gerry Lombardi’s house.”

“Gerry Lombardi?” Why the hell would he break into his old wrestling coach’s house?

“Lombardi’s wife, Camille, called it in. Gerry’s with the team down in Manchester for the tournament. Regionals.”

Of all the houses to break into
. “She’s sure it was Chris?”

“Yup. Startled the hell out of her too. Knows your brother well from his days wrestling with Adam. She’d been having dinner with a friend in town, came home, saw the light on in Gerry’s office, walked in and caught your brother, red-handed, rifling through Gerry’s desk. She said he looked like a wild animal. Filthy, smelled bad, like he’d been sleeping in the woods.”

As if anybody could last a night in this cold
. “Why would Chris be rummaging through Mr. Lombardi’s desk?”

“Gerry’s pretty old,” said Turley. “Got that bad back. Chris must’ve thought he had some painkillers lying around.” Turley pointed into the night. “Got a car prowling Elton Drive and Axel Rod Road right now. Can’t imagine he’d get far. I’ve been camped by your door in case he showed up.”

“He’s not coming here with you guys looking for him.”

“Probably not,” said Turley. “But I figured I could at least let you know he’s alive. Thought you’d like to hear that.”

I was surprised at how much I actually did.

Turley zipped his padded coat to the neck and gave another quick shiver. He glanced up at the overcast sky. “Supposed to get another foot tonight.”

“I heard. Thanks. I mean, for letting me know.”

Turley touched the brim of his furred cap, then retreated inside his car. He unrolled the window. “Don’t worry,” he said, “we’ll find your brother. And we’ll bring him in safe.” Turley hit the lights, which had to be for my benefit since there was no one else around.

Reds and blues swirling, he spun his tires, spitting up gravel, tail-lights receding into the distance.

I called Charlie as soon as I got upstairs, but his cell went straight to voice mail. I began to leave a message, then stopped. Fuck it, I’ll head down to the Dubliner. You could find the guy at the bar practically every night.

I put out some food for my fat, nameless cat, plucked a T-shirt that didn’t smell too bad off the floor, and was about to walk out the door when Charlie called back.

“Hey, Charlie,” I said, slipping on my coat. “You’ll never believe this. Mrs. Lombardi saw him.”

“Jay?” a voice responded. Only it wasn’t Charlie. It was a woman.

“Who is this?”

“Katherine,” the woman said. “Friends used to call me ‘Kitty’.”

I patted down my pockets for my cigarettes, fumbling to pull one out and get it lighted. I didn’t know why the call was making me so nervous.

“Jolene said you stopped by this afternoon?”

“Jolene?” I waved out the match head. “Oh, the woman from the shelter, right?” My cat rubbed its fat, furry belly against my pant leg.

“You told her your brother was missing? Is that who they saw?”

“When?”

“Just now. You said, ‘Charlie, someone saw him.’ Did you mean Chris?”

“Sorry. Yes. I did.” She was speaking to me like we were familiar, friends even; that’s what was throwing me off. “You remember me?” I asked. Aside from that one night giving Kitty a ride to the shelter, I hadn’t spent a lot of time in her company, and probably hadn’t uttered six words to her, total. Even on that drive, I didn’t recall having been particularly nice.

Kitty laughed uneasily. “I knew more
of
you. Chris talked about you. A lot.”

“He did? What did he say?” I figured if Chris had been saying anything about me, he’d be talking shit. By the time he was hanging out with Kitty, I’d stopped giving him cash, and we fought most the time. I knew I wasn’t high on his favorite people’s list.

“He thought of you more as a son than he did a little brother, let’s put it that way. Very protective. Chris saw it as his job to take care of you.”

Only in my brother’s topsy-turvy world could he see himself as my caretaker.

I heard rustling on the other line and a hand cupping the receiver, whispers to wait a minute.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Kitty said, “but my shift is starting.” Then, as if I’d automatically assume that meant taking the stage at a strip club somewhere—which I had—she threw in, “I’m a hostess. At a restaurant. In California. I don’t live at the shelter anymore. I’m clean now. Thirty-nine months. I live with my sister.”

“That’s good,” I said.

“Thanks to your brother. He’s the one who put me on the bus.”

“My brother?” Chris hadn’t kept a checking account in fifteen years. How the hell was he helping anyone else?

“He’s got a big heart, your brother. I was in a bad situation when I met him. This guy…” I could tell she was searching for the right words, like she wanted to share more, but all she said was, “Well, I’m glad you found him.”

“Actually, we didn’t find him. Chris is in trouble. The cops are looking for him.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s a big misunderstanding. But, it’s better if I find him first. I know it’s been a while.”

“Almost four years.”

“No, really? That long?”

“I know my clean date. It’s kind of a big deal. Plus, it’s my daughter’s birthday.” More rustling. The clatter of stacked dishes, orders barked. “I really do have to run. You have my number. Call me tomorrow. We can talk some more.”

“I need to find him now, Kitty. Katherine. He’s got to be sleeping somewhere. He’d freeze to death up here. Any idea where he could be crashing? Anyone who might be taking him in? Whatever you can tell me would be helpful. I’m flying blind.”

She paused. “Maybe one of his johns?”

“Johns?”

“Y’know, the guys he goes with?”

“My brother’s gay?”

“I don’t think so.” She laughed uneasily. “But when you live that way, you do what you got to do to survive, y’know? When I knew him, there were a number of men who would, um, pay for his services, and in exchange they’d feed him, give him a bed to sleep in, a place to shower.”

“Did he have regulars? Do you know any of their names?”

“Sorry. Listen, this is my cell. If you want to talk some more, call me tomorrow. I’ll try to think of anything else. Chris helped me out of a bad situation; I’d like to repay the favor. But, honestly, I don’t know much more than that. I haven’t spoken with him in a long, long time.” She sighed. “Good luck. I hope you find him.”

“Hold on. Wait. Do you know where he’d meet these guys?”

“The truck stop.”

The line went dead.

As soon as I set the phone down, it rang right back. Jenny. Calling to see how I was holding up. I said more than I should have, and felt bad about unloading on her afterwards. She asked if there was anything she could
do. I told her I didn’t want to get her in any more trouble with Brody. Besides, what could she really do?

I found Charlie drinking at the Dubliner. Half a fist submerged in a bowl of nuts, the other one wrapped around a nearly empty pint, eyes glued on the final moments of the Bruins game. He was the only one sitting at the bar. No surprise, with another monster snowstorm already unleashing its fury. A good couple inches had fallen just since I left my apartment. And it was only going to get worse.

I shook off the barmaid, Rita, when she started to head in my direction. Charlie turned, saw me, then motioned to her with two fingers anyway.

I tried to say “never mind,” but he frantically waved his hand until the final seconds ticked off and the horn blew.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

The Bruins had lost another one.

He quickly got over it. “What’s up?”

“Someone saw Chris.”

“No shit? Who?”

“Camille Lombardi. At her house.”

“Mrs. Lombardi?” Charlie’s face screwed up. “What the hell’s he doing at his old wrestling coach’s house?”

“Broke into Gerry’s office. Camille walked in on Chris rifling through desk drawers. Turley thinks he was looking for prescription pills.”

“Hmm,” said Charlie. I couldn’t tell if that meant he was buying the explanation or what. “That’s good, right? I mean, at least he’s alive and in town.”

I gazed around the abandoned bar as Rita wordlessly set two pints before us.

“You want to take a ride with me?” I asked.

“Where to?”

“I’ll fill you in on the way.”

“What about our beers?”

“You might as well get going, Charlie,” Rita chimed in. “I’m about to lock up this place. They’ll be grounding the plows soon.”

“You could’ve told me that before you let me buy the beers,” Charlie said.

“Don’t worry,” Rita said. “It’s on the house.”

She went to snatch back the beers, but Charlie playfully slapped her wrist. He shot me his cat-with-a-canary grin, and downed most of his pint in one long gulp. “Let’s go,” he said, suds slipping down his chin.

“You’re brother’s a fag?” Charlie asked.

I turned the truck north onto the Turnpike, past Duncan Pond, which was famous up here for having a crane sticking out of the water. Been there since forever. This time of year, the pond was a slab of ice, but you could still see the tip of the boom and its sheave, hoist line dangling, parts rusted, thrusting out of the water like a redneck Excalibur. Nobody knew how that crane had come to rest in the middle of Duncan Pond. Rumor was, back in the early days of Lombardi Construction, a worker had gotten pissed off and sank the machine in protest. Whether that was true or just small town legend, who knew, but it was nice to chalk one up for the little guy.