Twenty-Five

My Droid uttered its name in its spooky robotic voice as soon as I pulled out of Lotus Blossom’s parking lot. Lucy. A little happy flutter skipped through my stomach. I believed it was time for her to have a unique ringtone.

I stuck my Bluetooth headset into my ear and continued down Route 20 in Borg-like comfort.

Lucy said, “I’m calling you with a question of etiquette.”

“Good. You’ve come to the right place. I’m all about politeness.”

“If a girl were to go to a man’s house, let him cook her a delicious meal, neck with him a little on the couch, and then leave abruptly, would it be okay if that girl called the man for a follow-up date?”

“If the girl wants to be known as a brazen hussy and part of the general moral decay that will soon be the death of our beloved country, then yes. It would be fine.”

“Good. Would you like to go out on a date tonight?”

“Absolutely. What did you have in mind?”

“I thought we’d be tourists.”

We agreed to meet at six o’clock at the Samuel Adams statue in front of Faneuil Hall, and I continued driving down the old Indian trail that was Route 20. Colonists had widened it to create the Boston Post Road. The road took you from Boston, through Springfield, and down to Hartford, Connecticut. I imagined what the road would have looked like before all the trees had been cut down for fuel and farming. New trees grew along the road, but they were much younger than the path I followed.

Your mother is a lunatic.

I had told Walt to take it back, but that didn’t make it wrong. The slide into hoarding, the temper flare-ups, the slapping—I had grown up with all these things, integrated them into my life, into what I called normal.

I opened that corner of my mind where I had shoved my motherhood baggage and was overwhelmed with its crushing weight. My vision narrowed to the car in front of me, the sunny day eclipsed by my mother’s shadow. Could she have killed Cathy Byrd? Did the Rizzos have some genetic flaw that had turned my uncle and cousin into Mafiosos and my mother into a killer?

I couldn’t see it. The woman couldn’t even buy a cell phone. How would she get a gun? Of course, my mother’s sister Auntie Rosa was married to the mob, so my mother was connected. But why now?

The shadow cleared and I was driving on a sunny September day. I wasn’t on Route 20 anymore, I was on the Mass Pike, heading into the city. I had navigated Route 128 and the exchange without conscious thought. My Bluetooth headphone dangled from my ear. I thought about Pittsfield. Dialed Information, called General Dynamics, and asked for a name, then got connected through.

“Patterson,” said a voice.

“Dave Patterson, this is—Mr. Bologna, from yesterday’s meeting.”

“Oh,” said Patterson.

“Dave, I have a confession to make,” I said.

“Really? What’s that?”

“My last name isn’t Bologna. It’s Tucker.”

“Tucker?”

“I’m Aloysius Tucker, JT’s half brother.”

“Oh, shit. Jesus, I didn’t mean to say all those things about you yesterday.”

“You seemed sincere.”

Silence.

“Dave? Are you still there?” I asked. Cell reception is usually perfect on the Pike.

“Yeah,” said Patterson. “Why did you lie to me?”

“That was Bobby’s idea. He was investigating something and didn’t want to distract you.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to tell you that I never heard of JT or his mother until JT was murdered in front of my house. Since then, things have gone off the rails. JT’s mother was killed and a guy named Talevi threatened me. Also, I found out—Well, never mind. I saw you in those pictures in JT’s house. You’re his best friend. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Silence.

“Dave?” I prompted.

Patterson said, “Look, Aloysius—”

“Please call me Tucker. Everyone calls me Tucker.”

“Okay, Tucker. I wish I could help you. I really do. But I can’t.”

“Do you have any idea why JT was coming to see me at my house? Why was he carrying the cover of the Paladin spec?”

A pause, then, “I don’t know why he would have done that. He hated you.”

I said, “Hated me? Why would he hate me?”

“Because you got to sit in the front row at his father’s funeral and he had to sit in the back.”

“I didn’t—”

“I was there. It was fucking horrible. Everybody was comforting you and your mother. They ignored JT.”

“Yeah, but nobody knew.”

“That made it even worse. Mr. Tucker never told JT about his other family. He let JT think that he was married to Ms. Byrd. We never knew why JT’s mom wouldn’t take the name Tucker. We thought it was some women’s lib thing. Turns out they weren’t married at all. JT was never the same after that funeral.”

“So who killed him? Was it Talevi?”

“He wouldn’t—I don’t know. How would I know? Look, I gotta go. Give me your cell. I’ll call you if I think of anything.”

I recited my Droid’s number and the line went dead. I told my Droid to dial Bobby Miller.

Bobby Miller answered, “What’s up, Tucker?”

“We need to talk.”