Absent Friends (42 page)

B
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Chapter 17

The Bodies of the Birds

February 16, 1980

Markie's dead.

Jimmy doesn't know what to do. It's like he knows what the words mean, but he still doesn't understand them.

Jimmy remembers hearing the words, the first time was two days ago. He remembers answering the phone, it's Sally, she's crying and telling him. He tells Marian, and the two of them run, pulling their coats on they run on the sidewalk. There's a cop at Sally's, a guy named Rosoff, Jimmy knows him a little, the way a fireman knows a cop. He came to tell Sally, and he stayed until someone could come, but he sure looks glad he can leave now.

What happened? Jimmy asks, and Sally sits there crying with Marian's arms around her and tells them. Markie got into a fight with some guy, the guy told Markie to do something and maybe Markie didn't do it fast enough or maybe he did it and that made the guy even madder, but anyway he stabbed Markie, and now Markie's dead.

Jimmy remembers that, Sally telling that story, Sally crying. He remembers everything that happened, everything everyone said, every minute all day as people came and went. Sally's family, friends, the neighbors.

Sally's mom, still some red in her gray hair, Jimmy remembers her picking up Kevin, who's all smiley and bouncy because all these people are over, Kevin likes people around. Sally's mom starts to cry, holding Kevin, and Kevin looks confused and then scared and then he cries, too.

Jimmy's answering the door, he made that his job. He opens it one time to find Tom and Vicky, Vicky brought cookies and Tom brought whiskey. Vicky comes right in the house, but Tom and Jimmy stand, one inside and one outside. Jimmy looks into Tom's eyes, eyes as blue as the sea or the sky. Sally comes up behind Jimmy, holds out her hand to Tom, he takes it and hugs her, and Jimmy stands aside, watches Tom go in.

Jimmy's in the living room, listening to everyone saying things that don't make sense. He's not drinking because he's on duty later, at least until Marian whispers to him maybe he wants to get someone to take his shift?

He doesn't, he really doesn't; what Jimmy wants more than anything is to go to the firehouse, like this was a regular day, the guys'll all be there, ragging on each other, and what Jimmy wants then is for a call to come in and all at once it's the bell and the sirens, racing onto the truck and flying through the streets to get to oily black smoke and heat like a wall. He wants water exploding out of the hose to meet the starving flames reaching out to eat you and you have to beat them back and you do, you do, and you win and it's over. And then he wants another call, and another one, because while you're battling the dragon, you have to
do
it, you have no time to think, and that's what he wants, because if he thinks, all he can think is:
Markie's dead.

That was yesterday. Now, today, Jimmy leaves Marian at Sally's, early in the morning before the people start to come. He gives the girls time to be alone, and he goes out to the rocks under the bridge.

It's a cold day, windy, no sun, the sky's gray and the water's gray, too, just darker. Jimmy watches the ships crawl by as though he's looking for a special one, but the ships he sees, they're all black freighters, they're all the same. The gulls circle, screeching and diving. The gulls, the cold steel of the bridge, the rocks Jimmy's sitting on, everything's gray, like the water and the sky. Jimmy thinks, Goddamn you all.

Jim?

Jimmy snaps his head around.

It's Tom.

Tom stands there on the edge of the rock behind Jimmy, like he's not going to come any closer unless Jimmy says it's okay.

Jimmy doesn't say that. He doesn't say anything. He just turns back to watching the water.

For a long time there's nothing but the ships and the crying gulls. It's so long that Jimmy thinks Tom left, or maybe he was never there at all.

Then a pebble clicks along the rock, tumbles off the edge and into the water. Jimmy hears footsteps crunch, and Tom's standing beside him.

Tom unslings the canvas backpack he's carrying and he sits. Brought some coffee, he says. He takes out a Thermos, a couple of Styrofoam cups. The coffee steams as he pours. He hands a cup to Jimmy. Jimmy wraps both hands around it; he's never been this cold before.

Jim, says Tom.

At first that's all Tom says. He drinks his coffee. It's black, the way Jimmy and Tom both like it.

Jim, if you want to come clean, I won't try to stop you.

A yacht plows out under the bridge, throwing up a white trail. Who the hell's that asshole? Jimmy wonders. It's February, what's he thinking, he can just go out and have a good time on a day like this?

I'll go with you, Tom says. I'll tell the truth, everything.

Jimmy drinks his coffee.

That what you want? says Tom. I'll do it.

What I want, Jimmy says, I want Markie not to be dead.

Tom nods. Yeah, he says. Yeah, no shit, man. So do I.

A fireboat steams by, the
John J. Harvey
maybe, Jimmy was on the
Harvey
once, doing some training. Jimmy thinks, Good for them, good for those guys, on their way to a job. He thinks about the fire under his skin that he feels at a job, not feeling it now, now he's too cold, now he can't feel anything.

I have an idea, says Tom.

Jimmy turns to stare. You have an idea? You have a fucking idea?

Tom says, Jim, listen. Please, just listen.

Fuck, says Jimmy. But he doesn't get up, he doesn't stand and go climbing over the rocks and leave Tom there alone.

It's all my fault, says Tom, I know that, but I can't change what happened. No way I can bring Markie back. Jack, either.

Jimmy doesn't know, he really doesn't know, how much is Tom's fault, but he knows “all” is wrong. It was Tom who shot Jack. But Jack wasn't shooting at Tom, he was shooting at Markie and at him. It was Tom who went along with Markie's unbelievably stupid idea, to say he shot Jack. But Jimmy didn't stop them. Could he have? That's another thing he doesn't know. But this is a thing he does know: it wasn't Tom's idea for Markie to go to Jack, to tell him about the cops, the story that turned out to be bullshit, the story that made Big Mike decide not to send Jack to Atlanta, the story that made Jack so mad.

That wasn't Tom's idea. It was Jimmy's.

Tom says, My fault, Jim. But all I can do, man, all I can do now, I can think about what's going to happen. How I can make it up.

Jimmy doesn't see any way, how to do that, but he sips his coffee and listens.

You know Markie didn't have any kind of insurance, Tom says, any of that shit. Since Kevin came along, Sally's been staying home, that was what her and Markie wanted. If she'd worked, they could've lived someplace nicer, but they wanted her home. Now she's gonna get a job, not be home with Kevin, he has no dad and no mom at home either?

Yeah? says Jimmy. So?

What was Markie making, Tom asks, down at the garage? Ten thousand? I can do that. A little more, even. Thousand a month, so she can stay home.

Tom's not looking at Jimmy, he's staring out over the water, maybe looking for the same ship Jimmy can't find.

No, says Jimmy.

Tom says, Why? not like he's arguing, just like he wants to know.

Where that money comes from, says Jimmy. That's why this happened. That's why Markie's dead.

Tom nods slowly, drinks his coffee, is quiet for a long time. Then he says, I'll get out. My dad, says Tom. You see how old he got, the last couple months? My mom, since Jack, the way she is, he can't do anything anymore except take care of her. He's sure as hell not taking care of business. I'm supposed to be. But screw it, man. I can fold it up. Not overnight, I can't do that. I got people I have to take care of. But I'll get out. If the money's clean, you think I can give it to Sally? You think then?

Jimmy finishes his coffee. Tom passes over the Thermos. Jimmy unscrews the cap, pours some more. He lifts the Thermos to Tom, but Tom's not done yet with what he has.

She won't take it, says Jimmy. You know Sally. She doesn't like help.

Not from me, Tom says. But if she doesn't know. If she thinks it's Markie.

Markie? How the hell is it Markie?

New York State, says Tom. They should have been protecting him. He was in their prison. What if we sue them?

Are you crazy? We won't get shit, says Jimmy.

No, says Tom. But if we say we sued them. And this is their money.

Jimmy shakes his head.

That lawyer, says Tom. Constantine. He'd go along. He could say he's the one who sued. She'd believe it if he said it.

Why would he? Why would he do it?

You seen the way he looks at her?

Jimmy says, What?

I'm just saying. Maybe he doesn't even know. Sally, I know she doesn't, all she can think about is Markie. But still. For her, he'd do it. It's not illegal. It's a lie, but it's not illegal.

Tom stops. He sips some coffee and then says, like he doesn't want to say this part but he has to: It would have to be you who talks to him, Jimmy. He won't say yes if it's me. But if you say it's you, your money, you're borrowing against your Department insurance or something, you want Sally to have it but you know she won't take it.

Jimmy turns to the gray water again, and the black ships. He can't think of anything to say. Anything.

It was my story, says Tom.

What?

The bullshit story that got Jack so pissed? Had nothing to do with Eddie Spano. Came from me.

What the fuck? What are you saying?

This cop. O'Hagan. My guy. I told him, tell my dad this and that. I thought Dad would send Jack out of town. Atlanta, maybe. To cool him off.

You told him?

Jack was too hot, Jimmy. They weren't ready to roll him up, but they would've, sooner or later.

Tom waits a minute, then says, But not just that. You remember, you and me, we talked about Markie? About him and Jack, we were worried about him getting in trouble because of Jack?

Yeah, well, says Jimmy, and he's surprised how savage his own voice sounds.

Tom drinks his coffee. Jimmy gets the strange idea that Tom's collecting himself, getting ready like a fireman does, before he charges into the flame wall.

And not just you and me, talking about it, Tom says. Marian said to me how she was afraid, she thought Jack was going to get too deep into something, get into some kind of thing he couldn't get out of.

Marian? I thought, says Jimmy, I thought Marian and you . . .

Yeah, says Tom. I was surprised. I liked it that she talked to me like that, it'd been a long time.

A long time, thinks Jimmy, looking at the bridge arching away. It's all been such a long time.

Tom says, I looked at it, Jim. Markie, you're worried about him, Marian's worried about him and Jack, too. I'm thinking, if Jack fucks Markie up, it'll be Sally, too, and little Kev. And Vicky's been after me, I spend too much time cleaning up after my brother, worrying about my mom because of Jack, like that. Everyone's worried and everyone wants the same thing. I looked at it.

Jimmy watches the ships, coming and going, back and forth. He wonders who's in charge, someone must be or they'd all crash, wreck each other. He thinks back to so many times when they were kids, Tom having a good idea because of something everybody wanted.

Tom rubs his eyes like it's too bright out here, on this gray day. He says, So I went to O'Hagan. I said, Tell my dad it's like this, that you have this operation going. Jimmy, I swear, I thought Dad would send Jack, send him someplace. I thought Jack would get to go to Atlanta, that he'd get what he wanted out of this, too! Shit, Jim.

Tom looks into his coffee cup; it's empty. He says, I don't know how the story got to Markie. It was supposed to be my dad. I don't know how.

After that Tom doesn't say anything else. They sit on the rocks, Jimmy not saying anything either, just looking, just taking it all in. A gull screeches, soars and knifes into the water, comes up silent, flaps away. It must have caught what it wanted, Jimmy thinks.

Jim, Tom says, you let me know. Whatever you want, I'll do it.

Jimmy doesn't turn to watch as Tom walks away, but he hears him go.

P
HIL
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S
TORY

Chapter 14

The Old Masters
 (Sailing Calmly On)

November 2, 2001

On the ferry. On the way back. No, not back. That would mean a journey done. A place not home, from which he was returning. But there was no home now, and no returning.

People stared, moved away. Because of the blood. On his face, his own. Scrubbed and stanched, but still slowly bleeding. He was still bleeding. On his shirt, on his jacket, Kevin's. So much death, death everywhere, and still people backed away, because of blood.

Phil stood in the wind outside, the Brooklyn side, and stared at the bridge. Brigadoon, Camelot, Shangri-la, all vanished. Never real, but where he'd lived. Gone now. Gone.

His last night on Staten Island—oh yes, what else was it?—and spent in jail.

“I love you,” he'd told Sally, calling on the prisoner's pay phone. The air was rank, the walls too close.

She'd said—sadly, softly—“It doesn't matter.”

When they'd let him out, he'd gone right over, but she wouldn't let him in.

Now, on the boat, he took out his phone, tried again to call her. Again, as all morning, all day yesterday, only ringing. No connection to be made.

He slipped the phone away, back in his pocket, his shirt stiff with blood.

If she had answered?

What was he thinking to say?