Eureka Man: A Novel (9 page)

IN THE MORNING he kicked off the rugs he called a
quilt and hurled his head in the pillow to keep the sunlight out of
his eyes and the man from Youngstown out of his mind. When he
finally got out of bed to stare at the icy waters of the Ohio
River, the pass-runner showed up at his door.

“Priddy, let me hold the horseshoe you got up
your ass,” the runner said.

“Freddie, my man. What's up?”

“Here. You got another visitor. That's three
this month. What a lucky dude.”

Oliver took the pass and saw the word family
written at the bottom. “I hope that cocksucker's not trying to
shock me again.”

“Say what?”

“My biological father. He came to see me
yesterday for the first time in sixteen years.”

“Did you know he was coming?”

“Hell, no! I didn't even know he was
alive.”

“How'd it go?”

“You don't even want to know.” He grabbed his
shower kit and towel and opened the cell door.

“Well, just be glad somebody's thinking about
you, Priddy. Some of us in here don't have a soul in the
world.”

“Yeah, you're right, Freddie. Thanks for the
pass. I'm going to get a shower. Whoever it is can wait.”

By the time he finished showering and left
his cell for the visiting room, Oliver had changed his mood twenty
times. Should I have it out with him, or let it go? Should I ask
the motherfucker why he never called or came around, or let it all
be hunky dory? He couldn't decide. When he walked into the visiting
room and saw his brother Skip looking out the window his
countenance changed again. “Good God, Almighty! If it isn't my
brother, Skip!” His voice was full of excitement.

Skip turned around, saw Oliver moving toward
him and smiled. “Hey, Oliver.”

They shook hands, embraced and patted each
other on the back. “How have you been?”

“All right. And you?”

“I'm doing well, Ollie. It's good to see
you.”

Oliver fingered the sleeve of Skip's leather
Washington Redskins jacket, which prompted Skip to say, “I guess
you're a Steelers fan now, huh?”

“Are you kidding? I'm not a turncoat.” Then,
as though he noticed something missing, he asked, “Where's
everybody else?”

“Anna couldn't make her mind up and Ernie Boy
the Second wouldn't let Huck come 'cause they have a house full of
company. And Momma, well, you're not going to believe me when I
tell you, Oliver.”

“What? Did something happen to her? Is she
okay?”

“Couldn't be better. She just got married
again.”

“To who?”

“A television executive. Real nice guy.
You'll like him. He treats her like a queen.”

“When did this all happen?”

“Two weeks ago. They're in Stowe, Vermont,
right now. They're coming to see you after the holidays.”

“Man, she sure is resilient,” Oliver said.
“Good for her.”

Skip smiled at Oliver and said teasingly,
“Tell me about this girlfriend of yours.”

“How'd you know?”

“Momma. Who else?”

Oliver nodded. “Well, she's real nice,” he
said. “Her name's Penelope. She goes to Duquesne U. right here in
the city. She's one of the smartest girls I've ever met, too. And
the prettiest.” Oliver tapped his chest bone with pride.

“You always did have the fine ones. You have
any plans?”

“For what?”

“I mean, are you two in love?”

“Hell, I'm crazy about her, and I can tell by
the way she shows up here every week she thinks a lot of me, too.
But we haven't said one word about being in love. I'm a goddamn
lifer, Skip. I might never get out of here. She's got her whole
life ahead of her. She's not going to stick around forever waiting
for me to get out, and I don't want her to.” He said it with
confidence but he put a period in his voice too. He didn't want his
relationship with Penelope discussed and endlessly analyzed, not by
his brother or anyone else.

Skip heard the period in his voice but still
added, “What about parole?”

“There's no parole for lifers in this state,
man. The best I can hope for is a pardon in fifteen years. That's
how much time they usually make a lifer do. Did you hear I'm going
to college?”

“Yeah, and we're all glad you are.”

“I might earn a Ph.D. before it's all over
with,” Oliver said with enthusiasm.

“That would be some accomplishment, Oliver.”
They grinned at one another and then Skip asked, “Anyone else been
to see you?”

“Yeah, but you'll never guess who,” Oliver
said, rolling his eyes.

“Give me a hint. One of your old classmates?”
Skip asked.

“No.” He said it with disappointment. “Happy
Ernie.” Oliver spit out the word Ernie and his countenance turned
sour. “Remember how Momma used to call him that?”

“Our father Ernie?” Skip said in disbelief.
“Ernie Boy the First?”

“Yeah. You just missed his ass by a day. He
and his new family were here yesterday. He wasn't even on my
visiting list. The Captain of the Guards let them in because it's
the holidays and they came from out of state. Youngstown, Ohio.
He's been married for fourteen years. We have a real cute little
half-sister named Lottie. She's fourteen. He sure as hell didn't
waste any time, did he? And he's got a son named Dickie who's
twelve. They're nice kids. His wife's nice too. Isabel, or
Isabella.”

Skip followed the convoluted flight of a fly
overhead. “So, did you give him hell?” Skip smiled faintly.

Oliver laughed. “No. I wanted to show that
son of a bitch I had some class, you know? The whole time I just
smiled and pretended like he'd been in my life all along. Hell, I
could have won an Academy Award the way I smoothed them all right
into my morning. I didn't ask him a single question. Not one. I
wanted to though. I wanted to say, 'Where the hell'd you disappear
to, man? Why didn't you give us a call? Why didn't you stop by?'
But no sirree, Skip boy. I had too much class for all that.” Oliver
was bitter. “And you know what, Skip? He never mentioned a single
word about why I was here or what happened in that reform school.
Not one word, man.”

“I was wondering about that, too.”

“About what?”

“You know. What you were doing up here in
Pennsylvania in the first place and why you had to rob that store.
And we'd all like to know what happened at that training school,
why you killed that fellow.”

“You didn't hear?”

“Hear what?”

“I broke a chair over that cocksucker Ernie
Boy's back.”

“I don't get it.”

“Aw Christ, Skip. I stopped in to see June
one night and his car was in the driveway. This was after she had
gotten a restraining order to keep him away. I parked out on the
street and looked through the bay window curtains and saw him tying
her legs up to the dumbwaiter. When he started tearing her
nightgown off, I ran around the back of the house and came in
through the basement. You know her favorite antique wicker chair?
Well, I tried to knock his head off with it. After he went down, I
was afraid he had his gun on him so I hit him a few more times to
make sure he didn't get up. Then I untied Momma and I took off. I
drove north for two straight hours before I realized I didn't know
where the hell I was. I was almost out of gas and I only had a
dollar in my pocket. So I pulled into this little country store,
walked in the place and told the cashier to give me all her money.
Hell, I don't know why I did it, Skip. The whole thing was so
surreal, man. Especially when that state trooper pulled me over two
miles up the road and told me I was on the wrong side of the
Mason-Dixon Line.”

“Oliver, that's the craziest thing you've
ever done! Did you have a weapon?”

“No. I poked my finger out inside my jacket
pocket like I had a gun.”

“Okay. So they put you in that reform school,
right? And you had, what, nine months to do before you turned
eighteen and they had to let you go?”

“Yeah.”

“So what happened in that place, Oliver?”

“Look, man. There's no way you could ever
understand what it was like in there.” Now it was Oliver's turn to
stare into the river.

Skip looked at him. “Listen, our grandfather
hasn't been right ever since they tried you and put you in here,
Oliver. He deserves to know what happened, what made you do what
you did. And so do I, and so does everyone else.”

“Like who?”

“Your aunts and uncles and cousins. Anna and
Huck and Momma. Come on, Oliver.”

Again Oliver glanced at his brother, briefly,
as though he were a distraction from the major work of looking for
an answer. “Remember that big old guard dog in old man Gilbert's
junk yard that got loose and went on a killing spree?” Oliver
asked.

Skip looked confused. “Okay. Yeah. He killed
your collie puppy and two other small dogs in the neighborhood. Go
ahead.”

“You forget what Ernie Boy the Second did
when he came home from work that day?” Oliver pressed his knuckle
into the frown between his eyes.

“I remember you were sitting on the back
steps holding that dead puppy in your lap and crying up a storm
when he pulled into the driveway.”

“Yeah, and then the bastard did the one good
deed he probably ever did in his life. He went and tracked that dog
down and put an end to his viciousness.”

Skip scratched his head before he ran his
fingers through his hair. “Oliver, I'm sorry. I'm lost.”

“Skip, the boy I killed wasn't a boy at all.
He was a vicious predator and he made me his prey. He traumatized
me something awful.”

“I still don't understand why you had to kill
him. But listen. We're all sorry you have to be in this place,
Oliver. You know you have to pay for what you did, though. The good
thing is you'll still be young enough to get on with your life
fifteen years from now.”

“Let's change the subject,” Oliver said. His
voice was soft and a little sad.

“Let me ask you one last question. Did you
lose your temper?”

Oliver looked at his brother, wishing it had
been his temper. Something that easy to explain. But he knew
better, and every day since that fatal moment, everywhere he
looked-in cell blocks, dining halls, canteen lines, and even his
mirror reflection, he saw those dying eyes click shut and while he
did not regret the fact that Jimmy Six was dead, he was ashamed for
being the perpetrator of the deed.

He continued to look into Skip's eyes when he
said, “I didn't mean to, Skip. I mean the killing part. I wanted to
kill his viciousness. I didn't mean for him to die, though.”

“Wait a minute, Oliver. When you kill
something, it stands to reason that it dies.”

“Yeah. I went too far.” Oliver looked away
now and stared out the window into the icy waters of the river. How
he yearned at that moment to be sitting in Skip's car and on their
way home, or shopping, or to their grandfather's farm-anywhere far
away from prison bars and callous men. As hard as he tried to hold
back the tears, one rolled down each of his cheeks.

“Come on, Oliver. I'll get us some
candy.”

Skip bought them each a Reese's Peanut Butter
Cup and a cup of coffee and before they walked away from the
vending machines, he said, “Can I get you a sandwich, Oliver?
Anything you want, name it.”

“No, thank you, man. This is fine.”

They sat and ate the candy and drank the
coffee in silence while they watched a prisoner sitting across from
them console the older woman who was wrapped in his arms. After the
woman began to cry, Skip dug into his jacket pocket for his keys
and curled his fingers around them. “I'm going to be hitting the
road soon, Oliver. I'll be back to see you again in the spring and
I'll bring Huck with me.” He reached into his front pants pocket
and pulled out a wad of bills. “I've got some money here for you.
Where do I leave it?”

“Give it to the officer at the front desk
where you first came in,” Oliver said. “He'll give you a receipt. I
appreciate it, Skip.”

“Well, it's from everybody. So don't just
thank me.” He got up and buttoned his jacket. They walked to the
door and embraced. Skip stepped back and then reached out and
gently touched Oliver's shoulders. “So long for now, Oliver. I'll
see you soon.”

“Yeah. Listen, Skip. I didn't lose my temper.
It wasn't like that, man.”

Skip turned around and smiled. “Okay, Oliver.
Merry Christmas,” he said. He waved his hand and cut around the
corner before Oliver could say, “and Happy New Year.”

DONNIE BLOSSOM WAS STANDING
in front of
Oliver's cell biting his nails and eyeballing the tier. “Don't be
in there all day, Fats,” Donnie whined.

Fat Daddy creeped into Oliver's cell, closed
the door and pulled the curtain across the doorway. “Shut up and
keep your eyes open,” Fat Daddy said. He looked around the cell and
thought the place was cozy right down to the smell. Cinnamon
incense and Right Guard. On the clean white wall over the bed were
three long words scrawled out in fancy letters: ostentatious,
loquacious, salacious. Above the desk was a gallery of family
photographs. The Priddy family at Christmas. Mom Priddy, with the
Bette Davis eyes and the hourglass figure, had it going on, as did
the daughter and three sons. The made-for-television family. Only
there was no Ozzie Nelson or Ward Cleaver in the picture. So the
boy did need a daddy after all.

A letter on the desk said read me, but Fat
Daddy couldn't. The cursive flow was too much for him, so he
settled for a peek at the photo inside. The same slim goody who was
in one of the pictures above the desk with her arm hooked around
Priddy Boy's waist. The come-fuck-me scent of her perfume wafting
from the envelope was tantalizing, too. Fat Daddy rubbed his groin
and sat on the edge of Oliver's bed. On the pillow was a black
marble composition book with the words MY DAILY JOURNAL scrawled in
big red letters on the cover. He opened it and easily read the
first entry.