Healy thought the kid would explode. Apparently, that’s exactly what he had done. Strohmeyer yanked Garcia, his pants still unzipped, out of the car and proceeded to knock him around the parking lot. A crowd started forming and Cathy barely stopped him from killing the guy. Healy asked if that was how he had really hurt his hand.
“No. I went to her aunt’s house in Ronkonkoma few nights later to try and explain, to apologize.”
Healy felt he was almost there. Just another little push…
“Apologize! What did you have to apologize for?”
“I still love her.”
“Yeah, you still love her and some Mexican’s dicking her up the ass.”
Strohmeyer jerked the steering wheel hard right, the car bouncing off the curb. When it came to rest, he stuffed the transmission into park.
“You must have been pretty furious when she told you to get out, that she never wanted to see you again,” Healy kept at him. “I wanted to kill her.”
“But you didn’t kill her. You were out of your mind when you got back into your car. What did you do then Pete? You went hunting, didn’t you? Hunting for the first wetback you could find.”
“Get out, Bob!”
“What did you do when you found him, Pete?”
“Get out now!”
“You beat him up bad, but you couldn’t stop yourself.”
“Get the fuck out!” Strohmeyer screamed, grabbing Healy by the throat. His grip was solid steel.
Healy, always blessed with arms too long for his body, chopped his left fist down into Pete’s groin. That took the wind out of Pete’s sails, enough so that Healy could free himself of the kid’s grip. Healy pushed his back against the passenger door, but didn’t get out nor did he go for his. 38.
“Sorry, kid,” Healy apologized. “I just think you should get it off your chest.”
“I can’t,” he said, some of the color draining back into his face. “I just can’t.”
Experience had taught Healy when to push and when to stop pushing. He decided he wasn’t going to get anymore out of Strohmeyer Jr. tonight.
He extended his right hand. “Okay, I understand. Maybe you will have to deal with it yourself. Let’s forget about it and finish up the shift. Tomorrow night, we won’t even discuss it. But if you ever do want to talk about it, I’m up for it.”
Pete took Bob’s hand. “I’m sorry too. It’s just that when I think about Cathy, I get a little.”
“Trust me, kid. We’ve all been there.”
They spent the next two hours together in near silence. Officer Martinez was right, it was a night for staying home and getting under the covers with someone warm. There’s nothing like dark, empty streets to remind a man of his loneliness.
Wednesday,March 3rd, 2004
T here are phrases we hear all the time that we accept without bothering to consider. How many times, Joe Serpe wondered as he opened his eyes to a new day of excruciating pain, had he heard it said that someone was kept in the hospital overnight for observation? He had an image in his mind of having woken in the middle of the night.
Nurse, what are you doing? Observing you, of course.
Joe might even have laughed had the clamp crushing his skull loosened just a notch. Still, as bad as the pain was, his thoughts were a lot clearer today than… Christ, how long had he been in the hospital? He pressed the call button.
A bored looking nurse dressed in scrubs came into the room.
“How’s the headache, Mr. Serpe?” she asked, neglecting to pronounce the ‘e’ at the end of Serpe.
“Serp-ee,” Joe corrected. “And the headache feels like a curse.”
“Well, you’re more coherent than you were last night. That’s good. I’ll get you something for the headache.” She checked her watch. “The doctor should be making his rounds within the hour. Would you like me to get your sister? She’s sleeping out in the lounge.”
He wasn’t quite as coherent as the nurse thought, because the last time Joe checked he didn’t have a sister. Maybe concussions are like bad Star Trek episodes, only with more pain and fewer commercials.
“Mr. Serpe. Your sister?”
“Sure, send her in.”
Marla looked awful and wonderful. He sat up in bed. It wasn’t quite as dizzying and painful as he expected, but it wasn’t a joy either. Marla sat down next to him, running her hands over his head, silent tears streaming down her checks. She kissed him in a most unfamilial manner.
“Here, Mr. Serpe, take one of these and-” the nurse stopped mid-sentence. At least she no longer looked so bored.
He took the capsule and swallowed without water. The nurse left, shaking her head.
Joe held Marla close. “Sis, if I’d only known you were such a good kisser…”
“They weren’t going to let me stay or give me any information, so I told them I was your sister. How’s your head?”
“Hurts. How long have I been in here?”
“Bob Healy brought you in last night. You weren’t making much sense.”
“What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I know I went to visit Frank at the Suffolk County Jail. It was snowing and I think I remember getting on the L.I.E., but things are sort of a jumble after that.”
“You had a car accident just off exit 70. That’s where Bob found you.”
“My brother’s car, shit! What-”
“Bob took care of it. It’s at his friend’s body shop. He called before to see how you were doing. He wants you to call him if you’re up to it.”
“Good, yeah, I have to tell him that Frank’s-”
“-protecting someone. Joe, you told him. He knows.”
“God, I musta been in bad shape yesterday, huh?”
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I wasn’t trying.”
“Do you remember leaving me a phone message?” He just smiled. Marla rested her head on his shoulder.
“Are you nuts?” George Healy shouted at his brother. “First you got me sticking my nose in every case since Judge Crater’s disappearance and now you want me to ask the cops to search all their records for yesterday’s accident reports and abandoned cars. It snowed yesterday, if you hadn’t noticed. You have any idea how many accident reports there are going to be?”
“Just the L.I.E.”
“Just the L.I.E. what?”
“Between exits 72 and the Suffolk/Nassau border. So it would probably be a Highway Patrol report.”
“Do me a favor, Bob. Go to the dictionary and look up the meaning of the word ‘retirement.’”
As Joe had asked, Marla went back to his apartment to feed Mulligan and to pick out some clothing for him that didn’t smell of vomit or number two home heating oil. She understood that much of his request. She was far less certain about why Joe wanted the big picture of him and Frank standing under the Mayday Fuel Oil, Inc. sign. Removing the picture from the dresser, Marla noticed another picture. In it, Joe, his hair all black, face clean-shaven, held a young boy in his lap. The boy had Joe’s face, a Yankees cap on his head, and an oversized first baseman’s mitt on his right hand. She replaced the picture and, as instructed, reached into the rear of his sock drawer.
She felt the edges of a small box and got it out. Curious as she was, Marla didn’t open it. She packed all of this stuff neatly into Joe’s gym bag, rubbed Mulligan’s cheek and locked the door behind her. When she pulled out of the driveway, Marla was too lost in her own thoughts to see the black Navigator trailing her down the block.
The three of them sat in the booth of the Venus Diner. Joe, his head finally feeling a little better, sat next to Marla. Healy, just having finished detailing his first night on patrol with Pete Jr., sat across from them.
“So, you think he did Reyes?” Joe asked, sipping his coffee.
“The Strohmeyer kid did something to somebody. That I’m sure of. Was it Reyes? I don’t know, but the time line fits. I’ll push him a little harder tonight.”