Part 17 (2/2)
”You remember what kind of tattoo?”
”One of those Jewish stars.”
Charlie wasn't picking up, and the number I had for Fisher was out of service. Which showed how often I talked to the guy. I called Nicki. Got her voice mail. I was anxious to share the news. Even if I wasn't sure what the news meant.
I remembered that first day driving around looking for the Olisky house, taking a wrong turn and stumbling across the abandoned construction site with old Lombardi equipment rusting in ditches. That's where I'd seen the name before. On the guard shack on the way out. Toma.s.si. Red lettering and logo. At the time, I'd a.s.sumed vendor, on-site management, security of some sort. A quick Google search yielded Toma.s.si as the largest construction outfit in Ma.s.sachusetts, one of New England's oldest. Big fish gobbled up smaller fish all the time. This had to be the construction truck Seth saw. The more distressing factor was the Star of David neck tattoo, which could only belong to one man: Erik Bowman, Adam Lombardi's old head of security, with whom I'd had a run-in last year when he broke into my place searching for the hard drive my brother had stolen. Made sense a guy like Bowman would land another job in the same field. Except Bowman was no ordinary security guard. He was a former motorcycle g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger who beat, intimidated, and murdered, a thug with no conscience. In addition to knocking me out cold, I was pretty sure he'd killed my brother's junkie pal, Pete. Not that I could prove it. Now he was delivering hush money to keep a girl locked up in North River? Which made sense if he were still working for Adam. But he wasn't.
My cell vibrated. I took the call without a glance, expecting Nicki or Charlie, still buzzing over the implications of Bowman's involvement.
”Are you okay?” my wife asked. ”You sound out of breath.”
I didn't bother with the truth, that my lungs were working overtime funding a two-pack-a-day habit. ”Running to catch the phone,” I lied.
”You picked up on the first ring.”
”Must be a delay on your end.” I knew how stupid that sounded.
”Yeah,” she said, either not buying my excuse or not caring. ”I didn't know if you were still planning on coming up to see Aiden today?”
When she mentioned my son, I remembered her offer coming on the eve of a nor'easter. ”Thanks for the invite, by the way. Great time to plan a trip. Last night was supposed to be the storm of the decade.”
”I forgot you were getting slammed down there. I heard it was a false alarm though, no?”
”You forgot?”
”Yeah, Jay. I forgot. Same as you did, apparently.”
”They close the mountain roads out of Ashton, you know that.”
”Except you don't live in Ashton anymore.”
”I was there last night.”
”How am I supposed to know that?”
”Or maybe you didn't want me coming up to see Aiden in the first place.”
”I'm over two hours away. The storm wasn't going to hit us up here.”
”So, what? Now Burlington's your hometown?”
”Think whatever you'd like,” my wife said. ”Are you coming to see your son today or not? I need to know so I can plan my day-”
”It's wonderful you're trying to fit my relations.h.i.+p with our child into 'your day.'”
”You said you wanted to see Aiden. I'm trying to set that up. You were complaining yesterday that I was keeping him from you.”
”You are! By being three hours away in f.u.c.king Burlington.”
”Okay, Jay, I'm hanging up now. Call me when you are ready to see Aiden.”
”When I'm ready?”
”Yes. When you are ready to see your son, call me.”
”I'm ready now. But I can't control the f.u.c.king sky. If my son was home, like he should be, I could see him now!”
”Are you sure about that?”
”What's that supposed to mean?”
”Even if we were there, you'd be getting drunk in the garage with your sc.r.a.pbook, brooding over your dead brother, which is how you spend all your free time. Ignoring me. Ignoring Aiden. Chasing ghosts.”
”That's a rotten thing to say.”
”Sorry,” Jenny said, ”you're right. Call me later. After the storm's cleared. We'll set something up.”
”It's already pa.s.sed. The worst of it is out to sea.”
Jenny groaned. I could hear the frustration. I didn't blame her. I was sick of dealing with me.
My wife took a deep breath. ”Let's start again. Would you like to see your son today?”
”Yes.”
”What time is good for you?”
”What time is good for you?”
”What time is it now?”
”Like ten thirty. I think.”
”I have a few errands to run,” Jenny said. ”Why don't you plan on getting here later in the afternoon. You can take Aiden to dinner. Spend a few hours together.”
We hung up without saying goodbye.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
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