Sendoff for a Snitch (13 page)

I looked around. The blankets and quilts we’d snuggled into on the couch were still in place, but the kids weren’t there. “Where are the kids?”

“In their rooms.”

“Are they warm enough there?”

Shrugging, she shut the door behind me. “I guess. They didn’t want to stay down here with me.” Tears formed in her eyes. “What kind of monster am I? My own kids would rather be up in their cold bedrooms than stay in the room with me.”

I put my arm around her shoulders and drew her to me. If I was feeling bad about this, how was she feeling? “You’re not a monster. But you do have to think about how the things you do affect them.”

She didn’t pull away. In fact, she buried her face in the wet poncho and shuddered. Her warm female scent, now a bit on the funky side and still mingled with the factory smell of oil, filled my nostrils. It wasn’t unpleasant in the least. I buried my nose in her hair and inhaled, holding her for a moment.

“Let me get the poncho off,” I said, moving her back a step and pulling it over my head. I stripped the puffy down jacket off, too, and laid them on the stair railing. Then I gathered her to me and steered her to the couch.

She leaned into me and laid her head on my shoulder. “I don’t know what to do,” she moaned.

I grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around her. “Stop drinking, for one thing.”

She ignored that. “I can barely make the mortgage payment. My credit card is maxed out. I’m afraid I might have to apply for emergency heating assistance. Now we’re probably gonna miss a few days of work. I can’t afford a short paycheck. And I’m behind on paying my lawyer. If I don’t keep up those payments, he won’t go to court for me, and Fred will get custody of the kids.”

Fred was her ex. If Fred had been a decent parent, the kids would be better off with him. But if anything, he drank more than Kelly did. “The kids need a responsible parent,” I said. “And when you’re drinking, you can’t be a responsible parent.”

She pushed away from me and glared at me, her eyes narrowing. “And I suppose you’re someone to talk about being responsible?”

I wasn’t at all sure I was the right person to do it, but somebody had to challenge Kelly’s tactic of trying to turn the issue away from her drinking. “Maybe not,” I said, “but whatever I am or aren’t, it don’t change the fact that you’re the kids’ mother, and when you’re drunk, you’re doing a lousy job of it. The kids are the most important thing in your life, and you’re messing up.”

“So.” She tossed her head. “What do you think I should do?”

“Get help.”

“I can handle this myself.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s what all junkies say.”

“What did you call me?”

I steeled myself to repeat it. “Junkie.”

“I don’t use drugs.”

“Just because you can buy it in a store and can’t get thrown in jail for possession don’t mean it won’t destroy your life and your family.”

She sat up straighter and glared at me.

“Nobody asked you.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Well, butt out. This isn’t that much of a problem. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

I was this far in. I might as well finish it. “That’s called denial.”

“What?”

“Denial.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “And what do you think I should do?”

“Join Alcoholics Anonymous.”

“AA? Those ‘My name is Kelly, and I’m an addict’ meetings?”

“That’s NA—Narcotics Anonymous. It’s the same idea, only for alcoholics.”

“You think I’m an alcoholic?”

I bit my lip, then said, “Yes.”

She stood up and strode through the kitchen and into the bathroom off the laundry room. The door slammed so hard, it shook the whole house.

Well,
that
was a successful intervention technique. If she was using drugs, I’d have thought she’d gone to take a hit. Since she’d always been pretty open about the drinking, I didn’t think she’d be hiding booze in there.

My better judgment said I’d better get out of there before she came back out of the bathroom.

The thought of the kids made my stomach twist. I wondered if I could go upstairs and say goodbye to them. Instead, I just sat there stupidly. Probably hadn’t done any good at all, and probably ruined any relationship I had with Kelly, or might have had in the future. She was right. Who the hell did I think I was?

Kelly came back so quietly that I didn’t hear her, and I was still sitting there like a lump.

Her eyes were swollen, and her nose was red.

I scrambled to my feet and reached for my jacket and poncho.

She reached out and put a hand on my arm. “Jesse.”

“Yeah?” I paused with one arm in the jacket.

“Suppose you’re right? Suppose I am an alcoholic?”

Staring at her, I said, “Well, like I said, then you got to get help.”

“You don’t think I could stop drinking on my own?”

“Nope. Most people can’t. They need something. The twelve-step programs are pretty successful.”

She tossed her head. “I’m not religious.”

“You don’t have to be religious, at least not in the Sunday-go-to-meeting sense. Just recognize that there’s a higher power you can lean on when you need to, when you can’t make it on your own.”

“I think I can make it on my own.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“I can stop drinking on my own.”

“Well, if you can, great. But if you can’t, you need to have backup.”

“Watch me.”

I scratched my four-day beard. “You gonna give it an honest try?”

“Yep.”

“Starting when?”

“Starting now.”

“You gonna pour out all the booze you got in the house?”

“I already have.”

“All of it?”

“Yep.”

No point in disagreeing, even if that was at best an iffy scenario.

I slipped my arm back out of the jacket sleeve and put it and the poncho back on the stair railing. Reaching out, I put my arms around her and drew her to me. “I hope you can do it. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

“You’re right about what I’m doing to the kids.”

Everybody’s “higher powers” were different. Most people thought of it as God.

In a way, maybe hers were the kids. I knew a lot of people would do things for their kids that they wouldn’t do for themselves. Kelly was one of them.

She snuggled up against my chest, her hair tickling my face, and cried. I buried my nose in her hair, breathing in her distinctive smell. It might not be perfume, but it was Kelly, and it smelled good to me. I stroked her back. I longed to lead her up to her warm bed and hold her until she stopped crying. And see where it led us.

Too bad the kids were awake.

I pulled her over to the couch, and we sat down with her still nestled in against me. Her shoulders heaved, and she made soft mewing sounds. I wasn’t sure what I should be doing, but just sitting next to her, cradling her in my arms, seemed to be working okay. She shivered, and I pulled a blanket over us.

Eventually, her breath became slow and regular. She’d dozed off. My arm was falling asleep, but I wasn’t about to move it.

Goddess jumped up on and settled down next to us, purring. Inky and Stinky followed.

I closed my eyes and wished we never had to move. I dozed.

“Jesse? Is that you?” a small voice said from the stairs.

“Yeah, Chris,” I answered. “Want to come sit with us?”

“Has Mom stopped being mad?”

“I think so. She’s asleep.”

“I’ll see if Brianna will come out of her closet.”

“She’s hiding in the closet again?”

“Yeah. Mom was yelling, so we went upstairs. And Brianna went back into her closet. She’s been doing that a lot lately.”

“Go see if you can get her out. And we can figure out what we’re going to do about getting something to eat.”

Chapter 12

“K
elly.” I shook her gently.

She shifted slightly. “Hmmmm?”

“Kelly, do you have gas in the car?”

“Yeah. I filled it up before I went to work last.”

“That was smart. Maybe you could take the kids and drive over to the high school? You could get a hot meal.”

She sat up. “A hot meal at the high school?”

“Yeah. They’re running a soup kitchen there. It’s too far for the kids to walk. Especially in this rain.”

“I’m not going to any soup kitchen. Neither are my kids.”

I sighed. “Kelly. Be reasonable. The soup kitchen is set up so people who don’t have any power can get a hot meal. It’s not like some kind of regular charity or something.”

“No? You don’t pay for it, do you?”

“You certainly can. They’d appreciate any donation you wanted to make. But I’d think your best bet would be to wait until things settle down and make a donation then. We don’t know how long we’re gonna be out of work.”

“So it is charity. At least for now.”

“The kids are hungry. And they need a good, hot meal.”

After the little scene with Diffy, I had planned to avoid going back to the high school. And now it was likely that the cops would want to talk to me about Aaron. They might not be looking hard right now, with all the other emergencies that they needed to attend to, but if I was seen and recognized, they’d probably haul me in.

I debated saying something to Kelly about Aaron. After all, she worked with him, too. When he showed up. But she felt bad enough already, and knowing he was probably dead would just make her feel worse.

Kelly’s face was set in a stubborn frown. She looked so much like Brianna that I had to smother a grin.

I sighed and said to Kelly, “If you don’t want to come in and get anything to eat, maybe you could just drive us over. I’ll take the kids in.”

She frowned at me. “And where would I be?”

I shrugged. “You could stay in the car if you wanted. Or go see if you could find anything out.”

“About what?”

“About when they expect the rain to stop and the flooding to go down. When they’re gonna open the bridge again. If any of the stores are gonna open anytime soon. Stuff like that.”

Kelly shook her head. “I got food here for the kids. We don’t need no soup kitchen.”

“They won’t starve,” I agreed, “but it’s more like snacks. Do ’em some good to get a real meal. Do us some good, too.”

“I can fix them grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and tomato soup…” Her voice trailed off. “But I guess I can’t use the stove.”

“That’s right. And we probably shouldn’t open the refrigerator. The stuff’ll keep for a few days without power if we don’t open it and let any warm air in.”

She shivered. “And where would we find this warm air to let in?”

I laughed. “You’re right, it wouldn’t be warm air. But it still won’t be as cold as the air in the refrigerator.”

Kelly smiled back. “I sure hope not.”

Chris came down the stairs, Brianna trailing behind him, and pulled his jacket closer around him. “We could have more peanut butter and crackers,” he said. “And Jesse made a whole big pitcher of the fruit drink.”

Kelly looked at his pinched little face. Did she realize how hard he was trying to please her? “Okay.” She pushed back the blanket covering her. “Let’s go to the high school. You can get something to eat, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

She got her keys and a raincoat. We all headed out to the car. The kids piled in the back seat. The starter in her old station wagon was reluctant to catch in the dampness, but eventually, it kicked over. She let the engine idle for a few minutes to warm up so it wouldn’t stall. Welcome heat began to flow from the vents on the dashboard.

The gathering darkness created shadows beneath all the trees. The deserted streets were wet, with rivulets running down either side, but we didn’t hit any standing water. That was a decided improvement.

“I’ll drop you and the kids off at the entrance.” Kelly pulled up in front of the school. “I’ll find a place to park. Where is the soup kitchen set up?”

“In the cafeteria,” I said.

“I guess that makes sense. After you get something to eat, come out and look for me. I’m going to see if anyone has any news.”

They were serving chicken pot pie. I looked at the already-filled trays of people heading to the tables. It was heavy on the veggies and gravy, a little light on the chicken. But it was hot. And it smelled wonderful. The kids and I got in line and each took a tray.

“This is like school lunch,” Chris said. “You get a tray, and they put food on it for you. And you never really know what you’re going to get. It’s fun.”

It reminded me more of the prison chow hall, which ran about the same way, only with correctional officers all around. And I never would have called that “fun.” I hoped the school meals the kids got were of better quality than the prison food.

Brianna took her tray. “I wish we could get school lunch all the time.”

I was surprised. “You don’t get school lunches much?”

Chris shook his head. “Usually we carry. Mom says school lunches are way too expensive.”

We got up to the serving line. The server put big scoops of the pot pie in our bowls. The kids were going to skip the little packets of baby carrots and celery sticks, but I made them take some, along with a square of cornbread. They each got a carton of chocolate milk and one of orange juice. I took a cup of coffee. I thought about saving it for Kelly, but decided that if she wanted one, she could swallow her false pride, or whatever it was that made her think she didn’t have to ever take any help, unlike the rest of the world, and come get it herself.

I led the way to the back corner and took a seat with my back facing the wall. Always the safest place when there was a crowd, especially when most of the people were strangers. The kids sat on either side of me and dove enthusiastically into their bowls of pot pie.

A voice said, “Hey, Jesse, that you?”

I looked up to see a tall, dark man, dressed in a jacket that was much too thin for the weather and balancing a tray. His skeletal face was framed in a bushy beard.

“Banjo?” I asked.

“Yeah, man. Mind if I sit here?” He gestured toward the table.

“Go for it, man.”

Compact in his movements, he placed the tray on the table and slid into the seat. “Long time, Jesse. How ya doing? And where the hell did you get the kids?”

I grinned. When I was in prison, Banjo and I had been assigned to the same cell for a few years. We came from very different places and were going in very different directions, but we had developed a deep respect and friendship for each other. “My girlfriend’s kids. When’d you get released?”

“You got a girlfriend? Will miracles never cease?” He unfolded the paper napkin and wiped his hands. “I got a mandatory release last week. Just in time for this damn storm. No job, no car, no money. Just the clothes on my back. Great timing, huh?”

“True, that.” He wasn’t asking for help, and I didn’t have much to give him, but if he was truly desperate, I could give him a few bucks. It might go for drugs, but then, it might not, either.

I drained my coffee cup and thought about getting a refill. The crowd was growing by the minute, and I’d have to push my way over to the table with the coffee. Well as I knew Banjo, with his sense of responsibility—or rather lack thereof—I was a bit leery about leaving him with the kids. “Where are you staying?” I asked.

He grimaced. “For right now, with some bikers who took over an abandoned warehouse, down on 67th Street. But it’s a warehouse on high ground. So it’s okay for now.”

I knew where he was talking about. “Predators?” I asked.

“Yeah. Old Buckles—you remember him? Commissary clerk who’s doing life on the installment plan?”

“Yeah.” Old Buckles was Kelly’s dad.

Banjo took a forkful of pot pie. “Well, Old Buckles got in touch with a few of the guys.” He grinned. “Smuggled cellphone. You know how much that’s happening?”

Since I’d never had anyone to call when I’d been locked up, I hadn’t paid much attention to the cellphones that got smuggled into the prison. But given the exorbitant rates charged for a call by the company that ran the official phone system, I knew that even generally compliant inmates were tempted to use them.

“Anyhow, he told them to let me stay there while I ran a few errands for him out on the street.”

I knew how Old Buckles’s mind worked. “Running a few errands, or settling a few scores?”

Banjo paused with another forkful halfway to his mouth and grinned. “Both. He says this snitch, this meth junkie kid, set him up for this last bit. Either that, or this reporter bitch. He wants me to find out what goes. And take care of anything that needs taken care of.”

“This meth junkie kid” sounded suspiciously like Aaron.

And “this reporter bitch” sounded like Carissa.

I didn’t like the direction this was going in.

Banjo would use techniques I wouldn’t to find things out. If he did figure out, though, what had happened to Aaron and who might have wanted him dead so badly, I’d like to know that. It might be very useful information to pass on to the investigating police if they tried to pin Aaron’s death on me. Which, if it turned out to be homicide, they would, when the emergency situation settled down and they really had time to start really looking for me.

I nodded at the kids. “These are Old Buckles’s grandkids.”

Banjo stopped chewing and looked at them. “His daughter is your girlfriend?”

“Yep.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, with Old Buckles for a daddy, I can see where that explains why she don’t think you’re too much of a badass. Next to Old Buckles, you’re practically a boy scout.”

I wouldn’t have put it like that, but I knew what he meant. I was at least trying to live as a law-abiding citizen. Old Buckles was an outlaw biker through and through. The only respect he had for the law was because they could lock him up. And they did. Repeatedly. As Banjo said, doing life on the installment plan.

Banjo threw his head back and laughed. “A boy scout on parole for murder.”

Grinning sheepishly, I shrugged. “What can I say?”

“Not a whole hell of a lot. Where’d you meet this girlfriend, anyhow?”

“At work. Quality Steel Fabrications. Midnight shift.”

He sighed. “Straight job, huh? You always liked your work routine. How’re you doing with it?”

“Pretty good. The pay’s okay, and it’s got benefits.”

“I bet. Like the women who work there, huh? A lot more besides this one? Maybe I ought to try to get a job there. They all put out?”

Banjo could be crude. I glanced meaningfully at the kids. “No. Kelly’s the only woman on the shift. She gets a college girl to come stay overnight with the kids when she’s working.”

His gaze followed mine to the kids, and he took my hint. “You stay at her place?”

“Not all the time. I got a little basement apartment. Or I had one. I think it’s pretty well flooded out now. So I don’t know where I’m gonna be staying.” I wasn’t about to tell Banjo about the possible arrangement with Mandy and let him know that a nice house with nice furnishings was about to be empty for a few weeks.

Especially since there was now the distinct possibility that I would be locked up for Aaron’s murder and not be able to keep an eye on it. I’d better tell her fairly soon so she could have a chance to find someone else to stay in the carriage house.

We stopped talking as one of the soup kitchen volunteers came around with a tray of desserts. Chris chose a brownie from the selection. Brianna got all shy and wouldn’t take anything, so I took a few cookies for her. Banjo and I each went for apple pie.

As the kids finished, I stood up. “I got to go find their mother,” I said.

“When you give them back, you want to come up to the warehouse with me?”

I shook my head. “Not right now. Mind if I put that off for a little while? Like maybe tomorrow? I was figuring I’d go home with Kelly and the kids for tonight. I hope.”

He leered. “Hoping to get lucky, huh? Sure. Tomorrow’s fine. You know where the warehouse is?”

“I think so. Back in an alley, with a chain link fence with a gate? And a guard house?”

“Yep. You been there?”

“Yeah.”

I helped the kids gather the trash onto their trays and carry them over to the trash cans and table where the dirty dishes and trays were stacked. We went out into the teeming hallway. With this press of damp humanity, how was I ever going to find Kelly?

Keeping as close to the wall as possible, a habit I’d picked up in prison, I guided the kids in front of me, making slow progress down the hallway. In the half hour or so we’d been in the cafeteria, dozens, maybe hundreds, more people had shown up. Where had they all come from?

The sound of a TV news broadcast came from a small lobby by one of the stairwells. They’d have to give some kind of a report on conditions and when things might begin to return to normal. And Kelly might be listening to it, trying to get some information.

We inched our way down the hall and into the room.

Several of the soldiers stood around, monitoring a huge TV that was apparently hooked up to one of the generators. We made our way against a wall. I scanned the people in front of us. Kelly was about five foot four and had long, dark hair. She would be hard to pick out from the back.

A cheerful weatherman assured us that it would continue to rain overnight, with some possibility of tapering off in the morning. Meanwhile, the river was over flood stage, but had just about crested. Most of the snow in the mountains was already washed away, so unless the rain became much heavier than expected, we could hope to see gradually improving conditions. And power companies all over the east coast had sent utility crews to help restore power in our area, although it might be over a week before all repairs were made and power completely restored.

The view on the screen switched to dramatic still photos of the flooding, with a running narration in the background.

A car teetering on the edge of a bridge, its wheels mere inches above the level of the water. The interior of a flooded furniture store, mattresses floating on the dirty water. A fire hydrant gushing even more water into the street.

Me standing waist deep in a flooded street, looking more than moderately demented, clinging to a rope and handing an obviously frightened woman up to someone standing on the curb.

“Isn’t that you, Jesse?” Kelly stood by me, her hand on my arm.

“Yeah.”

“Is that where you were when you didn’t make it over to my place?”

“For part of the time.”

“You look kind of rough there. And you have to have been soaked. It must have been cold.”

“True, that. It was cold.”

“Obviously you managed to get out of the water. Why didn’t you come over then?”

“I wasn’t really thinking straight. Kind of disoriented.”

“You mean, like hypothermia?”

“Probably.”

“So did you end up at the hospital?”

“Nah.”

She frowned. “Where did you go?”

“You remember Mandy Radman? Sterling Radman’s wife?”

“Sterling Radman who worked at Quality Steel? Until he got busted for that fake ID scheme?”

“Yeah. I don’t think there can be too many Sterling Radmans around here.”