Max spread out more photographs on the table-pictures of the street intersection, the health club entrance, a nearby construction site, the chaos of cars. Max put his finger on the construction site. “The traffic is so bad on that block, owing to a convenient condominium tower currently heading skyward, that even when the constabulary is called, it is going to take them days-positive days, my boy-to make their entrance.”
“I’m not going to discuss it,” Owen said, taking the plates back into the kitchen. “You’re being a lunatic.”
“It’s ambition, not lunacy. Unless he rob a bank or two, a thief is not a proper thief. Banks are where they keep the money. Willie Sutton said that.”
“And if you had paid any attention to our criminal history tour,” Owen said, coming back, “you would know that he was in prison when he said it. Max, you made me promise to keep you out of prison. I’m trying to do just that. Please forget about this.”
“No. The show must go on whether you are in it or not. Your Uncle Max waits for no man.”
“Jesus Christ, Max, I can’t believe I’m even related to you.”
“Fine, then, you ungrateful whelp,” Max yelled. “You are not related to me.”
Until the past few weeks, Owen had not seen Max lose his temper more than two or three times. But now the old man’s face darkened and he brought his fist down hard on the dining table. Owen’s can of iced tea hit the floor.
“Miserable stripling! You imagine any flesh and blood of mine would turn down an opportunity to make a quick quarter-million? Or quiver in fear before a security camera and some ill-paid minion in a blue uniform?”
An uneasiness crept into Owen’s belly. “Max, what do you mean?”
“In brief? Thou art a chicken.”
“About not being related to you. What did you mean by that?”
“Nothing. Spoke recklessly.” Max was huffing still, but his colour was changing back to normal. “Heat of the moment.”
“Max, answer me. What do you mean, I’m not related to you?”
“Nothing, boy. Nothing! Are you in or out?”
“Max, what did you mean?”
“Oh, fine, then, fine!” Max clamped his hands over his ears and let out a roar. “Hammer on my skull with your questions. Half drown me with repetition, repetition, repetition. If you will be told, you will be told: I am not your uncle. I am no blood relation to you whatsoever. Never was, never will be. There. Are you satisfied now?”
Owen was unable to speak for a few moments. When he finally did, he found himself stammering. “What are you saying? You’re my grandfather’s brother, right? My great-uncle. From Warwick. That’s what you’ve always said.”
Max unclamped his ears and sat back down, his roar having apparently deflated him. “I may have somewhat exaggerated.”
“Oh.”
“I–I hope you won’t take this in the worst light.”
“Max, just tell me the truth, will you?”
“Believe me, lad, with all my heart I wish I could say to you, with accuracy, that we are of one blood, but we are not. I am not your uncle, aunt or cousin thrice removed. I am not related to you in any way.”
Owen sat down hard. He felt as if his insides had been scooped out.
“Max, I don’t think you should say something like that just because you’re mad at me. Just because I don’t want you to risk your life over another goddamn show …”
“No, boy, it’s the truth.” Max cleared a space and put his elbow on the table, leaning head to hand, shading his eyes. His voice was quieter than Owen had ever heard it. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time,” he said. “A long, long time. But I could never-I could never come up with a satisfactory way to do it. It always seemed too soon, or not the right moment. But I knew you would have to be told.”
“I don’t get this at all,” Owen said. He was staring at the floor as if the parquet squares would resolve themselves into an explanation. “If we’re not related, why am I living with you, Max? Why did the courts give you custody? Why would you even ask to look after me? I just don’t understand what the hell is going on here.”
Max elaborately cleared his throat. “A ticklish question-no, no, I see the thing clearly now-a ticklish question indeed. Why indeed am I looking after you, a boy to whom I am no relation whatsoever-aside from loving caretaker, doting mentor, affectionate partner in crime?”
Now it was Owen’s turn to yell. “Max, tell me what is going on! If you’re not my uncle, who the fuck are you?”
“Calm yourself, lad. No good will come of yelling. I am-how to put this … I am. Well, to begin at the beginning …”
“Max, please.”
“You remember the circumstances of your parents’ untimely quitting of this world?”
“The car crash? They just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The police were chasing this guy, and-”
Owen gripped the table with both hands. The blood seemed to have drained from his head, and for the first time in his life he felt that he might actually faint.
“You’re a bit pale, boy. Perhaps you’d better-”
“Oh my God.” Owen clutched his forehead as if he could protect himself from the thought. “You’re not my uncle.”
“Easy, lad. Bound to be a bit of a shock at first.”
“You’re not related to me.”
“Well, no.” Max gripped Owen’s shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Still your friend, though. Still your pal.”
Owen took a deep breath. “You were the guy they were chasing? You were the-back when my parents were killed? You were the guy the cops were chasing?”
“Well, um, yes. I suppose I would have to say yes to that particular question.”
“You were the guy they were chasing. I’m just-I can’t-God, I can’t deal with this. You’re telling me you killed my mom and dad.”
“No, no, no. Nothing of the sort. I was being pursued at high speed. A corporate banquet show gone awry. Bad timing. Bad casting. Doomed from the start, really, and the hounds were on my tail. Under the circumstances, I may have gone over the speed limit.”
“‘Speeds of up to a hundred and twenty miles an hour,’ Max. I have the clippings.”
“Don’t belabour the point, boy. I’ve already admitted it, I was driving too fast. I made a sudden swoop to the right, and unfortunately the nearest driver thought it prudent to swerve to the left. Your parents, coming the other way, left the road and, well … the rest you know.”
“They plowed into a utility pole.”
“Gross misfortune.”
“Misfortune!”
“Catastrophe, no question.”
“You still don’t think you did anything, do you. You still don’t think it’s your fault.”
“It was thoughtless, reckless, hasty-”
“How about stupid, Max? How about criminal? How about murderous?”
“Stupid, I grant you. Criminal, yes. But murderous-no, my boy, not murderous. I didn’t pull in front of your parents, some other car swerved into their lane. I was devastated by it. Racked with guilt. And yet I couldn’t see that turning myself in would do any good. It would not resurrect them. It would not unbreak your heart.”
“How did you even know about me?”
“I followed it in the papers. I read everything I could. Naturally, I was terrified of being caught and going to prison. But also, I was struck dumb by the profound coincidence of our having the same last name-as if we shared a ghastly destiny cooked up by some long-dead Greek. I decided to do everything in my power to make that destiny … less ghastly.”
“Jesus, Max. Tell me you’re making this up. Just because we have the same last name, you decide it’s all right to come into my life and …”
“Not just that. My heart went out to you. I was appalled by your situation. I made inquiries at the social agencies and tracked you down. I had no plan, no chart, no map of the future. I just felt compelled to insert myself-discreetly, at this point, distantly-into your life. To make sure you were okay.”
“Okay? You killed my fucking parents, Max. I was not okay.”