Part 2 (2/2)
”What's going on with you, man?” Charlie said. ”You got that mopey, hangdog expression you used to get whenever your brother came around.”
”Maybe he did,” I muttered.
”Huh?”
”Never mind.”
”Okay, Mr. Big Shot Investigator, why are you back in town?”
”Stop calling me that. And can't I just meet a buddy for a beer?”
”An hour's drive? In the snow and cold? This late?”
”Jenny and I got in a fight.”
”What did you do this time?”
”What makes you think it's my fault?”
Charlie laughed.
”It's complicated.”
”I bet it is.”
”Let's just say nine-to-five doesn't live up to the fantasy.”
”You fantasized about having a nine-to-five job?” Charlie pointed in the vague direction of the foothills. ”Dude, I got a s...o...b..x in my attic. Feel free to borrow some magazines. You need better fantasies.”
”No one keeps p.o.r.n in a s...o...b..x anymore, Charlie.”
”It's a metaphor.”
”No. It's not. But whatever. That's not what I mean. Before all this went down, I had a goal, y'know? As long as I was chasing after that payoff, I was okay.”
”I could've told you nine-to-five sucks. Best you can hope for is landing on workman's comp like my Uncle Jimmy. An insurance office? Gonna need one h.e.l.l of a paper cut.”
”I mean, I thought, if I could get regular work with benefits, get Jenny back, get my son back-if I had a chance to be an everyday dad, be reunited with my family-they would make the rest of it worthwhile.”
”You telling me they don't?”
”No. I'm not saying that. Jenny and Aiden are my whole world. I'd be lost without them. It's just . . .”
”What?”
I shook my head. ”I don't know, man.” I drained my beer. ”That f.u.c.king job. I hate it. Feel like a monkey in a suit peddling a bicycle. I'm not cut out for corporate.”
”What are you cut out for?”
”Beats me. Christ, I feel like I'm sixteen again, throwing punches against the wind. I wasn't like this before. You ever get that way?”
”I ain't the guy to ask. I'm one step from a ditch digger.”
”How's that working out?” Last winter, Charlie had gotten himself canned from the phone company and started working for my old boss, Tom Gable, boxing up the remains of old farmers, clearing antiques, peddling merchandise at flea markets along the sh.o.r.e. Lots of freedom. Little room for advancement.
”You know that game, Jay. If Tom didn't pay me under the table and cut out the middleman, I couldn't survive. Once the unemployment runs out, I'll probably have to crawl back to the phone company.”
”Seriously?”
”I'd rather shoot myself first.”
Charlie banged his pint until Rita returned with two fresh ones, looking p.i.s.sed she had to set foot outside. ”Ah, that's what I love about this place. Service with a smile.”
”Doesn't it get to you?”
”What?”
”All of this. The s.h.i.+t we have to do to keep going.” I nodded into the black night, toward the seedy Turnpike south of town. ”Maybe those b.u.ms and dope fiends have the right idea. Shack up in some fleabag, let the government foot the bill.”
”Just living is hard enough,” Charlie said. ”Then you add the rest of it-bills and jobs, having to sign up for overdraft protection? Dude, I don't know how people aren't running out of their houses screaming down the street every morning.”
”p.i.s.ses me off. The sc.r.a.ps we're left with. While others roll like pigs in s.h.i.+t.”
”Any pig-f.u.c.kers you have in mind?” Charlie snuffed his smoke. ”You're my boy, Jay, and I love you. But do you know that every time I've seen you this past year, you've brought up Adam, Michael, or Gerry Lombardi?”
”Bulls.h.i.+t.”
”Fact. Every time. You're getting as bad as Fisher.”
”What's Fisher got to do with any of this? Besides, that's not true. I didn't mention the name 'Lombardi' once tonight.”
”Yeah? Then who are you talking about? I'm not an idiot, man.”
”I took a wrong turn today. Ended up outside an abandoned Lombardi Construction site.”
”When? Where?”
”This afternoon. On the way to a client's house. For work. Western plains, in the sticks. That's not the point. Seeing the name, the quarry, the rusted machines and discarded trailer parts-brought back last year. It sucked.”
”I'm sure it did, but-”
”Those pictures, Charlie. I can't get them out of my head. What if it was old man Lombardi? What if we let him get away with it? Adam and Michael had to know what their father was up to. Remember Adam's head of security, Bowman? That 'roided-up m.u.t.h.e.rf.u.c.ker with the Star of David tattooed on his neck? Adam Lombardi sicced that psychopath on me looking for the hard drive my brother stole-”
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