Twenty-Six

“Great. Just fucking great,” said Bobby Miller. We were sitting kitty-corner at the bar of the Millennium Bostonian Hotel, next to Faneuil Hall, drinking Oban 14-year-old Scotch whisky. The bar’s cold marble top contrasted with the warm maple paneling and complemented the array of liquor bottles displayed along the wall. Bobby’s head reflected the light from one of the glowing incandescent tubes that hung from the ceiling. Big windows behind him showed traffic oozing along North Street like rush-hour sludge. Bobby had just learned about my confession to Patterson.

“I’m sorry,” I said and swallowed some Scotch.

“You made me look like a fucking idiot.”

“I thought I might learn more if he knew who I was.”

“And did you learn anything?”

I looked into my Scotch; it was gone. “I learned that my father was an asshole.”

Bobby said, “Welcome to the club. We all learn that eventually. Shit, our kids are gonna learn it too.”

“No,” I said, “I mean a real asshole. He never told JT about me or about my mother, just like he never told us about them.”

“Why would he?”

“It would have been the decent thing to do.”

“It would have been a stupid thing to do. You saw those pictures in his old house. That was one happy motherfucker right there. Why would he screw that up?”

“He couldn’t be happy with me? With my mother?”

Bobby waved the bartender over to reload us. “Don’t be so hard on him, dude. Only two people know what goes on in a marriage. Judging them won’t help.”

The Scotch was having the desired self-medicating effect, easing me into a Zen-like state where I focused on how my body moved and what was happening in the moment. My father’s indiscretions and my mother’s lunacy were fading into the background.

“How about my Uncle Walt? Can I judge him?” I asked.

“What did he do?”

“He owes Sal money.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No. Sal did.”

Bobby said nothing. He looked into his Scotch, looked up at the ceiling, got up from his chair, and headed out to the bathroom. The Millennium bathrooms were through the lobby and down the hall. Bobby would be gone for a while. I puzzled about his departure, took out my Droid, checked the time. Quarter to six. Opened Angry Birds and got three stars on a particularly tough pig fortification.

Bobby returned. He stood next to me, shot down his Scotch, and then grabbed me by the back of the neck, looking into my eyes.

I said, “Hey!” and resisted his grip, but he wouldn’t relent.

Bobby said, “I was in the men’s room when you said something, to yourself, about Sal Rizzo’s business. I never heard it, because if I had heard it, then I’m sure it would have made you into a material witness.”

I swallowed.

“Never,” said Bobby, “never, never, never, tell me anything Sal says. You got that?”

“Yeah, but—”

Bobby’s grip tightened. “Fucking never.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Bobby released my neck, patted my shoulder, and sat back down. “It’s for your own good. It would be a terrible thing to have to testify against your own family.”

I rubbed my neck. “I guess.”

“Family’s the thing, my friend. You can’t choose them, but you gotta love them.”

“So was JT part of my family?”

“Whether you wanted him or not, he’s definitely part of your family. Hell, he’s making trouble for you and he’s dead. Imagine if he were alive.”

I drank Scotch and thought about the trouble JT had created. I said, “Bobby, what am I going to do about my mother?”

“Did she kill Cathy Byrd?”

“No, she didn’t kill Cathy Byrd.”

“Then don’t sweat it, leave it alone.”

“That’s what Talevi said.”

Bobby said, “Holy fuck, you are just full of surprises today. How do you know Talevi?”

“He came to visit me at Bukowski yesterday. He told me to leave this thing with my mother alone or he’d kill me. How do you know Talevi?”

“He works for the Pakistani embassy. We think he’s a spy, but he’s got immunity and we haven’t been able to prove it. I’ll tell you this, he’s a mean fucker.”

“That’s what Sal said.”

“What did I just tell you about Sal?”

I raised my hands in surrender. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“But now that you brought it up … How does Sal know him?”

I finished my Scotch and waved off the bartender. Threw cash onto the bar. “Don’t ask me.”

Bobby said, “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

I said, “No. Seriously. I have no idea what’s going on. All I know is that Talevi told me to drop it.”

Bobby finished his own Scotch and threw his cash on the bar. He said, “If it were anyone but you, I’d tell them to drop it. Let Lieutenant Lee and me handle it.”

“But you’re not going to say that to me?”

“It’s a waste of breath with you. I’ll tell you this, though.”

“What?”

“If your uncle lives out west and owes money, then he owes it to Hugh Graxton, not Sal.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s the guy who runs all the action between Newton and Worcester.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re not related to Graxton, and I’d love to nail that bastard. Let me know if you learn anything else about him.”

“Sounds like you don’t like the guy.”

“If you ever meet him, you won’t like him either. He’s a mouthy asshole.”

“What’s wrong with being a mouthy asshole?”

“Good point. You two might get along fine.”

“Okay. I gotta go. Lucy’s going to be waiting for me.”

“You have fun.”

“Will do.”

“And be careful.”

“Sure, Bobby. Whatever.”