“What—”
“Look, Mr. Pemberton, you don’t know me from Adam, and I’m fine to keep it that way. But I’ve got something to say, and I’m going to say it, and if you care about your kid you’ll listen. Don’t make him do things he’s scared to.”
“You’d better get out of here before I call the police.”
“I’ll be gone before they get here. Now listen. The kid doesn’t want to do something dangerous, something scary, don’t make him.”
Some maniac was on his stoop, with no one else around. “Sure, sure,” he said. “Whatever you say.”
“You don’t sound like you mean it.”
“Who are you?”
“A concerned neighbor. Remember. No scary stuff if he doesn’t want to. No man stuff if he doesn’t want to.”
I did a one-eighty and went down the walk and I heard the door close behind me. I was guessing he was still just inside it. Thinking about what I’d said. That was all I could ask for.
Jody was eleven when he went to sleepaway camp. He didn’t want to go. He said the woods and the animals scared him. But I thought it was time he learned to deal with his fears. Sheila wanted to let him stay home. I compromised. Said if he felt the same way after three days, I’d let him come home. It only took two for the bee to find him. We didn’t know he was allergic to bee stings.
Thirty years on, I’d never really gotten over it. Sheila’d done better, far as I could tell, and she kept me together for all those years I acted like a prick. Supported me when I couldn’t keep a job.
Eventually we bought the apartment in Mutual 14 — they call it a co-op, but an apartment’s all it is — and there we were, sixty-six apiece and in a retirement community, and I finally started to let it go. Being there with all those old folks, with my own mortality looming, I’d been able to put things into a little perspective. The thing with Chuck’s father was my first episode since we’d been there.
When I got home Sheila knew something had happened. She asked if I wanted her to stay home from her painting club. Leisure World had a wagonload of clubs. Dance clubs, hobby clubs, nationality clubs, religion clubs, about six dozen fucking clubs.
I put on a happy face and said I’d be fine. She didn’t believe me, but she knew not to push. So she went to her club.
But I wasn’t fine. I was eating myself up from inside. Making myself sick. I went outside for some air. Before I knew it I’d wandered down the road to Hank’s.
He let me in and went for a couple of beers and when we were all arranged in the living room he said, “Something eating you?”
Before I knew it I’d told him the whole Jody story. When I was done, I guess he felt obligated to reveal something to me. He said, “I’ve got something to tell you too.”
“I know,” I replied.
“Know what?”
“What you’re about to tell me.”
“Since when?”
“First time I met you.”
“How?”
“Because when you were in the news everyone told me I looked like you. So I had your face in my head. When I saw you—”
“No one here knows.”
“At Leisure World.”
He nodded. “Except Rae, of course.”
“No reason that should change. Hell, I doubt more than a few even heard of you. The timing. How’d you manage that?”
“Pure dumb luck, I guess.”
The timeline of Terry Bouton’s — that was Hank’s real name — arrest and trial for killing Allison Lopez Bouton, his second wife, pretty much paralleled that of the cops who beat the shit out of Rodney King. The case against him was sloppy, and he got off. It would have caused a lot more of an uproar were it not for the timing. His verdict came in an hour after the cops’, and there was no room on the news for Hank, not with L.A. in flames.
Life and death were on my mind. “Did you do it?”
He leaned back, leaned forward. Took a long pull on his beer.
“Stupid question,” I said. “Forget I asked.”
“It was an accident,” he said.
“Look, let’s just let the last minute or so—”
“I found her with another guy.”
“Hank—”
“But when I busted in... he was... hell, my wife, for Christ’s sake. I just...”
“Look, I—”
“I nearly shot him too.”
“How come you didn’t?”
“Because the bastard jumped up and said neither one of us wanted people to find out what happened there that night. He said he knew a lot of lawyers. He said if I didn’t bring him into it he’d be sure I got off.”
“And you believed him?”
“Didn’t have anything to lose. I got a fair trial, they’d’ve fried me.”
Sounds at the door interrupted. It was Rae. She came in, put down her purse, looked at the two of us.
“He knows,” Hank said.
“I thought he might,” she replied. “What’s he going to do about it?”
“Ask him.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.” To Hank, “Nothing’s different.” I stood up. “Thanks for the beer.”
I went home and waited for Sheila to arrive and make everything better.
I didn’t see Hank the next day, or the one after. The one after that, not until 10 at night. There was a bang at the door. I figured it was him. Most people at Leisure World knock politely if they have the gumption to show up unannounced that late.
I pulled the door open and he rushed past me, with Rae in his wake. They waited until I closed the door, then Hank gestured toward the bedroom.
“Out,” I said. “At a play. With the theater club.”
“He tried to kill me.”
“Who did?”
“The guy we were talking about the other day. Had someone try and run me over. In the parking lot at Spaghettini’s.”
I turned to Rae. “That how you see it?”
“Asshole came out of nowhere and nearly clipped him.”
“What kind of car?”
“It was dark. How do I know?”
“It was a big old Lincoln,” Hank said.
“Deliberate?” I asked.
“Could’ve been,” Rae said. “Could’ve not.”
Back to Hank. “Were you loaded?”
“I had a couple of drinks.”
“Four,” Rae said. “You had four.”
“Probably nothing,” I said. “A drunk driver. There’s a million of ’em out there.”
“What if he sends someone else?” Hank said.
“He’s not going to send someone else. I don’t think he sent anyone in the first place. Just lock your doors. I’m sure everything’ll be fine.”
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
“It’s Tim Swift.”
“What is?”
“The guy, for Christ’s sake. The one who was with Allison. He’s running for Senate now. You’ve seen what a whackjob he’s turned into.”
I remembered watching Channel 6. What that reporter looked like after the little “misunderstanding” at the Swift news conference. “Can’t argue with that.”
“He can’t afford to have me floating around. I’m a loose end.”
Key in the lock. “That’s Sheila,” I said. “She doesn’t need to know about this.”
The door opened. In came Sheila. She took in the three of us. “What’s happening?”
“Hank’s got a gas leak. He came to borrow a wrench.”
She didn’t believe me and knew she wasn’t supposed to. “Did you leave all the windows open to let the gas out?”
“No,” Rae said. “Come on, Dad. We should get back there and make sure the windows are open, before we blow ourselves all to hell.” She grabbed his arm and hustled him out of there. The door shut and I locked it and turned around.