Hose Monkey (27 page)

T
hey found Donna in Cain’s secret place between the cyclone fence, which mistakenly marked the rear limit of the oil yard three feet short of the actual property line, and the brick wall beyond, overgrown with ivy and the skeletons of other dead vines. Even if Frank hadn’t parked the 81 Mack he used for spare parts up against the fence in the rear corner, Cain’s spot would have been safe from detection. If to the rest of the world it was an insignificant, forgotten patch of dirt, to Cain it had been as important as his hose monkey shirt or the feel of Donna’s hand in his. Cain had had the need as much as any man to carve out a corner of the world, put a flag in it, and proclaim it his own. This three by ten piece of dirt, rusted fence, brick, and weeds was his.

Near frozen and half-dead with a gash in her shoulder from where the bullet ripped into her, Donna remained absolutely silent until she heard Marla’s voice. The cops and EMTs had tried to stop the psychologist from going with Healy back to the yard to find the Down’s girl, but Marla wouldn’t hear of it. She would have the rest of her life to suffer through the trauma of reliving this night. Maybe she would get over it, maybe not. She knew, however, that she would never heal if she simply abandoned Donna.

The two woman embraced when Donna crawled out through the hole Cain had cut in the fence and out from beneath the undercarriage of the 81 Mack. They rocked there together, on the soot black, packed down snow that had never fully melted away since the night of Cain’s murder. Nothing remained of the makeshift memorial the people from the group home had constructed. That Cain’s patch of the world had provided Donna with a safe place to hide was memorial enough.

“You look bad and your breath smells,” Donna said. Marla broke down, finally.

On the following Monday, Ken Bergman was given a traditional Jewish burial. In spite of their shock and grief, his parents could not help but wonder who the four strange men were who stepped forward and offered their respect to the dead man by each throwing a shovelful of earth on their son’s coffin.

Bob and George Healy, Skip Rodriguez and Detective Schwartz never identified themselves. They all knew, of course, that Ken Bergman had been a hero. Not in some amorphous way, but in the most meaningful way possible. He had literally sacrificed himself so that others could live. Marla had described Bergman’s actions to Healy as they drove to the oil yard the night of the massacre in the unfinished gym, but she pleaded with Bob to keep it quiet until after the funeral.

“Let his family have their grief, please.”

On the Tuesday morning following the burial, all three New York tabloids featured headlines concerning Ken Bergman’s heroics. Even the sacred
New York Times
carried the story. But with men and women being blown apart by roadside bombs in places like Najaf and Tikrit, they didn’t feel one man’s sacrifice for unrequited love was worth the front page.

For weeks the papers featured stories about that bloody Saturday night and the fallout from the investigations that followed. As Joe Serpe had anticipated, Black Sea Energy was the silent partner in at least two dozen small and medium-sized C.O.D. heating oil companies in New York City, Nassau and Suffolk Counties, Northern New Jersey and Connecticut. The federal investigation involved several government agencies and stretched all the way from Brighton Beach Avenue to the oil fields of Bakku. There was enough corruption and enough bad guys left alive even after that bloody night to make the feds and the local cops happy. None would remember the two ex-cops, old enemies who had come together to find justice in a world without any. Nor would they recall that it all began with a can of spray paint and a loyal retarded man who had wanted to do only the right things.

When Joe Serpe woke up, it was Healy’s puss staring down at him, not Marla’s.

“How long …” He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry it burned. It wasn’t the only part of him that hurt. His left leg was a menu of pain. He grabbed it, panicked that it might be gone.

“Take it easy, Joe,” Healy said, pushing him gently back down by the shoulder. “Let me get the nurse for you.”

“Donna?” he rasped.

“They found her right where you said she would be. She was hit by a bullet, but she’s okay.”

“Marla?”

“She had it pretty rough, but she’s been here every day. That woman’s tougher than me and you put together. Even though you almost got her killed, she still loves you. I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Guess not.” He held his hand out to Healy.

“You did good, Joe,” he said to Serpe, squeezing his hand. “You made it right.”

After the nurse and doctors left, Healy watched Serpe sleep for a little while, then got some coffee and dinner before coming back to the hospital.

“Christ, you again!” Serpe said, still a bit groggy from the pain killers. “The bullets shattered my femur and cut my artery. They say I’m probably gonna have a limp.”

“A limp’s like gray hair for a man, it adds character.”

“Fuck you, Healy. Get me a baseball bat and I’ll give you some character.”

They both had a laugh at that. Then they just sat there together in comfortable silence for about a half-hour.

“Joe, I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a very long time. That’s why I came to the kid’s funeral that day. I’ve been trying to tell you ever since, but the time never seemed right.”

“Go ahead and say it, Healy. I pretty much owe you my life and Marla’s.”

“Remember what I said about your old partner Ralphy giving up two C.I.s and a cop?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“They weren’t the only ones he gave up,” Healy said. “He gave you up, too.”

“What do you mean he gave me up?” Serpe was agitated. “He had nothing on me to give me up for.”

“Ralphy was crossing the line a long time before you ever knew, Joe. I.A.B. snagged him for doing small favors for some mob douche bag he grew up with. It was pretty harmless shit, but he could have lost his shield and his pension. I caught the case. When I asked Ralphy if he had anything to give me to save his ass, he offered you up. When my boss heard your name mentioned, he got a hard on. He wanted your legendary ass on his trophy wall.”

“But I was as clean as a guy in my spot could be.”

“I know that. I suppose I knew it then, but I kept pressuring Ralphy to come up with something on you or he was going down. You know all those times he asked you if you wanted to sandbag some of the blow or money before backup got there?”

“I remember.”

“It was all on tape, Joe. Some of those busts were I.A.B. setups.”

“But I never—”

“I know. If I had any real balls, I would have told my boss to shove the investigation up his ass. But then when Ralphy started using heavily and skimming, we had you,” Healy admitted, unable to look Joe Serpe in the eye. “When you didn’t report him. My boss had his trophy. I got the bump to detective first and your career was ruined.”

Joe didn’t say anything immediately. It took him a few minutes to digest Healy’s confession. How could Ralphy, his best friend and partner, godfather to his son, have so readily thrown him to the wolves? How could Healy have continued to pursue him in spite of all the evidence that he was clean? Healy waited, but when Serpe didn’t respond, he got up to leave.

“Well, Joe, I said it. I’m sorry for my part in it. Like I told you the night you were shot, nobody had the right to take your shield away and if I could undo it …

“Where you going?” Serpe said. “Sit your ass down.”

Healy did, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

“I spent the last four years looking back and I’m bone tired of it. You can’t undo what you did and there’s only one man ever walked the earth that could raise the dead. We’re stuck where we are, you and me, and I’m not going to shrink my life back down to nothing by losing anymore friends I make along the way. So consider yourself forgiven, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

“All right, now go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow, I need you in here early so we can talk business instead of bullshit.”

“Business?” Healy furrowed his brow.

“Were you enjoying your retirement?”

“Christ, I hated every minute of it until three weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well, with this leg, it don’t look like I’ll be driving an oil truck any time soon.”

“There’s only two things ex-cops go into with any chance of success—bars and security.”

“Go home, Bob. In the morning we’ll flip a coin.”

Marla, her face still slightly puffy and bruised, sat in the darkest corner of the bar, nursing a light beer. In some bizarre way, she almost dreaded the doctors clearing Joe. Then she would have no more excuse to hold on just one more day. Dentists get cavities and doctors get cancer. Marla knew a Ph.D. in Clinical and School Psychology was no defense against Post Traumatic Stress. Already, her guilt over Kenny’s death had prevented her from paying a
shiva
call and the nightmares had started. Even now in a near empty bar, she felt as if all her nerves were firing at once, but this was an appointment she needed to keep.

“Doc? Doc is that you?” the woman asked, hesitating before taking a seat.

“Corral.” Marla brightened, leaning over and kissing her dark brown cheek.

“Hell, what happened to you, honey?”

“The night Kenny.”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry. How stupid a me. I read all ‘bout that. You okay?”

“I will be.”

“So what you call me for, Doc, not that I ain’t glad to see you or nothin’?”

Marla slid the VHS tape across the bar. “That’s yours to do with whatever you want.”

Corral stared at the tape, not wanting to touch it for fear of reliving the horror Toussant had inflicted on her all over again.

“He’s dead, Corral. He can’t hurt you anymore. You can have a small part of your life back. It’s over.”

Corral began sobbing quietly. “I know you meant well, Doc. He may be dead and all, but it ain’t never gonna be over for me. Some shit people take from you, there ain’t no gettin’ back. You take that tape and you burn it.”

The group home driver stood up and ran out of the dark bar.

“What got into her?” the barman asked.

“My wishful thinking.”

She tossed a five on the bar, put the tape back in her bag, and left. Outside in the parking lot, Marla sat in her locked car and wept for what felt like hours.

In early July, Marla and Joe made their way through the beautifully trimmed hedges and fresh cut grass. Joe’s limp was better and he had finally switched from crutches to a cane. The sun was bright but not blinding, warm on their faces but not burning. On days like this it was easier for Marla to believe things really could be all right. Her body had healed months ago, but she had come to understand Corral’s reaction that night in the bar. There are parts of your life once taken, that can never be taken back.

Cemeteries are supposed to be peaceful places, but in New York they always seem to be beneath the glide paths to airports. That was okay with Joe. Vinny had always been fascinated by planes. Now, after all these years, with Marla at his side, Joe Serpe was grateful there had been a body to bury. It was the first time he’d been to the grave since the day of the funeral. He crossed himself, uttering a prayer he thought he had long ago forgotten.

“Vinny, I’d like you to meet Marla. You’d really like her.”

Marla placed flowers on the grave and gave Joe some time to be alone with his brother.

About ten minutes later, she interrupted their reunion.

“Come on, Joe, we don’t want to miss your flight.”

In the car, he turned to her. “What do I say to him?”

“He’s your son, Joe. You’ll figure it out.”