The session with the lawyer was brief. After listening to the account of my visit from Peck, Wosky was convinced neither Tom nor I was regarded seriously as a suspect.
“Keep clear of the bikers and go about your business. And under no circumstances attend that funeral,” was Wosky's sage advice. That's what you pay lawyers forâadvice, right? It doesn't mean you have to follow it.
As we left the office, Tom said, “Dinner?”
“Better not,” I stalled. “Have to pick up some groceries.”
“Want company?”
Oh, hell. If he came along how could I buy a six-pack and a carton of Marlboros without making him suspicious? I'd have to fake it and make two shopping trips. Oh, well, deception was becoming second nature. “Sure,” I said.
As we cruised the aisles and I picked out stuff I didn't need: soap, cereal, ketchup, Tom told me about a surprise he was working on for me.
I paused between the soup and canned vegetables. “What is it?”
“If I tell you, it won't be a surprise, dope.”
“Phooey.”
Glancing swiftly up and down the aisle, he grabbed and kissed
me. I leaned into him and thought how nice it would be to forget about Pi, have a leisurely dinner, and go home with Tom.
“Excuse me!” a cranky woman's voice interrupted us. We broke apart with sheepish looks. The woman pushed her cart past us with a disapproving stare. We stifled our giggles.
In the dairy section, Tom dropped a carton of low-fat yogurt into my cart.
“Hey, what makes you think I need that?”
“It's good for you.”
“Are you implying I'm fat?”
He stepped back to better survey me. “Hmm.” He scratched his head.
I was about to ram him with my cart but thought better of it. No point attracting attention. Especially when I planned to return here shortly for another load. Instead I yawned and glanced at my watch. “I've gotta get back. Bed is calling.”
“Change your mind about dinner?”
I shook my head.
Disappointed, he followed me through the checkout. “Since when do you need so much sleep? I thought doctors were used to surviving on two or three hours.”
“Young interns,” I said. “But middle-aged practitioners like me need their full eight hours.”
Resigned, he didn't press me anymore, and we parted in the parking lot. I packed the first load of groceries in my saddlebag before returning to the market. This time I made a point of going to a different checker. It was quite a feat to pack two loads of groceries in one saddlebag. As I nosed my top-heavy bike into the road, I cursed Tom
and
Pi.
Â
Â
Despite my unwieldy burden, I stopped at the hospital to check on Bobby. Becca was still there. She had brought her Game Boy and the two kids were happily absorbed in a game. Bobby's dinner sat untouched on a tray nearby. When I came in they both looked up and smiled.
“I'm getting out tomorrow,” Bobby said.
“Shouldn't you eat your dinner before it gets cold?” My irritable tone surprised even me.
Bobby's smile vanished. “Oh, yeah.” He pulled the tray toward him and began unwrapping a plastic fork.
I turned on Becca. “And don't you have homework to do?”
She frowned and muttered, “What's your problem?”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” She began packing up her knapsack.
A sullen silence enveloped the room. Shit. What
was
my problem? Unable or unwilling to analyze it, I asked Bobby a few cursory questions about his health and left, having successfully ruined two people's evening.
Â
Â
As I lugged my unneeded groceries up to the second floor, Paul had the misfortune to cross my path.
“Hi,Jo,” he said. “Can I help you with those?”
I shook my head and planted myself in his way.
“What's up?” he asked warily.
“Why aren't you going to court with Maggie tomorrow?”
He stared. “I never go to court.”
“Are you proud of that?”
“What d'ya mean?”
“Your wife is suffering the tortures of the damned and you behave like a goddamned ostrich.”
He was silent.
“Your son is going to be sentenced tomorrowâ”
He glared and spit out the words,
“I ⦠don't ⦠have ⦠a ⦠son.”
“Oh,
excuse me.
I was misinformed.” I pushed past him.
“Why don't you mind your own business!” he shouted after me.
I kept going.
By the time I had stored my groceries and repacked Pi's it was getting dark. Almost dark enough to set off on my errand of mercy. I had forgotten to buy bug spray, so I took my own half-empty can. No sacrifice was too great! I avoided the lobby because I knew Jack was on duty. I didn't want him asking where I was going and have to lie again. Lying was becoming too easy. Besides, I hadn't read his story yet, and I knew he'd be disappointed.
I trundled my bike onto the main road. It was lighter without the extra load of groceries, but not much, because I had added a cooler full of ice so Pi could have his beer chilled.
I had called him on my cell phone before leaving, and he had sounded despondent. I was worried how much longer he would be willing to put up with the poor accommodations. When I told him about the cabin, he perked up. “Does it have a fridge?” he asked.
“Don't expect miracles,” I said, and his glum mood returned. That's when I decided to bring the cooler of ice.
The ride to the hideout was almost uneventful. I took a circuitous route to foil any followers. Once I thought a pickup was tailing me, but when I looked again it had disappeared. My overloaded saddlebag slowed me down. I was looking forward to the ride home, when my bike would be denuded and light again.
“Yo!” I yelled into the darkness at a spot approximately where I
thought I had left Pi. There was no answer. Pulling out my flashlight, I sprayed the area with light.
“Shut that fucking thing off!” A dark figure emerged from one end of the culvert and stepped into my pool of light. “Do you want all the skeeters in Jersey coming here for dinner?”
I tossed him the can of bug spray. He lunged at it like a drowning man and began squirting himself all over. The sight of a tough biker panicking because of a few bugs might have been humorous under different circumstances, but I wasn't in a humorous mood. I took out the map on which Miss Snow had outlined the route to the cabin and said, “When you're done, let's go.”
He tossed the can at me and dragged his bike from inside the culvert. I revved up and took the lead. We putted single file over rough sandy roads walled in by tall banks of phragmites. Once, afraid we might be lost, I stopped to check Miss Snow's map with my flashlight. After what seemed like hours but was only about twenty minutes, the silhouette of a chimney rose against the lighter sky. I pulled over. Pi did the same. My flashlight beam revealed a shabby wooden shack with a screened-in porch. The screen was full of holes.
“Home Sweet Home,” Pi muttered.
“At least it has a roof,” I said.
“We won't know that till it rains,” he grumbled.
We unloaded the supplies and began carrying the stuff inside. There was no problem getting in; the lock had rusted away long ago. There was the sound of scurrying feet, the glitter of tiny eyes, and something furry fluttered past my nose. “Yikes!” I squealed.
“Bats,” Pi said. Unlike mosquitoes, bats didn't bother him.
An odor of damp and mold filled our nostrils. Pi began fighting with the windows, while I brought in the remaining supplies.
In a few minutes we had dug up a couple of ragged wicker chairs and were lounging in them, sipping
cold
beer.
“This is the life,” Pi said, with heavy sarcasm.
“Count your blessings,” I snapped.
“How's your snooping going?” he asked.
I was ready for that. I had made up my mind on the way out that I needed more help from him. “I need to know more about your biker brothers.”
Silence.
“Look. I know all about your Code. But this is a matter of life and death.”
“Death?”
“Well ⦠sure.” I faltered. “Sunny died, didn't he?”
No answer.
“If you don't trust me, Pi, I can't help you.”
Out of habit, he squashed his beer can and reached for another. I wanted to tell him to go easy, to ration them, but decided to keep my mouth shut. I waited while he lit a Marlboro and tossed the match.
“Watch those matches,” I cautioned. “This place could go up like a tinderbox.”
“In this damp?”
I shut up.
“What d'ya wanna know?”
“What's your relationship to Jingles?”
He snorted.
“Seriously.”
The glowing tip of his cigarette moved from his mouth to his lap several times before he spoke.
“Ever since I became president, Jingles has been a pain in the butt. A thorn in my side. Sunny was a nuisance with his fucking sex problem. But Jingles was a real bugger.”
“Do you think he wants your job?”
He shrugged.
“Well, he's sure taking over now. Bossing everybody around, making snide remarks about you, arranging the funeralâ”
“Funeral?”
Me and my big mouth. Reluctantly I outlined the plan for Sunny's funeral.
“What time does it start?”
“You're not thinking of going?”
“Sure. He was my brother.” There was a catch in his throat.
“Pi ⦔
He took a deep swallow of beer and brushed some ash from his thigh. His silence left no doubt in my mind about his intentions.
“Do you think Jingles could have killed Sunny?” I asked.
My eyes had gotten used to the dark and I saw his eyes widen under his sleepy lids. I was reminded of the raw intelligence behind them. “No way.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“What's his motive? If he wants to be king he should kill me, not Sunny.”
I shook my head. “Not necessarily. He just has to put you out of commission.”
“By pinning the murder on me?” This was a new idea, but he caught on fast. “And with my background, he has a head start.”
It was a minute before I took this in.
“I have a prison record.”
Although I knew this, it occurred to me that I had never found out why Pi had served time. And here I was, alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with an ex-con. “What for?” I asked weakly.
Reading my mind, he laughed. “Relax, I ain't no serial killer. I sold drugs.”
“At MIT?”
He nodded. “Stupid, right?”
I didn't answer at once. Then I said, “We all do stupid things.” I thought of my own stupidity. Misdiagnosing a child's illness. At least Pi's stupidity hadn't killed anyone (that I knew of). “I know all about stupid things,” I said, and told him about Sophie.
Unlike Tom, he was sympathetic. Told me it wasn't my fault. To forget it. But Tom was right. You do stupid things, you pay for them, he had told me. And you don't get over them. You live with them for the rest of your life.
“So what's the next move?” Pi crushed his cigarette.
“All I can do is keep my eyes open, eavesdrop, ask questions. But
the detective has ok'd my going to the funeralâand says he'll keep the law away. I still don't think you should come, though, Pi. It's too risky. What if one of the bikers squeals?”
He shook his head vehemently. “They're all righteous brothers. They won't snitch. That's the worst sin a biker can do. We'd strip him of his colors, beat the shit out of him, and throw him out of the club. He'd never risk that.”
I was unconvinced. But I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Don't worry. I'll stay on the sidelines. You probably won't even see me. But I gotta go. Sunny was my brother.”
I drained my beer and stood. “See youâor rather ⦠I
won't
see youâtomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Two-thirty.”
We walked out to the porch. I was surprised how light it was. The moon had risen and turned the feathery heads of the phragmites to silver. Rows of silver feather dusters dancing in the moonlight.
Pi planted a sloppy, wet kiss on my mouthâtaking me by surprise. “Thanks for the stuff,” he said.
“Anytime,”I said, and resisted the urge to wipe my mouth. “Banks Express Delivery at your service.” I pulled on my helmet and crunched across the dirt-encrusted porch, scattering dry leaves and twigs in my wake. At the door, I turned. “Tomorrow you can pass the time by cleaning this place.”
“Up yours,” he said.
Â
Â
As I had predicted, the ride home was a breeze. Without my heavy load, the bike fairly floated. My earlier bad mood evaporated in the cool night air. I wished I could apologize to Bobby and Becca. I would make it up to them. But not Paul. My conscience was clear there. He got what he deserved. My thoughts returned to Pi and that kissâa simple brotherly gesture of gratitude. Absolutely no sexual connotations. Tom was wrong. Men and women could be just friends. Remembering my first impression of Piâa hairy monster
with too many tattoos and body odorâI wondered at my lack of repulsion. True, I had wanted to wipe the kiss away, but not because it repulsed me. It was just too juicy. I realized I felt a strong affection for himâbut no attraction. I read once that the French have many words to describe the variety of feelings men and women have for one another. We have only one.
Love.
You either love him or you don't. You either love her or you don't. Cut-and-dried. Black-and-white. Inaccurate.
Boring!
Twisting the throttle a notch higher, I burst into song. An old Springsteen numberâ“Born to Run.” I hope I caused some of those country folk, sleeping peacefully in their snug farmhouses, to roll over and grumble.