Twenty-Five

The lasagna Adriana plunked in front of us contained organic cottage cheese, gluten-free noodles, and cruelty-free spinach. But it was still lasagna, and I was starving.

“Aren’t you and Catherine going to eat?”

“We ate,” said Adriana.

“Is there meat in this sauce?” asked Jael.

“No,” said Catherine, “it’s vegetarian.”

Jael picked up a fork and started in on the lasagna.

I hacked off a piece, shoveled it down. “Do you have extra gravy?”

Adriana took my plate out from under me, walked over to the stove, splashed some marinara sauce on the lasagna, deposited it back in front of me. “There you go, Captain Hacker.” She sat next to Catherine across the table from us. Stared.

“What did I do?” I asked.

Catherine said, “We could have used a little bit of a heads-up.”

“Yeah,” said Adriana.

“I was a little busy.”

“That’s bullshit. Your phone doesn’t have texting?”

“What was I supposed to text? Hey. Peter’s head’s been cut off. Maybe there’s an emoji for that. I wanted to tell you myself, but I was busy being interro—”

Adriana’s phone rang. She answered. “Hi, Katie. Yes, I called him. He’s right here in front of me. We’re having dinner. What?” Eye roll. “Of course I feel safe in my home. If you didn’t think I could speak freely, why did you ask? … Yes … Yes … It’s fine. Thanks. Bye.

“That was my friend Katie,” she said.

“I heard.”

“She called earlier to warn us.”

“About what?”

“That people on Twitter say you killed Peter.”

“Did you tell her that’s crazy?”

Catherine said, “So we looked on Twitter. Does the hashtag TuckerGate ring a bell?”

“Of course it rings a bell.”

“So you weren’t going to tell us about it?”

“That I was right about Peter having hacked Maria? Of course I was going to tell you.”

“It really doesn’t matter that Peter hacked Maria anymore.”

“Now that it looks like you killed him.”

“I didn’t kill him. That’s ridiculous.”

Jael ate her lasagna, her eyes traveling around the triangle formed by Adriana, Catherine, and me.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” I asked her.

“This is delicious,” said Jael. “I would like the recipe.”

“I’ll e-mail it to you,” said Adriana.

Catherine looked up from her laptop. Looked at Jael. “Are you Tucker’s bodyguard?”

“I am his friend.”

“But you also protect him.”

“He has needed protection in the past.”

“Does he need protection now?”

“No. I don’t,” I said.

“I didn’t ask you. I asked Jael.”

Jael said, “Why do you ask?”

“You might want to look at this,” said Catherine, turning the laptop so we could see it.

@PitBull54: We’re gonna get you @TuckerInBoston you fucking murderer. #TuckerGate

“Oh, that,” I said. “That’s nothing.”

“That’s a death threat,” said Catherine.

“It’s not a real death threat. It’s an Internet death threat.”

Catherine said, “You mean like this one?”

@BOS142409: .@TuckerInBoston, we’re going to gut shoot you and fuck the hole. The FBI can’t save you. #TuckerGate

“Oh my God. They published your address.”

“I know.”

“And look at this!”

@GR8AP3: If I ever see you I will literally kill you with my bare hands, @TuckerInBoston. #TuckerGate

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“No,” I said. “Do you seriously think that fat load is going to crawl out of his parent’s basement and kill me with his pudgy, Cheeto-stained fingers?”

Catherine turned to Jael, “I thought you weren’t his bodyguard.”

“I am not.”

“Then what is this?”

@Metalhead: Watch Tucker beat up @CapnMerica.

The tweet featured a link to a YouTube video. A shaky camera showed the bounty hunter in his Patriots pom-pom hat trying to effect a citizen’s arrest.

“You handcuffed him to the fence?” Catherine said.

“It was for his own safety,” said Jael.

“What’s this?”

The video showed me turning, walking back to the kid, slapping him in the head.

“You hit him!”

“He called Jael a name.”

“Yeah? What name?”

I told them.

“That’s no excuse for hitting him.”

“It was just a little tap.”

“Why is he crying then?”

“I might have threatened him.” My lasagna had congealed into a gluten-free pile of mush. I didn’t want it anymore. “Do you have any wine?” I asked Adriana.

“Wine?” said Catherine.

“You know, to go with dinner.”

“No,” Catherine said. “You can’t stay here.”

“What?” I said.

“What do you mean?” asked Adriana. “Why can’t he stay here?”

“Don’t you see?” said Catherine.

“See what?”

“We’re in danger. Maria is in danger. I’ve been reading this thread. People are saying that Tucker killed Peter because of Maria.”

“Has she been threatened?”

“Yes!”

@GR8AP3: I’ve heard that Maria is a twat. Instead of slapping @CapnMerica, @TuckerInBoston should slap her. I’ll do it if I see her. #TuckerGate

“Jesus!” said Adriana.

“You can’t be here,” said Catherine. “You need to leave.”

“C’mon,” I said. “This is all talk.”

Catherine pointed at the door. “Get out!”

Adriana looked at the tweet, then back to me. “Just for a while, Tucker. Just until things settle down.”

Jael stood and headed for the front door. I followed. I grabbed my coat off the rack, started to knock on Maria’s bedroom door to say good-bye, but Adriana caught my eye. Gave a little head shake. No.

I stood with my hand poised, ready to tell my cousin I wouldn’t be seeing her for a while. I ran through the scenarios in my head. She’d ask me why, and I’d say … I’d say what? I’d say that the guy she didn’t want me to go after was dead, that his head had been cut off? Would I tell her that people were threatening her?

Adriana was right.

I dropped my head. Let my hand fall to my side. Followed Jael out the apartment door, down the stairs, and out onto Cleveland Place. I looked back up at the apartment, my throat suddenly tightening. Jael patted my back.

Adriana, Catherine, and I had been engaged in a grand experiment of group parenting, helping each other find the way to take a shattered little girl and turn her into a strong woman. With no parents, no girlfriend, and a single guy’s lifestyle, I realized that I’d come to think of these two women and that little girl as my real family, and of that apartment as my real home.

Now I was homeless.