The darkness enveloped me, pressing against my skin with a palpable weight, threatening to suffocate me. I sat still and controlled my breathing, forcing my mind to avoid certain thoughts, certain alleys I’d rather not wander down. Emulating some mysterious type of Eastern philosophy I’d read about once, where you flushed all thoughts of the past and visions of the future from your mind so you can exist only in the now. But it was hard with four or five beers in my system, with death and diamonds having been front and center for so many days. I tried chasing away the nasty thoughts with mind-photos of Rachel. Her lopsided smile, the crooked teeth. The cascade of dark hair on her shoulders. Other senses got into the act. The sweet smell of her shampoo, the silkiness of her smooth skin against mine.

Those sensations proved to be temporary, replaced by the ugly pictures that had been seared into my brain. Kassian’s face. Lev’s scowl. The cane on the floor, the death-scene photos of the frayed carpet. I hadn’t seen pictures of my father’s body, lying in a heap, but I knew they existed. Detective Morris had been considerate in not showing them, even if he was a patronizing son-of-a-bitch. I could envision the stark photos, my father’s eyes wide open, mouth twisted in the last throes of a desperate scream for help. Or mercy. I gulped down the rest of my beer and reached for another. I didn’t need any light, I knew where the six-pack was, next to me, my only true friend, keeping me company in the dark.

I sat motionless in Kassian’s room, all notions of controlling my thoughts like some kind of swami gone to shit. I thought about Dani and tried to remember how she smelled, with little success. I thought about Handleman & Stutz, Liquidators, and felt nothing but contempt. Kassian, Lev, diamonds, that asshole Brandon, secrets, Carol, all marched past the reviewing stand in my parade of thoughts. Even the hairy guy behind the desk at the Hebrew Home made a cameo. I gulped more beer.

My gloomy reverie was interrupted by the sound of the key in the lock. The door creaked open and the room exploded in light.

“Good evening, Kassian,” I said, shielding my eyes from the sudden brightness.

Kassian jumped back. When he saw who it was, he let out his breath. “Hello, Joshua.” He shut the door, but didn’t come forward. His hand remained on the doorknob.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but you’re a hard man to track down, you know?” The words sounded different now that I was saying them aloud, rather than thinking them as I had been for the past two hours. I was pretty buzzed and wondered if Kassian could tell. When I realized he was speaking, I focused on his lips.

“What?” I said.

“I said I’ve been around. Nowhere special, really.”

“Uh huh. Right. Been in the woods?” I pointed my can of beer at him.

“The woods?” The little man’s gaze didn’t settle on anything. Suspicious eyes bounced around the room.

“Don’t lie. Not anymore. I followed you. To your hideout in the woods. By the golf course. Come on, Kassian. Spill.”

He swallowed and his Adam’s apple danced. “I like the solitude. No one bothers me there.”

I closed my eyes and pictured him yanking the door open and dashing off into the night, never to return. When I opened my eyes, he was still there, cowering by the door. “I do not believe you.”

“It’s the tr—”

“Cut the shit. You’re full of lies. You told my father you were his cousin. What about that?” I held out my beer again.

Kassian looked down at his shoes. Mumbled something.

“Speak up. And the truth would be nice for a change.” Part of me felt like getting up and squeezing his little neck until the truth popped out. Part of me felt like going to sleep and waking up when the nightmare was over.

“I am your father’s cousin. One of his uncles was my father.”

“Yeah, I know how cousins work. But I don’t believe you.”

Kassian shrugged. “It is the truth. I am sorry you do not believe me.”

“Listen up, Kassian. Something’s going on around here. And I think you know more than you’re telling me. I plan on finding out. Everything.” I hoisted myself out of the chair. Turned around and set my can of beer down on the seat. Waited a second for a wave of dizziness to settle. Kassian hadn’t moved, but his eyes had grown, and I could smell his fear. I walked toward him, and as I got closer my anger blossomed.

I stopped two feet in front of him. Looked down. Glowered at him. He stood his ground, but his face tightened. “Goddamn it. I want some answers.”

He recoiled as if I’d struck him. But he didn’t speak.

I reached out and grabbed his chin, tilted it up at me. “Did you steal the diamonds?” I asked, the voice in my head screaming.

He shook his head, as best he could with my hand holding it. I squeezed harder. “Did you kill my father?”

This time, Kassian shook his head more forcefully, and I let go. “No. Do not say such things. I loved your father.”

I stepped back, breathing heavy. What was I doing? My face flushed and I knew it was more than the beer. “I’m … I’m sorry, Kassian.”

The fear in his face had morphed into something else. Pity. Anger. Defiance. Sadness. I wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it pierced my alcoholic haze. He smoothed his sweater. “Maybe I should go. Leave. Find someplace else to live where I would be more welcome. You are clearly not your father’s son.”

I eyed him, thinking. After a long moment, I gave him my reply, someone else’s words using my voice. “Maybe you should.”

After all, I wasn’t my father’s son, was I? He’d told me that himself plenty of times.

___

The next morning, I slept until ten o’clock. Again. Last night’s drinking binge hadn’t produced a restful sleep, and I knew if I wanted to, I could sleep another four hours. But excessive sleeping was a sign of depression, and I didn’t want to believe that I was getting more depressed than I already was.

My head pounded as I maneuvered myself to the edge of the bed and replayed my encounter with Kassian. I wasn’t a particularly happy drunk, and on the few occasions in my past when I’d imbibed to excess, I usually had some mess to clean up. Nice to know some things hadn’t changed.

I threw on some clothes and clambered downstairs to apologize. Kassian was plainly keeping secrets, but I didn’t really think he could be involved in anything more serious than that. It just didn’t add up. My accusations had been out of line, fueled by frustration and alcohol. I hoped he would forgive me for manhandling him. And for suggesting that maybe he should move out. Despite his furtiveness and odd habits, I’d started to become attached to the old guy.

Too late. A neatly made bed greeted me. The elusive old Russian had slipped out again. I checked his drawers and they still contained his clothes, so he hadn’t taken off for good. I’d have a chance to apologize later.

Instead of a big breakfast, I popped two Motrin and gnawed on half a slice of plain bread, cringing with the knowledge that I’d be eating lunch in a couple hours with Matt and Goose. They’d invited me over to check out their company’s new digs and talk about “something exciting.” As long as exciting didn’t mean painful or uncomfortable or shocking—in a bad way—I would be all right.

I killed an hour at Target looking at “storage solutions,” then drove over to a mixed-use office/industrial park in Herndon. A utilitarian sign, “VidGamZZZ, Inc.,” was the only thing that distinguished their office from the other fifty or sixty housed in five boxy warehouse buildings on the west end of the park. Half a dozen restaurants—of varied ethnicities—occupied another building in the middle, and a mid-rise traditional office building anchored the east end of the complex. Judging by all the empty spaces in the lot as I drove by, Herndon’s commercial real estate market was as depressed as I was.

I pushed the door open to a jingling bell overhead. But it was so noisy, I’m sure no one heard. A dozen people chased a red rubber playground ball, playing some unique form of basketball on a mini-court in the middle of the high-ceilinged converted warehouse. The baskets looked like they were about eight feet high, rather than the regulation ten feet.

Computer geeks cum jocks, wearing jeans and shorts and skirts and suits, ran and jumped and jostled for position. One woman rolled along the sidelines in an office chair yelling instructions, metal casters screeching. A short guy on the team in yellow “pennies” broke free from his defender and drove to the hoop. His attempt at a tomahawk dunk failed, and players on both teams jeered. He retrieved the ball and pegged it at the guy heckling loudest, hitting him in the chest. The two squared off in a mock fight, much to the delight of the on-lookers.

Goose saw me and blew a whistle hanging from his neck. “Okay, everybody. Break’s fini. Back to it.” The players drifted off and Goose ambled over. “Hey, man. What do ya think?” He swept his arms at the court. “Had it custom designed for our space. Nice, huh? We had to come up with something to match Google’s perks. Did you know they have on-site massages?”

“I didn’t realize you were in Google’s weight class.” I looked around. “It’s nice, though. Where’s Matt?”

“He’ll meet us at lunch. Come on, let me give you a little tour.”

I followed Goose past a couple rows of desks. A computer and two sleek side-by-side LCD monitors rested on each desk next to game consoles. Video games played on every one, a choreographed ballet of motions, colors, and looped soundtracks. “Must be pretty swell, getting paid for doing what you’d do anyway,” I said.

Goose looked hurt. “Hey, there’s a lot of work involved here. It’s not all fun and games.” He frowned, then his face lit up. “Fuck that. It’s awesome. Sometimes I have to remind myself I have a life to go home to.” His grin faded. “Don’t tell Carla I said that, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve never even met Carla.”

Goose continued the tour, and we entered a large room in the back. Pushed off to one side against the wall, a foosball table gathered dust, a dinosaur from the pre-electronic age. Mounted on one wall was Goose’s pièce de résistance, a 100-inch hi-definition plasma screen. In front of it, four gamers reclined in specially built chairs, working controllers furiously as a quartet of armor-clad mutants battled on screen for supremacy of some sci-fi fantasy world.

As I watched, one of the mutants sliced off the head of another with a futuristic, three-bladed laser machete. A fountain of crimson blood spurted through the vanquished creature’s neck-hole. “Cool, huh?” Goose asked, eyes transfixed.

“It’s something, all right.” And it was mesmerizing. I could see how millions of teenagers—and older kids-at-heart—got addicted. I’d played some Madden Football over the years, but Dani hadn’t been too keen on me wasting time in front of the screen.

“Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry. If we don’t get there soon, Matt will demolish all the breadsticks.”

Tutti Frutti’s was some slacker’s idea of an Italian restaurant. Dave Mathews Band blared from the speakers, and red and white plastic pennants festooned the walls. Four giant plasma screens showed YouTube-style clips. The male waiters all sported long sideburns and the females displayed a variety of face piercings. Considering the crowd of twenty- and thirty-somethings scarfing down their lunches, the brains behind the Tutti Frutti facade knew what they were doing when it came to concept dining.

“You guys eat here often?” I asked, as a hostess with multi-hued hair showed us to our table. We’d found Matt in the lounge area, playing Golden Tee, the video golf game.

“Couple of times a week,” Matt said, opening his arms. “We are amongst our own. A lot of the tech guys from up and down the corridor come here.” Dozens of high-tech companies—heavy in telecom, software, and defense—had erected outposts along the Dulles Toll Road. This was just one of many hangouts they flocked to.

The hostess handed us our menus and left. “So what’s good here?” I asked.

“I always get a cheeseburger,” Matt said.

“And I always get fish and chips,” Goose said.

“At an Italian restaurant? Why did we come here?”

“We like the breadsticks,” Matt and Goose said in unison.

Our server came and we ordered. The usual for them, lasagna for me. When she left, they both made faces. “Dude, seriously, the Italian food sucks here,” Goose said. “Except for the cannolis.”

“I’ll risk it.” I set my menu down. “So—”

“Did you find the diamonds yet?” Goose said, leaning forward across the table.

“Jesus, Goose,” Matt said, shaking his head. “Give the guy a break.”

I looked from one to the other. “How do you know about the diamonds?”

The brothers exchanged glances. “Erik might have mentioned something about it,” Goose said.

So much for a lawyer’s—or a friend’s—confidentiality. “He did, huh?”

“Don’t rat on us, Josh. He’s worried about you,” Matt said. “We all are.”

“So? Did you find them?” Goose asked. Matt shot him another dirty look.

I shook my head. “Nope. But …” A grin made its way to my lips. The questions about the missing diamonds were getting to me. I’d give Erik’s chain a yank, courtesy of the Spoletti gossip connection.

“What are you going to do?” Matt asked.

“I went to the cops yesterday to discuss the case.” Both sets of eyes were glued to me. “And the detective said they were this close …” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “… to solving the case and nailing the scumbag who stole them. I should have my diamonds back before the end of the week.” I leaned back, smiling to myself, thinking about Erik’s face as Goose or Matt relayed my tall tale. It was a policy of mine—never pass up a chance to tweak Erik. I wondered how long it would take for him to get back to me.

“That’s great,” Goose said. “Congrats.” He clinked his water glass against mine.

“Thanks.” I took a sip of water. Maybe I could put the diamonds behind me now. “So, tell me about this ‘exciting opportunity’ you wanted to let me in on.” It sounded like an Amway pyramid scheme or something.

Goose looked at Matt and Matt nodded.

“Okay,” Goose said. “We want you to do some consulting for us.” He paused to gauge my initial reaction.

What did I know about hard-core video games? Seeing their set-up, I was convinced I’d be a stranger in a strange land, struggling to keep from having my head chopped off. “What kind of consulting?”

“We thought you could help us out with the launch of our new product, Siege and Conquest. On the business end of things. You know, create some publicity, smooth out the distribution problems,” Goose said.

“Problems already? I thought it hadn’t even launched yet,” I said.

Goose’s eyebrows came together. “There are always distribution problems. On-line, bricks and mortar, wholesalers, retailers, it doesn’t matter. Screw-ups are inevitable.”

Matt interjected. “You can be our firestopper. Our secret weapon in the never-ending war against incompetence.” The server returned and set a basket on the table. Matt’s hand darted underneath the folded white napkin and pulled out a warm breadstick. He took a bite. “What do you say, Josh? Interested?” he said around the food in his mouth.

“Why me? There must be more qualified guys around.”

“Come on, Josh. Don’t sell yourself short. You started a business and grew it. That takes the kind of talent we need. Besides …” Goose said. He glanced at Matt, sitting next to him, munching on another breadstick. “Your father was good to us. We want to repay the favor.”

“What do you mean he was good to you?”

Matt swallowed. “Your father invested in us. Listened to our plans for expansion and lent us a hand. And a chunk of capital. Without your father’s help, we’d be at the mercy of the venture guys. You’d be eating lunch with one of them right now. And it wouldn’t be at Tutti Frutti’s. It’d be at someplace where they have linen napkins and serve food you couldn’t pronounce, let alone digest.”

“He invested in your business?” I asked.

“Yeah. He really came through for us,” Goose said.

Matt grabbed my forearm. “We owe your father a lot. Let us help you out, just until you get something else going. It’s not a handout. We know you’d be good at it. We need you.”

The bullshit was getting deep and I’d left my galoshes behind. “How much did he invest?”

Goose glanced at Matt, who shrugged. “He owns—owned—eight percent of the company.”

I tried to get my head around this latest revelation. My father had a stake in a video game company owned by my friends. My father. Video games. My friends. The surprises kept on coming. “So what happens to my father’s stake in your company now?”

“It’s part of the estate. The lawyers will figure it all out. But I guess, technically, the Hebrew Home owns it.” Goose shrugged, glancing again at his brother. Matt shrugged back.

I shook my head and smiled, thinking of the irony. Siege and Conquest, brought to you, in part, by the aged and infirm of the Reston Hebrew Home. I wondered what Rachel’s Nana would think of three-bladed laser machetes.

Our lunches came, and the Spoletti boys were right. The lasagna sucked.