The Leaves 03 (Nico) (10 page)

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I didn’t ask any more questions. I trusted my pop and knew he wouldn’t tell me to do anything that wasn’t in my best interest. I had apparently been unconscious for over an hour, but they couldn’t determine if that was due to my head bouncing off of the sidewalk or the amount of alcohol I had consumed.

My injuries weren’t that bad, aside from the severe beating, but I looked terrible. My face was unrecognizable, swollen, black and blue with stitches over the corner of my mouth. I was assured I wouldn’t look like The Joker when it healed. I also had staples above my ear. My first thought was how I’d have to grow my hair out again. My second thought was how lucky I was he hadn’t fucked with my hands. My third thought… I was alive.

A few days into my stay at the hospital, I received random gifts from clients and even a visit from the porn princesses. I learned they were actually professional strippers that 169/510

had a great following and had just started making their own series of adult films. So, I wasn’t far off the mark. Gina showed up toward the end of the third day; I think it was a Friday. She told me all about her new man, how he had proposed to her, and how she never thought she was going to find love again. I was genuinely happy for her, but it was bittersweet.

Saturday morning, I was done. Finished.

Absolutely over it. I was feeling the weight of everything. I felt the guilt of not knowing what had happened to Deanna, and all the would-haves and should-haves left an even bigger cloud of melancholy over me. I looked around at the nice bouquets of flowers and cards, which had somehow taken on the same energy. When the nurse came back, she said my mouth was looking really good since they had removed the stitches. The staples in my head had also been removed, and I only 170/510

had to keep the wound clean and dry or some shit.

In the meantime, Mom and Pop had decided to spend at least a few more weeks at the cottage. They wanted to be close, and their friends, Hank and Ramona, had decided to come down and stay at their own cottage. The details were shady, but from what I could work out, Pop’s dad and Hank’s dad had bought the property together as an investment. It was just lucky that Pop and Hank got along pretty well. I was happy they had the distraction of other people; they must have been out of their minds with worry.

When Nurse Naughty left me alone, I took my cell from the side table and called Pop.

“Get me the fuck out of here. Now.” The following morning, I was convalescing on my porch. My normal sunglasses were too tight on the side of my head, but I wanted…

no, I
needed
to feel the sun on my skin. Mom 171/510

went to the pharmacy superstore in Laguna Hills and bought me these old man sunglasses meant to fit over normal prescrip-tion ones. I took pictures with my phone and sent them down to Becca and Zack at the shop for a laugh.

I was still in pain, but I didn’t want to take the drugs they gave me. I was tired of feeling like a zombie. I knew the shop was handled, and, in fact, I was almost worried they wouldn’t need me at all. But Becca was looking at a shop in San Clemente that would focus more on piercings. We had everything we needed at my place, but space was tight when there were three of us working.

Mom and Pop had gone out to dinner with Hank and Ramona and left me alone. Thank fuck. I was tired of people asking me if I was okay. I mean, I was pissed, and, as far as anyone knew, I was a victim of a random attack, but a handful of people knew better.

Cam came to see me. He knew it was 172/510

Deanna’s husband, but not only was there no proof, aside from my and Yosh’s description, his identity was unknown.

The sun was going down, and I decided to have a beer. Pop was nice enough to leave a cooler next to me. The only problem was, it was filled with Coors; I hated Coors. It tasted like piss, but it was all my pop seemed to buy. I settled for a can of cold piss when a man shuffled up to my porch with a brown paper bag, tied with a huge hemp-looking bow on its handle.

“Hey,” I greeted. “Uh, what can I do for you?” I didn’t recognize him, so I thought maybe he had the wrong address.

“Nico?” he asked.

“If you have a gun or a tire iron in that bag… then no, I’m not.” I smiled, gingerly lifting the right side of my healing mouth.

“No,” he smirked. “I’m afraid I left those with the wife. I have somethin’ for you.” 173/510

“You want a beer?” I offered. “My pop has this thing for Coors, so it’s all I have. Or iced-tea. It’s sun-tea. My mom brewed it yesterday.”

“No, you relax. You still look pretty bad,” he observed. That meant he’d seen me worse.

“Uh, do I know you?” I popped the tab on the can and took that first sip. I had to admit, I enjoyed it.

“Here ya go, son.”

I hesitated for a moment then took the bag from him. The bow was arranged with a bunch of small sticks and a keychain hanging from it. In the middle of the keychain was a bear paw. “You asked me to pick it up for you the night you were attacked.” Pop told me a passer-by had disappeared when the ambulance came. “Sometimes people just want to help, Nicolas,” he’d told me. “They don’t want to be heroes; they just want to keep the balance.”

“Balance,” I said aloud.

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“Pardon?” the man asked.

“Oh, nothin’. I was just remembering something my pop said to me about keeping the balance.” I opened the bag, and not only was the huge journal in there, he had included two of those fancy pens. “Hell, man, thanks. I’d totally forgotten about this.” I began to get up again. “I’ll just get my wallet.

Hang on a min—”

He grabbed my arm to stop me. “You said you needed to write to someone named Dish.

She would understand. You remember that?” How do I explain this? The man had just bought me a handcrafted journal, with what I would find out later were $500 fountain pens. I knew they were expensive, but that was over the top. For a pen? I did not get it.

But later, the first time I wrote with it, it was like the first time I sat in my truck when it was finished; it not only made me want to write in my best penmanship, it was as if it was made for me.

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I thought for a minute then I answered the man honestly. Something about him told me he was a man I could trust, not to mention he had probably saved my life.

“When I was seven, I met this little girl.

She gave me a sort of peace I haven’t found since. I can’t explain it—”

“I know exactly what you mean. My wife is that person for me, and we met when we were six years old.” He paused, looked out at the darkening orange sky then turned back to me, “I…” He looked around, I thought to make sure we were alone. “I used to be a cop before I opened my own business as a private detective. I don’t have the brawn to be a bounty hunter,” he said, holding out his thin, sinewy arms. “But I’m fast, I’m smart, and I always get my man.”

He moved a little closer to me and opened the journal to the first page. A lone newspaper clipping laid folded inside.

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“When we were kids, my wife and I lived in Nebraska. We were the only two kids our age in the neighborhood. We played house; I was always the husband, and she was always the wife. She was a bossy little thing, and still is.” He chuckled. “We got older and made a pact we would get married one day. She said she would marry me. At the age of nine, I think, is when I formally proposed.” He smiled, shaking his head. “She said she had two conditions: she wanted to have a little place up in the mountains where she could see the tops of pine trees in the winter, but also a place near the ocean. Nebraska isn’t big on its mountains or its oceans. So I joined the academy straight out of school, saved, and saved some more. Two weeks after we were in California, I got shot. Two in the chest.

Miracle I didn’t die. For three years, I got as much evidence as I could. What seemed completely random to everyone else, I knew I was targeted. When I was sure I knew who 177/510

he was, I also found there were a string of other unsolved murders, and he was taken down for four… all cops… with the help of my evidence.

“I could have stayed on the force, but I wanted to be my own boss. So I started my own business, and I’ve done pretty well for myself. July the fourth, well, fifth actually, when I couldn’t sleep, I told the wife I was going to go and walk on the beach for a while. I walked past this drunk guy. He didn’t know me, but I knew him. I’d been investigating a woman. The husband wanted something on her, sure she was having an af-fair, but after following her for a while, I told him all his wife was guilty of was buying too many shoes and toying with the idea of getting a tattoo. So, he insisted I find out more about the tattoo guy. What I found out, but didn’t tell him, was this guy had a reputation for two things: one night stands and helping women with his own brand of therapy.” 178/510

I took off the large sunglasses and looked at him.

“I knew someone else was there, Nico. I assumed
I
was being followed, not you. So I thought the best thing to do was to get the danger away from you. I waited half a block away and no one followed, so I went back and saw him drop you on your head and run.

I knew it was him. I study people. I know he was left-handed. I knew his gait when he walked. I knew he was wearing a particular brand of men’s shoe they make in London; he wouldn’t wear anything else.” It dawned on me that he was referring to this guy in the past-tense. I sat back from him wondering what the fuck was going on.

He knew me, knew my business, had investigated me and Deanna, and was paid to do so by her husband. I had no idea what to think.

I started to rise from my chair again, which took a great deal of effort, when he put his hand out to stop me.

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“Whatever it is you’re thinking right now, I am not here to harm you in any way. I stopped my investigation of Deanna when I realized her husband was abusing her. I introduced myself to her. I let her know I was not only aware, but would be more than happy to give her the evidence I had of the abuse, but she declined, and now, I know why.”

He slid the folded article toward me to open. It said that a local man had drowned on a family vacation in Cabo San Lucas. It went on about how he wasn’t a strong swimmer, but had insisted on diving from the boat to swim back to the shore. He was sur-vived by his wife, Deanna, and their two sons.

“She did everything she could to protect your identity. Now, I’ve done everything I can, as well. Cameron and Ynez both trained under me. I know she told you she’d take care of it because I deleted your messages.

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The report taken at the liquor store was a couple complaining about a drunk who left with a warning. Nothing will ever come from whatever investigation the insurance company is carrying out.”

He stood up and took the cap off of one of the pens. “In about, oh…” he said as he scratched his head, “three or four months…

maybe longer, you’ll be hearing from my wife. When you do, don’t even think about arguing with her. You will not win. I have never won an argument. Not once. And you know what? I’m sure glad I never tried. I’ve had more fun fighting and loving that woman than should be allowed for one man.” He walked down the two small steps of my porch as I stood up. I just wanted to shake his hand. I put it out to offer, and he, instead, pulled it to his chest. “You have a lot of pain, son, right here.” He pressed on our combined hands. “Write to this ‘Dish’ girl. You need to go somewhere with less noise. In 181/510

fact, when’s the last time it was just you and trees and fresh air?”

“It’s been a while,” I answered.

“You should do something about that,” he said, finally moving away. His parting words over his shoulder were, “Remember; don’t argue with her.”

I never even asked his name.

***

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“This is from my Martin.” She handed me an envelope with an unsteady hand. and I led her into the studio first, flipped on the lights, and leaned against the counter while she sat on the green couch.

Dear Nico (Nicolas),
Did I make it to four months?

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Remember what I said, don’t argue with
my wife. She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?

Something I didn’t tell you, we lost our boy
when he was nineteen, drunk driver. We
started late, only had the one. The more I
learned about you, I would come home each
night and tell Melissa (I call her Missy, but
only I can call her that), how much you reminded me of our son. We wanted that little
place in the mountains to be for our family.

I taught him to fish not far from the cabin. I
built a little birdhouse and Missy would
bring seed up each time we went, watch
them all flock around her. I personally don’t
find birds appealing as pets. I think they
should be allowed to fly.

I’m rambling now. I wish I had been able
to spend some more time with you. I think
you must be a hell of a son to your own
folks. And since you’re an only child, it just
seemed appropriate. For whatever reason,
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call it fate or divine intervention, our paths
crossed, and I am grateful they did.

Write in your journal. Tell “Dish”
everything you need to until you find your
real Dish. When you do, take her to the cabin. Only take your forever-girl there. That’s
my only request. It was a place filled with
love and I’d like to carry on that tradition.

It was a pleasure and an absolute honor
to meet you, son.

Your friend,

In faith, compassion for others and true
love,

Martin Louis Babbage
P.S. Don’t argue with Missy.

I let my hands fall, clutching the letter in one and the envelope in the other, and looked at the woman I knew was Missy.