When Greg Kane opened his eyes he found himself standing inside the entrance to Tommy’s Bar. Kane turned toward their customary table and saw his brother, smiling and raising a beer in a friendly toast.
“Hi, Tommy,” Greg said, suddenly finding himself in his usual chair with no memory of crossing the intervening space.
“Hi, yourself. You got Jason’s killer,” Tommy said. Kane found himself beginning to smile but stopped when Tommy added, “Why is he still alive?”
“What do you mean?” Greg asked though he knew exactly what his brother was getting at.
“You could have shot him in that motel room. Those city cops would have backed you up one-hundred percent. So, why didn’t you?”
“I needed him alive to get the guy who hired him,” Kane replied almost apologetically.
“Sure, if he was any other mope and you were any other cop, but he was the guy who murdered my son, your nephew. Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?”
“I don’t know,” Kane answered, looking away.
“Sure you do.”
“Why don’t you tell me?” Greg shot back, his gaze fixing on Tommy’s face then shying away.
“I asked you first. . . . Come on. You need to say it out loud.”
“What do you want me to say? That I was afraid?”
“You weren’t afraid. Say it.”
“Fine, I was a pussy. I was weak.”
“That’s another lie. Haven’t you learned by now that you can’t lie to me? Come on, say it!”
“Because I’m not a murderer,” Kane answered softly, still looking away.
“Now you’re talking like a damn lawyer. He killed a cop, your blood. That’s a capital crime. The penalty for that is death. Shooting him wouldn’t have been murder. It would have been justified. What was the matter with you? Didn’t you want to make him suffer? Weren’t you angry?”
“I–” Kane began then stopped. He thought about Farber, about how much he hated him, but that hate was now a memory that had lost its sting, like a photo of an old tragedy or the echo of a voice long since stilled. Without his noticing, somehow the fire inside him had begun to flicker out. “No,” Greg said at last.
“You’re not? Then how do you feel?”
Kane thought about that for a moment then answered, “I feel free.”
“It took you long enough,” Tommy said and waved Sadie over for another round.
Greg followed her path and noticed a new face at the table next to the door, a little girl, nine or ten years old, in a pink dress with pink tennis shoes.
“What’s she doing here?” Kane asked. Tommy followed Greg’s gaze.
“She’s here for you,” Tommy said.
The little girl caught Kane’s eye and waved.
“What do you mean, ‘She’s here for me?’ Kids shouldn’t be in a bar. Where are her parents? Who is she?”
“You know who she is.”
“What does she want?”
“Go over and ask her.”
Greg stared at the child for a long heartbeat then struggled out of his chair.
“You hang in there, Greg,” Tommy said. “Just remember what I told you and you’ll be fine.” Tommy raised his bottle in a toast, smiled, then shimmered and disappeared.
Kane gawked at the empty chair then turned toward the little girl. Lyla smiled and waved at him but when Kane tried to take a step his feet were stuck to the floor. He strained and managed to pull one free. Lyla’s mouth was moving but Kane couldn’t make out the words. He staggered forward another step then she waved one last time, said something else he couldn’t hear, and then everything disappeared.
Kane awoke like a drowning man gasping for air. It was gone, all of it, Tommy’s bar, Sadie, Big Jesse, Little Jesse, Denny and Phil, Tommy and the little girl, all vanished too soon. Kane felt as if something beautiful had been irretrievably lost, as if he had started some vital work but had been thwarted with important business still left undone.