The Keep (22 page)

Mick: So. You feel like heading back up?

Not really.

Mick took a long breath. Me either.

They sat looking at the square. An old guy was playing a harmonica. Kids chased pigeons around. Danny felt something open up between him and Mick, even without talking. They were alike: two number twos.

Danny: I want to get back to New York. He said this without really deciding to.

Mick: Howard doesn’t like people leaving.

Yeah, I get that feeling.

Makes him feel like he hasn’t done a good enough job. Like he’s been a bad host. Especially now, with your head all busted up. He’ll want you to get better first.

Danny: I feel fine.

Mick turned to him. You looked in a mirror lately?

Danny: Not if I can help it. They started to laugh, and then Mick looked at Danny and laughed again. What did you
do
to yourself?

Beyond falling head first out a window?

More laughing. Danny felt like he might not be able to stop.

Mick: That would be enough for most people.

Not me. I like to finish a job. Danny fought the laughter. It felt unhealthy, somehow.

Mick: Hey, you want to use this before we go back up?

He was holding out something Danny recognized, but the news of what it was seemed to take a while to reach him. He gaped at the hunk of precious metal in Mick’s hand. A cell phone.

Danny: Where—where did you get this?

Mick laughed. They’re around. It’s not like
no one
has cell phones, it’s just Howard’s…idea right now. Things come and go with him. Anyway, go ahead and call someone. It’s programmed for the U.S., so you can just dial.

He gave the phone to Danny and crossed the square to the soda cart. When he turned back around, Danny hadn’t moved. He was staring at the phone. It seemed alien, unfamiliar. Mick held up a bright green bottle and waved.

Danny opened the phone. The whole thing felt dreamlike. With a shaking finger, he pushed in Martha’s number at work. A second later he heard her voice in his ear.

Mr. Jacobson’s office.

Danny was too surprised to react. How did he get to Martha so quickly? It seemed impossible.

Martha: Hello?…Hello? I’m not hearing any—

Danny: Martha.

Her whole voice changed. It dropped and seemed to get even closer. Danny, is that you? Are you…oh my God, I’ve been worried out of my mind!

Martha?

Oh, honey. Are you—what the fuck is going on over there?

I’m not sure.

You sound funny.

Danny couldn’t believe it was Martha. It seemed too sudden, too much in denial of how far away he felt.

Martha?

Danny, it’s Martha. Why do you keep asking?

Tell me something so I’ll know for sure.

There was a pause. Is this a joke? You just called me at my desk and I answered the phone—who the hell else would I be?

Danny wanted to believe her, but it seemed too easy, an impossible wish. You thought of someone and then there they were, talking right into your ear? He said, Tell me something that’ll prove it’s you.

There was a long silence. Finally Martha said, Danny?

Yeah.

You sound different.

I feel different.

You sound…not like you.

Danny: I just need some identifying information.

Martha: Information! Who is this? What kind of information are you trying to get?

It wasn’t Martha, now Danny was sure. It was someone else.

Danny: Anything you feel like telling me.

Where’s Danny? How did you get this number?

I’m
Danny. What the fuck are you talking about?

Martha: I don’t believe you’re Danny.

Danny: I don’t believe you’re Martha.

The person on the phone sounded scared. More proof—Martha never got scared. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. You’ve done something to him, haven’t you?

Danny just listened. The voice was familiar, no question. But it wasn’t Martha. Martha was far away, back in New York.

Martha: Are you still there, you asshole? Is this all about that fucking restaurant? Oh God, did he even get out of New York?

Danny stared at the phone in his hand. How could he tell where the voice was coming from? He looked up at the castle. The sun had moved behind it and it wasn’t gold anymore, it was almost black. Its shadow covered the whole hill and was creeping toward the square. Danny wondered if the voice could be coming from inside it.

Whoever was on the phone had started to cry, or pretend to cry. All right, you fucker, I’m hanging up. But if you have one decent cell in your miserable body, you tell Danny I love him.
Martha loves him,
you got that? Tell him, you bastard. Now go fuck yourself.

The line went dead. Danny was shaking. He looked across the square without seeing much. Mick was coming back.

Mick: Everything okay?

Danny: Yeah, fine. He almost dropped the phone handing it over.

Mick stood in front of Danny, looking worried. It worked okay? You reached someone?

Danny: Yeah. He felt like he had to say something else, so he added: Girl trouble.

Ah. Okay. Well, I wrote the book on that.

Mick handed Danny a bottle of green soda and Danny took a long slug. The drink was too sweet, but nice and cold. Danny could have drunk forty of them. He felt a sudden coolness. The castle’s shadow had reached the square and was slowly covering it up.

Danny: Are we going back?

Mick: Yeah, I think it’s time. Don’t forget your…whatever that is. He was pointing to the framed map propped against the bench. Danny had forgotten it.

Danny: I don’t care about that. I’ll just leave it here. But he could see from Mick’s expression that that was a weird thing to do, so he hefted up the map. It was incredibly awkward to carry.

Mick: What is this thing? He took the map from Danny and looked it over. Oh, boy. Howard’s gonna love this.

Danny: We aim to please.

Mick looked surprised, then he laughed. Here, I’ll take it. His arms were long enough that he could wedge the whole frame underneath one of them. Danny carried his shoulder bag.

They headed back up the hill. Danny was limping worse than ever, maybe from sitting down for so long.

Mick: By the way, I got your other boot off that windowsill on the keep. It’s in your room.

Danny didn’t understand what Mick was saying at first. He had to think: Boot. Window. Keep. Then he was too overwhelmed to answer. It was a while before he said, Thanks.

No problem.

They walked a long time without talking. It was an easy silence. Gradually the trees started closing in around them, cutting out the light. The air got cold. Danny remembered the knife in his pocket. It tugged his coat with every step he took.

Danny: You were a junkie, right?

Mick turned to him, still walking. He looked surprised, and Danny wondered if he shouldn’t have said it.

Mick: Am.

Still?

It’s forever. Like love. And then he laughed.

You miss it?

Every fucking minute.

Which part?

Mick: That’s a good question. He thought a while. I miss the…
equations,
I guess you’d say. This many dollars buys you this, which gets you this many hours of high before you need another hit, which’ll cost you this. The counting, you know? I like to count.

Danny: You could count other stuff.

Mick: I count everything. I’m counting our words. I’m counting my steps. I’m counting the trees.

What do you do with all the numbers?

Mick laughed. Do with them? Nothing. I forget them. It’s all just a way of not going nuts.

Danny felt the castle before they got there—a low vibrating hum coming up through his feet. Then the gate loomed over them, the same one he’d tried to find a way through that first night. Mick went around the side of it and opened a door Danny hadn’t seen. So there it was, finally. The way in.

Before he went through, Danny stopped. Mick?

Mick turned around.

Danny: Why can’t you leave?

Why can’t I…?

Leave. The castle.

Ah. You picked that up.

Big-time.

Well. I resent it.

Sure, but why can’t you?

Mick left the doorway and came to where Danny was standing. The branches hung low over their heads, and Danny smelled pine.

Mick: I’m on parole. I did five years for trafficking, and I got released four months ago into Howard’s custody so I could come here and work. I can’t go anywhere unless Howard goes with me. See, I owe him again.

I don’t know. Sounds like he owes you.

No. No, it’s not like that. I resent it, so I’m putting a spin on it, but Howard’s doing me the favor. It’s a huge responsibility. If I violate my parole, he has to deal with bringing me back and notifying the board. And from my point of view, you can’t get a job as a felon. Like,
can’t.
Period. It’s—it’s a lot more than I deserve, what he’s doing.

Danny: Okay.

He followed Mick through the doorway into a shady passage paved with cobblestones. Inside the castle walls it was almost dark. Danny felt the beginning of fear, that ice in his chest. He touched the knife through his coat.

At the end of the passage was a second door leading into the castle itself. Mick put down the map and dug in his pocket for the key. He was sweating. Danny looked at his cashed-out face and felt an ache. All that struggle, all that failure. And now Mick was under Howard’s thumb. You poor shit, Danny thought.

Mick found the key and opened the door. There was a short, strange time when he and Danny just stood there, waiting to go in.

Mick: Okay. Home sweet home.

There’s a tube coming out of my gut, that much I know. When I ask why it’s there, I get: Complications from the second surgery.

Second
surgery? What about the first one?

The first one was just to get the knife out. They did that right away the day you came in, from the ER.

It’s my favorite nurse talking, Hannah. There are rules about talking to convicts, but Hannah wrote her own rulebook and that’s the one she follows. To hear her tell it, the doctors and nurses are all under her direct command. If she doesn’t know them, it’s because they’re too far down on the totem pole.

I love you, Hannah, I tell her. I say this a lot, but I’m not sure exactly how much I say it. My memory is shot from all the drugs.

She rolls her eyes, but you can tell she likes it. She calls me LB for Lover Boy. You love the morphine, she says, that’s what you love.

She’s right. But they never give you enough morphine, and there’s plenty of Hannah. You can’t ask a lady what she weighs, but I’m guessing three-fifty. And all that fat looks fantastic on her, like some thick gorgeous robe that only the queen can wear.

Hannah, I say. Why did they have to operate just to pull out a shank?

And right then I get a feeling I have a lot, something nudging me from inside my brain, and I wonder if we’ve had this whole conversation before, Hannah and I. Maybe a few times, or more than a few. But she never lets on.

It was one of those nasty shanks, she says, which I know means a Christmas tree. Christmas trees have prongs angled along the sides so when you pull one out it brings a good chunk of your guts out with it. But Tom-Tom never got a chance to pull it out—Davis took him down first. Which means buggy Davis saved my life.

So they what, they cut it out? I ask Hannah.

That’s what surgeons do: they cut. It’s not rocket science. It’s not even complicated, like what we do up here. But it has to be done right.

This whole time, she’s working. Changing bags of stuff, adjusting monitors, responding to a lot of boings and beeps. The room is dingy. The walls are the color of skin. Dustballs crowd up the corners. But Hannah brings it up a notch just by being here.

And what did they do in the second operation?

They were supposed to refine what the first team did. Smooth out some of those rough edges that got left behind because the situation was urgent.

So why the tube?

Her mouth flattens out. Hannah’s mad about the tube. It’s a lot of work for her: cleaning it, monitoring it, doing whatever needs to be done to whatever comes out of it. I’m not sure what that is, exactly. There’s so much stuff coming out of me I’ve lost track.

Let’s just say that particular surgeon has some tough love coming his way, she says.

Five minutes later, when that particular surgeon comes into the room, Hannah goes quiet. He’s a young guy with prematurely gray hair that stands up a little on his head like he’s moving fast. And you get the feeling he’d rather keep moving than stand in here looking down at the likes of me.

He fingers the tube, moving it around. You can tell he doesn’t like it either. At the beginning I asked a lot of questions, but half the time I didn’t understand the answers the doctors gave me, and even when I did I still didn’t know what they meant. And then I forgot it all anyway.

The doctor talks to Hannah and she answers
Yes, Doctor
and
No, Doctor
in a voice almost like a whisper. The first time this happened I was too embarrassed to look at her, but when I finally did her expression made it good again: she had a look on her face like she was testing the doc, waiting and watching, not getting in the way, giving him a chance to prove himself or hang himself, whatever it was going to be.