The Deal (35 page)

“Do you have the keys on you?”

I wanted to say no, even though I did, but had enough sense to know how fucked I would have been to get caught in that lie.

“I do.”

Going into the house with these guys sounded as good as dragging my tongue across a plate of live bees. I located the front door key and handed the key chain over to the second detective.

React.

“I want to see my father,” I blurted out, not knowing if this was even true, if I could possibly handle such a thing.

The detectives looked at each other.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said detective Morante. “He hasn’t been properly—”

“I don’t care,” I interrupted. “I want to see him.”

Still, no movement.

“I need to identify him, don’t I?”

“You may want to see him after he’s been cleaned up a bit.”

I wasn’t ready for them to enter the house.

“I want to see him now. No buts.”

The two detectives took the lead toward the body. Mattheau and I followed. The gurney was next to the vehicle it was about to be lifted into. Desperate, I discreetly flipped open my cell phone. With one hand, low at my side, I put it in text mode and typed in two words:
bags, body
. With the simple press of three more
buttons I sent the message to one of the numbers in my phone’s memory then switched my ring to vibrate.

A few seconds later, as we reached Pop, I heard Mattheau’s phone ring. My father was now in a black body bag, and as one of the paramedics went for the zipper to give me a look I sucked in a deep, loud breath. My goal was to draw the detectives’ attention toward myself instead of the low-pitched chime coming from Mattheau’s phone.

“Are you okay?” asked Detective Morante.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mattheau stepping away from the crowd. I knew how often he “texted” with Yves, so I figured this was my best hope of communicating with him free of suspicion.

“You know, Jonah, you really don’t need to do this right now,” he continued.

Mattheau was clear.

“I understand that,” I responded. “But I want to.”

The detectives stepped away and Morante gave the paramedic the go-ahead with a nod. Just like that, the zipper was tugged at and the little metal teeth separated. To say I was unprepared for what I was about to see is a gross understatement.

Pop was a fucking mess. It was as if he had put his head down on a table and let someone take a few good whacks at it with a sledgehammer. His features were still discernible, barely, but the area from his eyes, including his right socket, and up was completely unrecognizable. Not just of him, but of a human being. The top of what use to be his head was a stew of skin, bone, hair, blood, and brain matter. Because of the devastation, and the fact that his facial lines no longer intersected as they once did, he was expressionless. It was simply the most horrific sight I have ever seen.

I started to tremble. I could feel my face, my lips stiffening as they tried to fight the oncoming tears.

“Oh my God, Pop,” I whispered. “Oh my God—”

I gently placed my right hand on his chest, my palm and his body separated by the temporary coffin between us. My eyes sprinted back and forth over his face frantically.

I whispered again.

“What the fuck is happening?”

About thirty seconds later my cell vibrated. I discreetly managed a look at it. Mattheau had successfully text-messaged me back. One word:
clear
.

After seeing my dad, I escorted the two detectives through the different floors of the townhouse for about an hour. They told me I didn’t need to stay but I decided to anyway. I could still feel Pop’s spirit all around me, and I was reluctant to let that go. Knowing
the bags of money were gone put me at relative ease. As for the evidence of the murder, according to Mattheau there were no worries there either.

What I saw on the desk was what actually caused my heart to speed up.

It was a letter that had recently been started. It was to me, and it was among the mess of Pop’s business papers. I peeked at the cops. They were looking at the pictures on the wall. So I scanned it in an instant before discreetly covering it with a set of financial statements Pop must have been reviewing for a possible new tenant. The letter read,

Jonah. When it comes to how much you and the memory of your mother mean to me, just open your heart. That aside, reading this will hurt you as much as writing it hurts me. There was a time...”

That was it.

Pop must have just started it when Mattheau had shown up to take him to Connecticut.

I also took special notice of the stationery. It was cloud white, not cream, and it was both longer and wider than that of the mysterious note.

Chapter 36

We had just pulled away from the townhouse. Mattheau was giving me a lift home. As we were leaving the first news team was pulling up, which was inevitable. A rich, well-respected real estate man, gunned down mafia-style on his own front stoop, wasn’t exactly the norm for the quiet and affluent Upper East Side of Manhattan. It would only be a matter of hours before everyone I knew, personally as well as professionally, was aware of what had happened.

I let out a long sigh as I leaned my head back on the seat. My eyes were still opened, looking straight into the gray of the roof’s interior. I couldn’t believe I had just stood in the bedroom of my youth carrying a gun used in a recent homicide. I was distraught on a level I never even knew existed. I wanted to cry more, but why? I wanted to smile at some memories I had of Pop, but why? I wanted to scowl at the thought of standing in front of my father’s murderer, but why? Was I better than whoever had done this?

“What’d you do with the cash?”

“I consolidated it into two of the duffel bags. Then I took them to my home figuring they would be out of the way there, at least for now. Since the bags weren’t filled to their limit and I only needed one to—”

“Don’t! Mattheau, please. Don’t. I don’t want to know.”

We both paused.

“Jonah, what would you like me to do with the money?”

“That’s up to you. I can’t have it anywhere near me. You want to burn it, burn it. You want to spend it, spend it.”

“I couldn’t, Jonah. I mean—”

I sat up and looked forward into the rearview mirror. Our eyes met.

“You’ve earned it, Mattheau. Really. And I don’t just mean with this mess. Besides, I think it belonged to some drug dealers. My guess is that you’d find a far more worthy use for it than they would. A better life. You’ve paid your dues.”

Mattheau thought hard then slowly started to shake his head.

“I don’t know—”

“I think you should keep it. You want to drop it in some bum’s coffee cup, that’s up to you. Like I said it’s yours now.”

Mattheau nodded.

“Jonah, is all of this related to what happened yesterday?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. “I truly don’t know.”

I looked to my right out the window.

“Tell me about Haiti. Why did you leave?”

Mattheau began to clam up. Just as I was about to remind him he promised, he spoke.

“Do you know much about Haiti, Jonah?”

“Besides that it shares an island with a country that breeds baseball players, no.”

He sighed.

“Government in Haiti has always been a tricky situation. A dangerous situation. I, unfortunately, added to that instability and betrayal.”

“How so?”

“I was born in 1957. Coincidentally, that was the same year a doctor named François Duvalier, or ‘Papa Doc,’ was elected president at a time our country was coming out of a very dark period. He was a prominent public health expert. He was a perceived believer in black power, one that both the U.S. and Haitian armies backed. Once he started his reign, his true intentions came to light. He changed the constitution to solidify his power and set out to build a family dictatorship. He rid the military of U.S.-trained forces and replaced them with younger, loyal soldiers. Naïve soldiers—”

He stopped.

“You were one of those soldiers?” I pressed him.

“No. I was part of a rural militia, known in Creole as ‘Tonton Makouts,’ created to maintain power outside the capital at any cost. By whatever means. I served under Duvalier’s son. A man less angry than his father, yet dedicated to the same vision.”

Mattheau locked eyes with me again in the mirror.

“I saw some terrible things, Jonah. I did some terrible things, things I swore I’d never do again unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“And this was necessary? Cleaning up my dead guy?”

“It was.”

“Why?”

“Because I have more experience with this type of disposal. I mean, I was a little bit rusty after all these years, but—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“I was a young fool, Jonah. A boy working for the government looking to uphold the only thing I knew. I killed many men. Women too, tortured them. The only way I was able to carry on doing so was by never allowing myself to be in the position to hurt a child. One day I was in that position and I couldn’t go through with it. Before I knew it, knowing I would soon be hunted by my own, I was fleeing my family and country for the United States. Because I knew, if I kept my mouth shut, it was a place I could start over again in peace.”

“Which is exactly what you did,” I deduced, “in anonymity. But the only way it would have worked, based on your background, was if the government never knew who you were or that you were even here.”

“The police can’t know who I really am, Jonah. You’re not the only one with secrets. We all have secrets.”

***

I shot through the lobby of my apartment building.

“I don’t want any visitors today,” I shouted back to Clarence just before jumping on the elevator. “Not L, not my partners, no one.”

Just as the cab doors were about to close I heard my doorman calling back.

“Does that include your father?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Then the doors closed.

Once inside my apartment I locked the door and again secured a chair under the knob. I heard the pitter-patter of a charging Neo. I fell to my knees. He jumped into my arms. I started to cry. Wriggling with happiness to see me, he licked away my salty tears. I remember feeling so alone, like all I had in the entire world to hold on to was this six-pound fluff ball. I had to do everything I could to keep from inadvertently squeezing the life out of him.

Life was no longer just about money, partying, deal making, and women. Life had become about life. And death.

Paranoia wasn’t far. Soon it tackled me from behind. I put Neo down and immediately headed past the kitchen and living room toward the main hallway, eyes peeled. Just as I did my cell rang. It was Krissy.

Instinct pulled me out onto my terrace in a boiling rage. I wound up to throw the fucking phone, once and for all, over the side of the building and out into the city below. Enough of the stalker. Enough of the games. My mind was filling up with too many complications and scenarios, too many facts and questions. I wanted to smash the goddamn phone into a million little pieces so it would finally stop ringing. I wanted to somehow start trimming away the fat and finding my way to the meat of everything that was going on.

I ran to the edge of the balcony and launched the phone as hard as I could nearly throwing my arm out of the socket. Only I never opened my fist. Throwing the phone overboard from the sinking ship that was becoming my life wasn’t the answer. It couldn’t be the answer and I knew this. In truth, I had no idea at this point what even the next five minutes of my life held for me. I couldn’t be caught with absolutely no means of communication. And I still didn’t know if Krissy had anything to do with Pop’s death or not. In short, I just didn’t know. About anything.

My mind was consumed with my father and the barely begun letter on his desk. “There had once been a time when”—what? Could it possibly have been that in some twisted way, for some twisted reason, he was trying to protect me?

I headed back inside, leaving the terrace doors open, and sat on the edge of my bed. Again I saw Pop. Not just an image of him, but a collage. One that spanned my whole life. His smiling face that beautiful spring day in Philly when I graduated from college. His frustrated scowl after ruining his tie with a drop of coffee. The fury in his eyes when he fought with another patron over a seat at Phantom of the Opera before being escorted out by the police. His elation when he closed a terrific deal. There were as many fond memories as there were shitty ones, but up until this point they had been our memories. Now they were just mine.

The next dilemma was Pop’s burial. Because of my situation, the last thing I needed was some huge funeral. It made me an easy target. On the other hand, everyone would expect a big funeral. To minimize such a ceremony when there would, no doubt, be many looking to pay their respects would only cast further suspicion. I wasn’t ready yet for what happened to my father to become public knowledge. At least not without a plan. The more I looked at all of the facts, the more I stressed. I was afraid to leave. I was afraid to stay.

I was pulled from my stupor by something rubbing against my shin. It was Neo, holding a mini-tennis ball in his mouth, asking me to play. I grabbed a pillow, fell back on the bed, placed the pillow over my face and screamed as loud as I could.
      
      

I don’t really remember the rest of Saturday. More than anything, I wanted so badly to speak with L, Perry, Jake, the people in life I cared most for, had always trusted. I only wanted to explain everything to them, what made sense, what didn’t, but by this point I couldn’t rule out anyone’s involvement. If they weren’t part of this then I had already possibly put them in harm’s way. I realized that letting them in on the game could pose a serious threat to all of our lives. The second I fucked with the continuity, normalcy of my life the greater the chances whoever was pulling the strings would be onto me or know I was onto them. I couldn’t trust anyone. I was completely alone.