“Sin City.”
“Huh?”
“The Entertainment Capital of the World.”
“What?”
“The Gambling Capital of the World.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“The Marriage Capital of the World.”
“I get it, James. You want to go to Vegas. But . . . why?”
* * *
At least a half dozen police cars crowded the front of the Lucky Star, their roof lights flashing in the early morning sun. A few unmarked sedans and SUVs were also there, as well as two news vans, their carefully coifed reporters already setting up for a live shot.
Mostly everybody was milling about, a group of police officers blocking the entrance to the hotel, while other officers stood off to the side, checking their phones.
At 8:09 a.m., federal agents escorted Senator Harold Browne out the front entrance of the Lucky Star. I spotted my old colleague Adam among them, front and center, ignoring the reporters’ shouted questions as he led the senator to one of the SUVs.
The reporters jockeyed to get close to the senator, asking questions they knew would go unanswered, and other people—civilians who had been outside waiting to see what all the commotion was about—had their cell phones raised, snapping photos or recording video.
I decided not t stick around to see what happened next. Sitting in the back of the cab across the highway, where we’d been parked for nearly an hour now as the meter ticked up and up, I tapped on the partition to get the driver’s atten-tion.
“All right, let’s go.”
* * *
“Why do I want to go to Vegas? Why not?”
“Look, James, I know you haven’t taken the separation well—”
“Divorce, Dan. Not separation. Divorce.”
“Okay, divorce. I know you haven’t taken it well since—”
“I don’t need a therapist right now, Dan. I need a brother. So can you be my brother for a couple of minutes and listen to me?”
* * *
The cab breezed south down the highway, making good time, the traffic sparse for this early weekday morning.
I sat behind the driver, staring out my window at the Strip as it rose up in the distance.
Eventually, as we took the exit for the airport, the driver eyed me in the rearview mirror.
“So did you enjoy your stay?”
* * *
“Of course I’ll listen to you. What do you want to tell me?”
“For starters, I like catching up with you.”
“I like catching up with you too.”
“The thing is, though, every time I see you, I think about Dad. Do you ever think about him?”
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“James, what’s the point of this?”
“Part of me has always felt guilty for what we did.”
“We didn’t do anything.”
“I know, and that’s the problem. We didn’t do anything. And by doing nothing, we . . . we killed our father.”
* * *
The cab dropped me off at Terminal 1.
I paid the driver and got out of the car, taking my overnight bag with me. It was filled with some clothes, some toiletries, the kind of stuff that wouldn’t raise any red flags when I went through security.
Walking inside, I ignored the flashing lights of the slot machines and headed for the security line.
* * *
“We didn’t kill Dad, James.”
“We let him die.”
“Don’t you remember what kind of monster he was? What he did to Mom? What he did to you?”
“That doesn’t mean he deserved to die.”
“You see, James, that’s the difference between you and me. I think he did deserve to die. And the only thing that haunts me is that he didn’t suffer even more than he did.”
* * *
I made it through security without any trouble, the TSA agent barely even glancing at my face as he waved me through.
I continued through the busy terminal, headed for my gate.
* * *
“He had a heart attack, Dan.”
“I know. I was there, remember, hiding under the bed. You’d told me to hide there. And then you turned away and braced yourself for when he came in. Because you knew it was going to be worse than usual.”
“I could hear it from downstairs. Not just the rage in his voice. But . . . in the way he hit Mom. Somehow, I could tell by the sound of him slapping her and punching her that he was on a tear. And that when he came up looking for you . . .”
“You stood your ground when he kicked open the door. I was peeking up from underneath the bed and it didn’t even look like you flinched.”
“I was scared out of my mind. Figured that this time he might actually kill me.”
“And still you protected me. You could have stepped aside.”
“I never would have done that.”
“I know. And I love you for it. You were my hero, and even now that’s still true.”
“But I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like a failure.”
“Because of the divorce?”
“What else?”
“You’re not a failure, James. Marriages end all the time. It’s not your fault.”
“But what if it is?”
* * *
Takeoff was still a good hour away, and like everybody else, I found a seat to wait. Using my phone, I searched the most recent news out of Vegas. Already clips of the senator being perp-walked out of the hotel were starting to gain traction. Part of me had thought he might show some shame, maybe even some remorse, but his expression was defiant. He even smiled at the cameras, like it was no big deal.
In my head, his words from last night echoed.
Do you think what happened changes anything?
* * *
“How is the divorce your fault?”
“Do you ever get angry like Dad did? So angry that you just . . . blackout?”
“Did you hit her?”
“Who? My soon-to-be-ex-wife? No, I never laid a finger on her. But . . . there were times I couldn’t control myself. Times where I let the anger get the best of me. No matter how much I fought it, that anger always burst through. Part of me thinks maybe it has something to do with the guilt I’ve carried all this time.”
“I told you, James, there’s no reason to feel guilty. He deserved to die.”
“I expected him to put me back in the hospital that night. Expected him to break my other arm, or even my leg. But then I saw it in his eyes, the moment the heart attack hit. He grabbed at his chest and fell.”
“I know; I watched it. I felt it. The whole house shook.”
“He just lay there, staring up at me. Reaching out with his other hand. Pleading with me to do something. To help him.”
“I crawled out from under the bed. His face was all red, his eyes were bulging. And I . . . being a stupid kid, I didn’t know any better. I started to call out to Mom.”
“But I wouldn’t let you. I grabbed you and put my hand over your mouth.”
“I always wondered if Mom knew. She had to have heard him hitting the floor. And then the silence for . . . how long did we wait?”
“At least ten minutes. After the first couple of minutes, he was dead. I don’t think you knew that because I’d turned you away so you couldn’t see. But he was no longer breathing. No longer moving. But his eyes . . . he kept staring, straight back at me.”
“You did the right thing, James.”
“I don’t know. Just because it might have seemed right at the time doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do.”
* * *
Arriving passengers were coming through a nearby gate. Mostly adults, but a few kids too. I was surprised to see a family having come in on such an early morning flight, husband and wife and two boys. The oldest didn’t look any older than ten years, the youngest five. The husband was stressed, checking his phone and urging the family to hurry so they didn’t miss their connection. Everyone tried to keep up but the five-year-old, lagging behind, tripped and almost fell on his face.
* * *
“James, that was close to thirty years ago. I’m sorry if you’ve felt guilt all this time, but it was the right thing to do. He would have killed one of us eventually, and if not us, then Mom.”
“Maybe. And I know I should have let it go, should have just gotten on with my life, but I couldn’t help feeling guilt. I guess it’s the way I’m wired.”
“What does any of this have to do with Vegas?”
“A fresh start, I guess. To get away for a while. To try to reset. All my friends are married now and none of them can just up and go out to Vegas for a week to relax. But you, my little brother, don’t have a family, and your job—what little you tell me about it, anyway—is pretty flexible, isn’t it? That’s why I wanted to see if you’d like to come along and hang out for a couple of days.”
* * *
The husband glanced briefly over his shoulder but didn’t slow. The older brother did, stopping immediately and turning back.
The younger brother was a trooper—he didn’t make any fuss from having hit the ground. No tears, no crying. He climbed back to his feet right as the older brother reached him.
“Are you okay?” the older brother asked, and when the younger brother nodded, the older one said, “Come on,” and took his hand.
I watched as they hurried away. The older brother, focused on catching up with their parents. The younger one, looking up at him. Knowing that no matter what happened in life, his brother would always be there to pick him up when he fell.
I opened the encrypted email app on my phone. Stared down at the three emails in my inbox. All of them from James. The first two emails coming days apart, desperate for help. The third, when I’d ignored his pleas, telling me what happened and how he couldn’t live with himself any longer.
“I’m sorry, brother,” I whispered. “You were always there for me when I needed you, but the one time you needed me . . .”
Falling silent, my vision starting to go blurry, I began deleting the emails, one after another.
A voice over the intercom announced that my gate was ready to board. I joined the others in the boarding line. A phone rang at the stand—a faint sound almost drowned out by the usual airport din—and then a woman’s voice called out.
“Is there a Daniel Burke here?”
* * *
I wasn’t sure how to answer, so I said nothing at first. Just sat in my seat across the table at the restaurant where I’d agreed to meet James. Every time I passed through the city, I’d call to see if he wanted to grab lunch. The last time I’d seen my brother was almost a year ago, and he’d told me about how he and his wife had been talking about having kids.
I could have said yes. In my line of work, it’s not like I get a vacation, but I probably could have adjusted things in my schedule to take off a few days. And it would be nice hanging out with my brother, no matter how depressed he’d become.
I could have said yes. But his bringing up our father had soured things. If he was going to let guilt over something that he should have felt proud about haunt him after all these years, then that was his problem.
James watched me, his eyebrows rising slightly.
“Well?”
I could have said yes. Could have told him it would be no problem at all. Could have ensured that he wouldn’t be by himself when he was already feeling so low.
Instead, I shook my head.
“Sorry, James, but work’s crazy right now. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
* * *
When nobody answered the gate agent, she called out again.
“Daniel Burke? Anyone?”
I quickly scanned the terminal, at the people coming and going, then at the cameras situated everywhere.
As Senator Harold Browne had noted, the world thought I was dead. Or that I was supposed to be dead.
The agent was about ready to tell the person on the other end that there was no Daniel Burke here. She would hang up the phone and go about her life. I could get on the plane and disappear.
Just as the woman was ready to disconnect with the caller, I stepped out of the line and approached her.
“I’m Daniel Burke.”
She frowned, maybe wondering why I hadn’t answered the first time, and handed me the phone.
I held the phone for a beat, already regretting this decision, and then placed it to my ear.
“Yes?”
“Don’t get on the plane.”
“Noah?”
“If you get on the plane, it will go down. It’ll be shot out of the sky, but it’ll be reported as engine failure. Hundreds of people will die.”
I turned away from the stand, scanning the terminal again and keeping my voice low.
“And if I don’t get on the plane?”
“The team has been ordered to eliminate you with any means necessary.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you saved my life once, so I figure it’s only fair to return the favor.”
“How long do I have?”
Silence.
“Noah?”
“We’re already here.”