Sparkle (7 page)

Louis followed Pinky back to her desk. Joe was fidgeting nervously across the office, combing back his hair with a shaky hand and looking as though he wanted to jump up and run for the exit.

“You know what I think?” Pinky said. “Remember that thing in Georgetown, like—jeez, over twenty years ago? That family? You were here then, right? Shit, I was working the switchboard. Still in college. I took the 911. Big deal back then.”

“Yeah,” Louis said. “Sure. I remember. I wasn’t even homicide then.”

“Yeah. Remember the little kid who tried to clean it all up?”

“How the hell could I forget? He was only—what, four, five years old?”

“Yeah, well,” Pinky said, pointing her thumb at Joe, “I think you’re looking at one of them.”

“Holy shit.”

Pinky swallowed hard. “Talk to him, would you? I need to go to the ladies’. See if you can help the poor guy out.”

“Did something bad happen to you and your brother when you were kids?” Louis asked.

Subtlety had never been one of his strong points.

Joe looked at him as though he’d been slapped. All he could spit out was that he wasn’t going to talk about it. He threw a business card on the desk and scurried out of the station.

Although Louis hardly knew her back then, it was Pinky who convinced him that they should give the brothers a chance. Ever since, for almost five years, Louis had given Sparkle Cleaners’ contact information to each new distraught landlord looking for someone to blot out what was left after homicide, forensics, and the DA had finished up—at least on the small jobs. It was possibly even a conflict of interest, although Louis didn’t get anything for their trouble. In fact, he hardly even got any appreciation. Joe sounded put out half the time.

Joe was consistently rude without even being aware of it, but that didn’t faze Louis or Pinky. As long as Sparkle got the job done right. When you worked for homicide you got used to guys who didn’t say much, who kept their problems to themselves, who did tough jobs and didn’t worry about being polite. You gave support where you saw a need, and your reward was seeing things hold together that might otherwise fall apart—or blow up. Joe probably had no idea he was even getting a favor. That was fine, too.

Louis was hard to read when it came to Joe and Eddie. He wasn’t sentimental, the way Pinky could be. At least nowhere near the surface. He still had the card Joe had dropped on his desk. But he kept it well hidden in the depths of his overstuffed wallet.

No doubt about it, though, Joe and Eddie were unique. Despite the fact that they had grown up to become strange, strange boys, they were nice looking and clean cut, and gainfully employed fulfilling a necessary, if gruesome, function. For some reason Pinky hadn’t worried much about what their performance would be like, but Louis was greatly relieved that they had always done one hell of a job. He had to agree with Pinky when pressed on the point: he’d never once regretted the decision to lend them a hand.

After the last of Joe’s extremely rare visits to the station, a burly young detective walked up to Louis’s desk just after Joe had shuffled out with Eddie silently bringing up the rear.

“None of my business, Louis, but I’m pretty sure you just talked to the wrong guy,” the cop said. He looked serious.

“What are you talking about?” Louis glanced up from the paperwork that seemed to make up eighty percent of his job.

“That Eddie. He’s the guy you need to talk to. He’s obviously the brains of their operation.”

“Gimme a break.” Louis glued his eyes back to his papers, determined not to get drawn in.

“No, seriously.” The cop raised his voice and looked around the room for allies. “You notice how he never takes off his sunglasses? Huh? You see how his face never changes? Good posture, clean pressed clothes. Unlike his brother. Am I right? I’m telling you, that goofball Joe is just a front. That Eddie, now there’s a man you don’t want to play poker with. How many times did you have to remind that other dumb ass that he couldn’t light a smoke in here?”

A couple of other cops chuckled.

“Yeah,” Louis said, without looking up. “Good point. Now get back to work.”

“No, seriously, Louis. I mean it. I think you got your retards mixed up.”

Everybody laughed at that. Even Louis couldn’t completely suppress a smile. It was locker room stuff, completely rude but not really malicious. The only one who didn’t seem to think it was funny was Pinky. Unlike Louis, who wasn’t known for his sense of humor, Pinky ribbed Joe all the time; it was her way of showing affection. But if anyone else took a swipe, watch out. Louis couldn’t hear what Pinky said to the young detective, but he saw them having a heated discussion in the parking garage the next day—if you could call Pinky chattering away and poking the big guy’s chest a discussion. Whatever she said, there were no more comments from that particular detective about Eddie and Joe.

Every once in a while, though, Louis wondered if there might be any truth to the joke. Something about Eddie made him suspect there might be more going on than the inscrutable bit that rose to the surface.

Chapter 10

At precisely 8:00 p.m., Joe stomped back down the stairs, carrying a bowl of popcorn and Eddie’s sixth and final Friday night can of Sparkle.

Tonight he also carried something else: a videotape called Funniest Ads of the ’70s, which he’d ordered from a late-night television ad. It had arrived a week earlier, but he’d been waiting for just the right moment to spring it on Eddie, which was going to be a little tricky. But just as Joe had predicted, the Mariners lost. That, along with today’s successful job and the good news about Jolie, made Joe figure that tonight was about as good as it was going to get.

No one knew better than Joe how much Eddie could resist change. But it was Joe’s responsibility to take care of his little brother. Eddie had been obsessed with the Sparkle and Shiny Gold commercials ever since Joe could remember. Although it did have the benefit of keeping Eddie occupied most evenings, Joe had never liked it.

There was no particular reason that Joe could put his finger on for his irritation. Eddie went through phases. Sometimes all he wanted to do was read. He’d ask to go to the library, and come home with either a whole pile of books or a single thick, impenetrable-looking volume. Honestly, Joe didn’t pay enough attention to know if they were history texts, math books, romance novels, or what. One detail he did notice was that Eddie never seemed to check out paperbacks, because Joe had to return them, and the hardbacks Eddie preferred were damn heavy. Sometimes Eddie would plow through a huge stack in less than a week. Whether or not he was really reading them was an open question. Other times, Joe would catch his brother staring at the same page for an entire evening.

When a book phase ended, a Shiny Gold and Sparkle phase would invariably begin. Night after night. It could go on for weeks, or even months. This time, it had been nearly three months, and it was really starting to bug Joe. He couldn’t say why, but the commercials had always kind of creeped him out. They couldn’t be good for Eddie. He certainly wasn’t learning anything. If Joe could start moving Eddie in a new direction, convince him to try watching something new, it would be an improvement. And Joe had a selfish motive. The commercials seemed to affect Joe physically, making him feel weak and sick. He could hardly stand going down to the basement when Sparkle and Shiny Gold were holding their sway over Eddie, night after night after night.

Tonight, Joe was doing his best to be cool. He handed Eddie the popcorn, blew away the ash that had just fallen off his cigarette, and put Eddie’s last can of Sparkle on the coffee table. Eddie was rewinding.

“I got you a present, Eddie. It’s a video of, like, a million old commercials.” Joe tried his best to sound excited about it.

Eddie didn’t look at him, which wasn’t unusual. But Eddie didn’t start his tape over immediately, either.

“Really, Eddie, these are great. They’re all funny.”

Eddie didn’t seem to have any response. Encouraged, Joe walked over, bent down, and popped Eddie’s ancient tape out of the VCR. He had to fiddle around trying to get the new one going, though. He was horrible with anything mechanical.

Eddie’s leg began to bounce up and down, an unmistakable warning. But Joe hoped against hope that once the new commercials started, Eddie would be happily hypnotized.

“Really, it’s cool. Just give it a try, Eddie. That’s all I’m asking.”

Joe was still trying to get the tape to play when Eddie picked up his final can of Sparkle, popped it open, poured it over his head, and mechanically rubbed his wet curly hair with his hand. When this didn’t get Joe’s attention, he reached out and knocked his popcorn all over the floor.

“Shiny Gold, Joe,” he said. His face reddened, but his expression and tone didn’t change.

Joe finally turned and saw the mess. “Damn it, Eddie. Okay, I’m sorry. Jeez, just stop, Eddie. Don’t move.”

Frantically, clumsily, Joe replaced Eddie’s tape and hit play. He was torn between remorse and a nearly irresistible impulse to slap his brother upside the head.

He didn’t have to. Eddie started to slap himself. Not particularly hard, but over and over. This wasn’t nearly as bad as it could get, but it was an extremely critical warning sign. When Eddie really lost it, there was nothing Joe could do except try to keep his brother from hurting himself, try not to get hurt himself, and help Eddie clean up the mess afterward. It hadn’t happened for years, but it was always something random like this that triggered it—and it could get seriously ugly fast if Joe didn’t nip it in the bud.

The Shiny Gold commercial started again. Joe, breathing heavily, turned around, planning his next move.

“Eddie. Look! Look.”

Eddie looked, and the slapping stopped immediately.

Joe breathed a sigh of relief. “Grab your remote.”

Eddie obeyed.

“Breathe. Eddie! Breathe.”

“Uh-huh. Okay,” Eddie said, softly. Sparkle dripped from his thick brown hair. He licked some off his lip.

Eddie felt compassion for Joe. Even after all their years together, Joe could never quite understand what was at stake, what was being held together by Eddie’s sacred, delicate routines. Eddie had to do a lot more work than he should to keep everything in order.

Still, Eddie loved Joe. And to his credit, Joe didn’t know what had happened at the job today. Eddie needed a powerful distraction and powerful comfort tonight. He had no reserve left for anything new.

Next to cleaning, taking care of Joe was one of the most important priorities in Eddie’s life. He knew how dependent on him his big brother was for almost everything that mattered. But Eddie didn’t want Joe to screw things up with his clumsiness, no matter how well-meaning he might be. Especially not tonight.

Today was a glitch that had to be overcome. Because things were going to change tomorrow. And it was going to be a change that Eddie chose.

It was too late now, of course, Eddie realized. Things were too far out of whack to go on as normal. For one thing, the floor was a mess. Not good. Eddie held very still for a moment and let his concern for Joe help him find a way to navigate this suddenly sticky situation.

It took a moment, but by the time Joe spoke Eddie had almost figured it out.

“Can we just go get you cleaned up?” Joe sounded tentative, kind of scared.

“Uh-huh. Okay.” To show that there were no hard feelings, and also because he couldn’t help it, Eddie knelt and mechanically scooped the spilled crushed popcorn back into the bowl.

“Let’s just go get you cleaned up.” Joe was pushing a little too much, but once the floor was clear of popcorn, Eddie stood up, calm.

“Eddie, I d-d-don’t think it’s good for you to watch nothing but Sparkle and Shiny Gold,” Joe stuttered. He was concerned about how Eddie might react, but he said it anyway.

Eddie knew Joe had just communicated something significant, but it wasn’t anything Joe said. Eddie sensed his brother’s love, his fear, and his anger. Joe always stuttered when he was trying his hardest. He knew Joe wanted to make a connection, however awkward and mistaken he might be. Fear and anger were emotions that Eddie himself didn’t feel, but he had become exquisitely sensitive to the subtle and not-so-subtle clues Joe and others gave when they were feeling them.

Eddie looked at Joe’s face. Not in the eye, but close. “Joe,” he said. “Stop.” It meant Eddie was trying to process something and needed a moment to be still.

Joe waited. After thirty long seconds, Eddie was ready.

“Okay, Joe,” he said finally. “Bedtime.”

It was a major concession. For Joe’s sake, Eddie had decided to turn off his commercials and get ready for bed, even though it was twenty-six minutes before the appointed time.

Tomorrow was zoo day. But Joe already knew how important that was to Eddie. This time it was more than that, much more. Something had been building up inside Eddie for a while now, getting stronger and surer. He was determined to do something about it tomorrow.

“Go away, Joe.”

“You’ll shower?”

“Uh-huh. Okay.”

Joe looked as though he was going to say more. Then he lit a cigarette, grabbed his tape, and headed up the stairs.

“’Night, Joe,” Eddie said when he reached the top.

Joe stopped and turned around.

“Okay, Eddie. Good night.”

Eddie was glad to be alone. There were going to be big big changes, and he needed to have a productive sleep. The most important thing about sleep was that it was when his dreams came. The dreams were his guides. He couldn’t replay them in a linear way, but almost every morning an impression would remain, vivid and meaningful. Often the sensation was more powerful than the strongest déjà vu. At times a dream phrase or image would overlay itself on everything Eddie’s senses put in his path during the day. Sight, smell, and touch; everything was colored by Eddie’s dreams. In fact, the rare night Eddie didn’t dream would invariably result in a sick day.

Tonight, Eddie was fighting to keep Jolie’s lovely face firmly in his mind. His mother was making it a challenge, trying to come in, more of a vague unpleasant impression than a thought. Then there was Lucy. She ran around his head like a kid lost in the mall, trying to find her mom and dad. The images were troubling and insistent, but he was able to keep them far back. His thoughts for Jolie were much stronger. His pillow was cool and comforting.