Lonesome Point (15 page)

“Their behavior changed?”

He thought about it. “After the Rev died, there was this … this fake sadness in the house. Like they thought they should act sad, they should grieve. That lasted maybe two days. After I figured things out, I thought about it, and I realized that was the weird part, they never mentioned the Rev’s name.”

“Your brother … you believe him?”

“You know, Tessa, when a person you know all your life tells you …” He stopped there. He’d walked this road many solitary nights and he’d found no solace, encountered no firm ground. “I believed him because I wanted to think that my brother could not be so cold-blooded. So when he told me that he couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring himself to pull that trigger, that it was Fonso who did it? That was fine with me because the brother I knew would never have done such a thing. I believed what I wanted to believe.”

“And this story, about Fonso’s deathbed confession, how Freddy said Fonso confessed to being there. You believe that?”

“He was dying of cancer. He didn’t have anything to hide anymore. But all he said was, he was there. So the details …” Leo’s fingers fluttered in the air like birds in the wind. “Who knows?”

Tessa put her elbows on her knees and rubbed her eyes. “So this is what the whole trouble is about? They hurt you like this when it’s really all about your brother? Leo, you have
got
to go to the police.”

“The police? And they’ll do what? Haven’t you heard a word I’m saying? My brother is screwed. This all comes out, it’s over for him, he can kiss his career good-bye. Even if I don’t care one way or the other, I don’t know if this is all about him. It
seems
he’s connected in some way. Hear that?
Seems
. I can’t prove a thing. Go to the police? They can’t protect me, Tessa. They’re not bodyguards.”

“So then you’ll let that old man out? Leo—”

“I’m not saying that. But if I don’t let him out, they might come after me again. What would be perfect, what would solve things, is if the old man was discharged. Now, that would solve my problems right there. But it’s like he’s been abandoned. His supposed doctor has flown the coop.”

“You need to go to the police,” Tessa said again, rising and walking to the door. “For me. And your baby.”

Leo sank under the water, thinking and blowing bubbles. Thinking, Who would the baby resemble? Boy or girl? He wanted a girl, he had to admit.
Nadia? Melissa?
So it had come down to this? This wasn’t
his
life anymore? At what hour, what minute did his worries become Tessa’s, and when exactly did it become
so obvious to her that his future was also hers? He surfaced to hear her say from the kitchen, “I wish you’d listen.”

“Tessa?”

After a few seconds, she said, “What?”

“Can I tell you something else? About, you know, back then?”

“Hit me. Why stop now?”

“So you don’t want to hear it?”

He heard the fridge closing, a cabinet creaking open. “I’m listening, Leo. First, you want your Advil with a glass of milk or no?”

“Please. Tessa?”

“Go ahead.”

“Remember I said they found the Reverend in the water? Well, the police figured, from the blood trail they saw on the ground, he got shot in his car, stumbled across the beach, and fell in the water. But where was the car? Maybe I should tell you about the car.”

Silence. Then, “I thought you just said you told me everything.”

“I did, almost everything. There’s this one last thing.”

“Okay.” Not sounding too sure.

“Two days after they killed the Reverend, they found his car.”

“Who? Who is
they
, Leo?”

“The police. Fonso found the car.”

Silence. Then, “You sound tired, Leo. You sound really tired.”

He lay back against the tub. “I am.”

Tessa returned with a glass of milk and two Advils. Leo stepped out of the tub and swallowed the pills with the milk and stood there dripping, holding the empty glass. She took the glass from
him, tossed a towel on the floor and blotted the water, back and forth with her foot. “Go rest.” Then, after a pause, “Tell me we’re gonna be okay, Leo.”

“We’re gonna be okay, Leo.”

“No, I mean it.”

“We are. We are going to be okay.” He wrapped a towel around his waist. “I’m gonna take a nap now, and when I wake up, no pain. Pharmaceutical magic.”

She followed him into the bedroom, where he lay across the bed next to the dog Wordsworth while she stood watching him. He was sleepier than he’d thought, and the fresh sheets made him want to smile… .

But he couldn’t sleep. His stomach was in knots. He lay still, allowing his thoughts to gel. He got up and found Tessa in the living room reading a magazine. He sat beside her. “This is what I’m going to do. I need to tell you.”

She set the magazine aside.

He spoke quietly, measured. “For whatever reason, people want to harm this old man, Herman Massani. My brother knows something. I have no facts to support that. All I can say is I think that phone call telling me to keep Massani in the hospital was no coincidence. It’s all twisted in my head, I can’t figure it out yet. But in any case, I know Patrick, I know his ways. I also know that the best move is for the old man to be off the floor.” She was about to say something, so he lifted a finger. “Wait, hold on. Not what you’re thinking. I’m saying this patient needs to escape. Can’t be discharged, so he’ll, let’s say, discharge himself. With my help.”

“That’s your plan.”

He nodded.

“How are you going to do this, may I ask?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Please do. But first, what’s in it for you? Long-term, I mean. You really think these problems will go away if only Massani gets out of that stupid hospital?”

“Look at me, Tessa. I can’t sleep, my stomach’s a mess. I’ve got to do something. All my adult life, I feel like I’ve been running away from something. And you know what? I’ll keep on running. What happened out at Lonesome Point, that’s my brother’s worry. He owns that one. That’s
his
past. I don’t even know what to believe about Patrick anymore. Let him deal with those problems. Me? I’m going to keep away from that.”

“You’re not like him, Lee. You don’t need to keep running. You’re clean, Lee, you can go to the police, you—”

“With what facts? They’ll take my report, and then what? All that will do is prolong the inevitable. Two, three months later, they’ll get Massani and I’ll be beating myself up over the fact I could’ve prevented it. No, I’ve got a plan. First, I need the keys to the house in Wimauma. Second, pack some bags for us, get out the travel cage for the dog, ’cause we’re going away and we might not be coming back.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Tessa, why’s this so hard to believe? Tell me, what do you always say about Miami? That you want to leave here, it’s so congested, crowded, people are rude, you’re always complaining.”

She gave a mirthless chuckle. “They don’t know how to drive.”

“
See?
We don’t have any ties here, we can leave, start fresh somewhere else.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to leave
now
. And where are we gonna go? And what about jobs? What’re we gonna do for money?”

“Tessa, look at me,” Leo turning fully to her, taking her hands. “Where have you always wanted to live? No, don’t
think
about it. Tell me, from your
gut
. Be honest.”

“
You
know. West coast of Florida.”

He nodded. “So that’s where we’re going. West coast. Pick a place. There are hundreds of bars out there, restaurants, places that would hire someone like you with management experience lickety-split. And me? Hell, I’ll find something, don’t you worry, and believe me, it’ll be better than what I have now.”

She shook her head. “This is scaring me.”

“It’ll turn out fine. It will.” He gave her hands a squeeze.

After a long while, Tessa sighed and looked him in the eyes.
Yes .

“Don’t forget your cell phone,” he said. “There’s a hotel in Ruskin I want you to stay at for a while. Massani’s chart says he has a nephew in New Jersey. I’ll reach out to him, to come down to get Massani at the farmhouse. I’ll wait until five o’clock tomorrow for him. If he doesn’t come by five, I’ll leave Massani there. As soon as the nephew comes or I leave, whichever comes first, I’ll contact you. But listen—if at five o’clock tomorrow you haven’t heard from me? Call the police. Call them and tell them everything I’ve told you. Everything. Call them and say that the last person you saw me with was my brother.”

“I don’t like this.”

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise I’ll call as soon as it’s over and then, Tessa? We can go wherever you want on the west coast.”

She hunched over, buried her face in her hands. When she raised her head, she said, “Don’t ask me why I’m agreeing to this. When you’re not the one that should be running.” She reached out, held his cheek. “Your brother’s the bad guy in this, not you. Why do you feel like you need to keep running? You have no reason.”

He didn’t want to argue. He’d made his decision, now it was time to move. He stood up, went into the bedroom and took out the clothes he wanted her to take for him and laid them on the bed. He paused. Sat down.

I don’t know what to believe about Patrick anymore, he’d said. What a crock. He’d been telling himself this lie for years. He looked out the doorway, into the living room. And he sensed that Tessa knew it was a lie, too.

A
T LONESOME POINT, Fonso and Patrick gave it a few minutes before they got out of the truck and walked across the clearing and then along the canal toward the beach. They approached the Jaguar from the rear. About fifty yards off, Fonso squatted on his haunches, signaling Patrick to do the same.

The front passenger door opened and Ramon stepped out, laughing. It was fake laughter, way too loud, and Patrick wondered if the Rev wouldn’t notice. Ramon loped to the rear of the car, hands on his zipper like he was going to urinate, but he kept moving toward Fonso, hesitating when he got there. Fonso jumped up, grabbed him by the arm, and they hustled back toward the truck.

Patrick watched them vanish into the darkness. He waited a minute before he pulled the Glock from his waistband and started advancing in a crouch, slowly. So slowly. Thighs burning. An eternity between each footstep. The driver’s window was closed, and now he was panicking—the glass was tinted, he wouldn’t be able to see good enough to aim… . Why didn’t he foresee this? Shit, shit… .

He swiveled on the balls of his feet and peered into the dark in the direction of the truck. He didn’t have to go through with this. He wouldn’t go through with this. No way, no how, he could not do a thing like this. His mind was racing. Fonso would have
to do it. He placed the gun on the ground to get it away from his hands.

But wait, no: The window wasn’t closed. Good, good, it was half open. He snatched up the gun, scooted closer, and could see inside when he straightened some. The Rev shuffling around, laying something on the seat next to him, Patrick getting closer now, pointing the gun, arm shaking. The Rev was still unaware, folding his pants on the seat, belt buckle clinking, reaching into the glove box, and the white flash of the Rev’s buttocks froze Patrick.

This wasn’t right, shooting a man in a compromising position like this.

He stood, watched the Rev tear open a packet with his teeth, watched him lean over and roll on a condom, and as Patrick took a step closer the Rev looked up.

Patrick lunged, pushing the barrel through the window, and the Rev screamed.

THE TRUCK windows were rolled up and bass-heavy hip-hop was pounding inside. In the light when Patrick opened the door, Ramon looked terrified.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Patrick said, out of breath. Ramon slid over to make room.

Fonso yanked the wheel around and drove fast for the gate, the truck bouncing through potholes, seat springs creaking as they jostled around. Once on the Northern, Fonso turned off the music and they headed back to the city in silence. Patrick’s heart couldn’t stop hammering, he felt nauseated and dizzy. It started to drizzle, and the asphalt turned shiny-slick in the headlights.

Fonso pulled over in front of a roadside shop. He dropped a brown envelope in Ramon’s lap.

“Count it if you want.”

Ramon shook his head fast and put a hand on top of the envelope like he was hiding it from someone. Patrick climbed out and stood aside for Ramon. As the boy made to leave, Fonso grabbed his arm. “Remember something for me. You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’.”

The boy nodded.

“I want hear you say it: I don’t know nothin’.”

The boy shook his head. “I … I don’t know nothing.”

“Nothing about what?”

The boy started to say something but caught on and sat while Fonso stared at him.

“Just in case you forget, Ramon, I know where you live.
Entiende
me?”

Ramon looked down, nodding, getting out.

“Enjoy the money,” Fonso said, and Patrick hopped in, and they left Ramon standing at the roadside.

A mile from the city, an uncontrollable trembling came over Patrick, then his teeth began to chatter. Fonso told him to take deep breaths, relax, it would pass.

Patrick inhaled deeply and blew it out with puffed-out cheeks. “You think we have anything to worry about back there, that boy?”

“Ramon?” Fonso sucked his teeth and leaned back, serene. “Shit, man, that boy so scared, if I talk too loud he’ll bust out crying. Ramon ain’t gonna give us no worries, trust me.”

I
T’S A SIMPLE QUESTION. People play the game all the time: If your home is on fire, what’s the first thing you’d save? Leo always thought it would be his poems, the several in progress and the published ones, typeset-pretty in the handful of magazines he kept in a dresser drawer. But when Tessa took out the manila folder of yellowing loose pages and the magazines, then asked, “You want me to take these, or are you going to take them?” he was stumped.