December Boys (27 page)

Just then the doctor walked in, a young Asian woman half my age. “Yes,” she agreed. “Jay needs to sleep. I’m going to have to ask you all to leave and come back later.” Then to me: “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged through a dopey smile, feeling blissed out and stoned.

“Morphine will do that.” The doctor tapped the tube running from an IV bag to the crook of my elbow, before reading blips on a machine. “Vitals look good. But you really should rest.”

Everyone turned to go.

“Hey,” I called out to Charlie and Fisher, the doc. “Can I get a minute with my friends?”

“Sure,” she said. “But make it quick.”

Ludko or Lotko gave me their business card and said they’d be in touch.

Soon as they left, Charlie asked what happened.

“First,” I said. “I need to apologize.” I made sure Fisher saw I was looking at him too. “These last few days. This last week. I don’t know. I mean, I’m hooked up to this machine, my leg is shredded cheese, I’m pumped full of painkillers, so this could be the drugs talking. But I finally feel like myself again.”

Charlie pointed at my leg. “What happened out there?”

I gave them an abridged version of the events that transpired after I borrowed Charlie’s car without permission—the reporter Jim Case, Nicki’s betrayal, Michael Lombardi’s surprise visit, the two Longmont cops dead on the mountain.

“Holy hell,” Charlie said. “Michael Lombardi?” He looked toward the door, where no one stood. “Why didn’t you tell those two investigators?”

“Because it would sound nuts. Especially now. After how I’ve been acting. A state senator? I gave that reporter everything we had. When they read those papers, they’ll glean what’s really going on. It’ll make more sense if they see it with their own two eyes.”

“Except Nicki sold us out.”

“Only on the smoking gun. If those two IA cops are serious, there’s plenty else to get started. They’ll have UpStart dead to rights.”

“How much money did Lombardi pay her?” Fisher asked.

“No idea,” I said. “I’m guessing a lot. Can’t blame her.”

“You mean that?” Charlie asked.

“Sure. Why not?”

I knew it was Nicki who had placed that anonymous tip to Turley, saving my life. Since she’d been the one to jeopardize it in the first place, we were talking sideways move, at best. She’d chosen to cash out instead of pursuing a dead-end cause. I had no interest in excuses or apologies. But I understood the decision.

“I wish we knew why Lombardi wanted that photocopy so bad,” Charlie said.

Fisher slapped his shoulder. “Let Jay sleep. This will still be here tomorrow.”

I tried to wave goodbye but could feel that morphine dream pulling me back under.

I proceeded to pass out for the next nineteen hours.

* * *

It was all over the news the next day. Soon as I woke in the hospital bed, something told me to click on the TV set.

The Kids for Cash Scandal raged across every station, footage of Judge Roberts being led out of the courthouse, shackled, head hung in shame. Details tickered across the bottom of the screen. Roberts’ attorneys offered neither steadfast denial nor ten-cent words to obfuscate the facts. I waited for allegations of baseless, egregious, politically motivated witch hunts. Something. But there was nothing. From the looks of it, Roberts was willing to hang himself out to dry all by his lonesome.

I caught glimpses of Michael Lombardi milling about with the rest of the talking heads in the background, glad-handing, mugging for the cameras, milking the photo ops.

My hospital phone rang.

“You watching this?” Charlie asked.

“Got it on now.”

“You see Michael Lombardi? What the fuck?”

“I don’t know, Charlie.”

“You catch the interview?”

“What interview?”

“Lombardi’s taking credit for the whole thing.”

“What?”

“Claims his office put a task force together to investigate. Been months in the making. All his doing.”

“How is that possible?”

“You tell me.”

“I’ll call you back.”

A nurse came in, all smiles and perky cheer, inquiring whether I was hungry. I told her to leave me alone.

How had Michael Lombardi been able to get in front of this? His office, far from getting blamed, was being lauded. And the press gobbled up the bullshit. A special task force assigned? Were you kidding me? In less than twenty-four hours, fallout occurring in my sleep.

When I saw Jim Case laughing alongside Michael Lombardi on top of the courthouse steps, I understood the fix was in, a lone gunman sacrificed. I scrolled through other stations. More of the same. Nobody connected obvious A to blatant B. No one hinted at impropriety by UpStart. Two independent bad guys, Judge Roberts and North River, spurred by individual greed, had done wrong, everyone else in the clear.

I plucked the card left by IA off the nightstand. I grabbed the phone but stopped short. If Jim Case was standing up there with Lombardi, what was I going to do? Report Michael Lombardi for giving me an unsolicited ride? I had no concrete proof of anything. I buzzed the nurse back, apologized for my rude behavior, and asked if I could get something to eat. “Is there a copy of today’s
Herald
lying around?”

She returned a little later with runny oatmeal and the day’s early edition. There was nothing on the shoot-out by the lake. I rang Turley.

“How you feeling, Jay? Doc says you’re on the mend.”

“I’m fine. Listen, Turley. What happened? Up on the mountain?”

“What do you mean?”

“The aftermath with those two cops—”

“You were right.”

“Huh?”

“About the diversion center. Snelling and Bernstein were working on orders from that judge they arrested. You asked the right questions. Set the wheels in motion.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Those IA boys. Ludko and Lotko. You’re a hero, Jay. You’ve seen the news, right? Roberts confessed. You helped expose a scandal. The scope of this is huge—”

“I got to go.”

I hung up.

Why was Roberts agreeing to take the fall alone? Everything’s for sale, I supposed. For the right price. Wire enough cash into an offshore account, and Roberts retires on the Fed’s dime, doing soft time in a country club, kids and grandkids inheriting a windfall. One thing was clear: Lombardi wasn’t going down with this ship.

I spent the rest of the morning watching the news and reading the paper. There was a silver lining. News reports had sentences at North River overturned, arrangements rescinded, prisoners released. My going to Jim Case had stirred shit up, forcing Lombardi’s hand. Even if no one was interviewing me for the evening news, I knew I should feel proud of myself. Brian Olisky, Wendy Shaw, all the other teenagers wrongfully imprisoned would be set free because of me. I didn’t need the glory. I knew what I’d done. Except I wasn’t interested in helping kids like Brian Olisky and Wendy Shaw. At least not as much as I was in nailing Lombardi’s ass to the wall. I loathed admitting that.

I was about to switch off the TV when I heard the bubbly blonde reporter mention the moving company. Blue Belle. Owned by Judge Roberts’ brother. A brief mention, passing reference. But it clicked. I recalled those big trucks Charlie and I had seen up at North River. I went to turn up the volume but by then the pretty blonde had already moved onto the next hot-button topic. Today’s viewer has a short attention span.

I thought about Xeroxes and unauthorized copies, the mundane details of conflicting reports and tallies for out-of-state penal colonies, how the quickest route can sometimes be the hardest to find amidst all the misdirection. The outline of a business card suddenly didn’t seem so random. A contact’s name or routing number could make such a business card very valuable; a vendor like that would be the perfect front to launder cash.

I wondered if I should reach out to Fisher and Charlie, see how frequently UpStart used Blue Belle to move freight. How about Tomassi? Michael’s friends in the state Senate? Something told me the answer would be a lot. We didn’t need the actual photocopy to get started. Jim Case might be for sale, but we could keep going. We had the name, a start. The rest would be the tough part. Coincidences, hunches, and guts don’t add up to much without the hard work. If payoffs had been laundered through this Blue Belle, I’d still have to prove that, and I doubted Michael or Adam had grown careless overnight.

And just as fast, I lost heart. I was finally on the mend. Was I really thinking about lacing up the gloves again? After all this fight had cost me? For what? I remembered what Nicki said our last morning together—the same thing Jenny, Charlie, and Dr. Shapiro-Weiss had been trying to pound into my thick skull ever since Chris died. Nothing I did could ever bring my brother back. Of course I knew that. In my head. But I always found ways to circumvent the irrefutable, convince myself of some greater cause, another injustice that needed my intervention. Which was all bullshit. No matter what lies I told myself, I’d been chasing the impossible. I could never resurrect the dead.

I knew I should take the small victories where I could find them. But when I viewed these meager gains in a different light, what had really changed? Even with North River stripped of its accreditation, its doors forced closed in the wake of a scandal, the new Coos County Center would open its doors soon enough, grand opening slated by year’s end. More a stay of execution than any permanent solution. Everyone was a winner. Except, of course, the ones who’d lost.

“T
HAT
’
S THE LAST
of it,” I said, setting the final unopened box of wedding dishes on the hardwood floor.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” my wife asked. “You’re limping.”

“Banged it on something. No big deal.”

“Well, what do you think?”

Jenny’s new apartment in Burlington, like her mom’s, sat on the picturesque shores of Lake Champlain, with plenty of natural light and open, airy space.

“Nice view.”

Out the window, the April rains fell slow through brighter skies, splatting off the water, green grass poking through stubborn white snow. The new place would be nice for Aiden. Driving into the condo complex, I’d seen a small play area with a swing set, twisty slide, and jungle gym. A quaint gated community in a good school district. I wanted the best for my boy. Even if I couldn’t be the one to give it to him.

Aiden ran in the room and tried to jump on my back, missing the mark. I spun around and caught him before he fell, carrying him like a football into the living room and flinging him on the couch, tickling his belly until he was hyperventilating.

“Please, Jay,” Jenny said. “Do not get him all riled up. He’s got to take a nap.”

On cue Lynne stepped in from the other room. “I think you
should hang that picture—” She stopped, eyeing me coolly with her silent victory. “Oh, hi, Jay. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Just bringing up the rest of Jenny’s stuff.”

“That was very nice of you,” my mother-in-law, soon to be ex, said.

I winced a smile. Like I wouldn’t help Jenny get her things. This was the mother of my kid. We’d be together forever, one way or another.

“Mom?” Jenny said. “Would you mind getting Aiden down for his nap?”

My son gave me a tight hug around the knees.

“I’ll be up next weekend,” I told him. “We’ll get pizza and ice cream.”

Aiden toddled after his grandmother, stopping in the doorway to wave goodbye to his father.

Jenny and I walked out to the landing of her new apartment. The rains came down harder now, drumming off parked cars, splatting down stories. I lit a cigarette, leaning over the railing.

“What are you going to do?” she said.

“I’m moving back home.”

“Home? You mean Ashton?”

“I can’t stay in Plasterville. Lease is up on our house, and it’s more space than I can use.” I didn’t need to tell her the dull ache of painful memories were more than I could live with. “I called Hank Miller to see if I could rent my old apartment above the garage. Said it’s been empty since I moved out. Couldn’t bring himself to get another tenant. All mine if I want it.”

“What about your job?”

“I’m going to start working for Tom Gable again. He says estate clearing ain’t been the same without me.”

I tried to laugh. Jenny pretended to smile.

“I miss being outdoors. I’m not cut out for the nine-to-five grind.”

“You gave it a year, Jay.”

“About as long as you gave our marriage.” I caught myself. “Sorry. That was a rotten thing to say.”

My wife took my hand, gave it a squeeze, and we both gazed out into the squall.

Over a month had passed since my breakdown. That’s what Dr. Shapiro-Weiss called it. The seasons had started to change. This far north, temps remained cold, but if you thought about it hard enough you could almost smell the new grass, the maple and tree sap, flower buds fighting to come alive.

“Y’know, this move,” my wife said, searching for encouragement. “We’ll just see where this goes.”

I nodded, keeping my stare fixed straight ahead.

“For right now, this is a good place for me to be. For Aiden, too. With my mom here, she can watch him during the day while I work.”

“How’s that going?”

“Turns out I
am
cut out for nine-to-five.”

She smiled. I didn’t.

“He’s just a friend, Jay.” Jenny was talking about Stephen, who’d helped get her an administrative assistant position with his bank downtown. “No college degree, no experience, I’m hardly qualified. Without his help, I’m tending bar. I can’t keep doing that at my age.”

Jenny was making more money at the investment firm than I’d been at NEI, and for the first time in a long time she seemed happy, like she had a purpose. I tried not to connect good fortunes as the natural result of getting away from me. But I knew the kindest thing I could do was stay the hell out of her way. When someone
stands on a chair and tries to pull you up and you try to pull them down, the gutter wins every time.

“When do you move back?” she asked.

“Just about done. Only have a few boxes left.” After we’d separated our possessions, with Aiden’s toys and clothes, the good furniture and bedroom set going to my wife, I was left with a couch, coffeemaker, and photograph book. Which was fine by me. I wanted the transition to be as seamless for my son as possible. And I didn’t need the reminders.