Part 24 (1/2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.
”JESUS, JAY, YOU'RE worse than an ex-boyfriend. How many times are you going to call until you get the hint?”
”As many times as it takes for you to call me back!” I tried to keep the anxiety at bay and not sound like a complete psycho. We hadn't parted on the best terms, I knew, conflicting emotions warring inside me, but I needed Nicki on my side. What I said next didn't help my cause. ”Where have you been sleeping?”
”What the f.u.c.k business is it of yours?”
”That came out wrong.”
”I'm busy. What do you want?”
I tried explaining the same information I'd already left on her phone half a dozen times. Her reaction told me she hadn't listened to any of those messages. I reiterated about Bowman and how desperate the Lombardis were for that one particular Xerox. I told her about the reporter, Jim Case. How close we were. Then she tried to make me sound crazy.
”I know, Jay. I got the voice mails. All sixty-four of them.”
”I didn't leave sixty-four voice mails.”
”Where are you? What number is this?”
”My friend said-”
”Your friend is wrong. Everything I copied from Longmont, I gave you.”
”The only reason I asked where you're sleeping is because they sent someone to your apartment, house, wherever you live to get it.”
”Who?”
”Lombardi!”
”To get what?”
”The photocopy!”
”I don't know what you're talking about.”
”The man I met with-he broke into your place. To steal a photocopy. Kids s.h.i.+pped out of state. Think.”
”Why are you talking to a guy trying to break into my house?”
”That's Bowman! See! You didn't listen to my messages!”
”For the last time: I don't know what you're talking about, Jay. Have a drink. You sound f.u.c.king cracked out.”
”Please, Nicki.”
Dead silence on the other line.
”Nicki?”
”Go ahead.”
I resented the belittling tone but did my best to break down my night, a conversation and circ.u.mstance so surreal-meeting my former adversary Bowman at a Dunkin' Donuts on the seldom-used Merrick Parkway, attached to a gas station I'd never seen before, Jim Case and his phone that never stopped ringing-the longer I talked, the more I began wondering if, in my sleep-deprived, neurotic state, I hadn't gone fugue and imagined the whole d.a.m.n thing, conflating my brother and me, last year and this. I didn't have any lorazepam with me, chest thumping, thrumming, rattling the rib cage. Thank G.o.d Nicki finally came around.
”Wait a second. My last day there. When they fired me, yeah . . .”
”Yeah what?”
”I was all hyped up over Judge Roberts, y'know, back when I thought if I helped you out, you might give a s.h.i.+t about me.”
What could I say to that?
”I'd gone down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. There was a box. I think it was meant for records. I told you, remember? Kids s.h.i.+pped out of state to Kentucky and Arizona.”
”Yes! That's that one.”
”It's funny because it barely mentioned Roberts' name. Had other s.h.i.+t on there.”
”Like what?”
”I don't know. It was very academic. Like the overview for a study.”
”Do you still have it?”
”I don't know.”
”Can you check?”
”Jesus, is it that important?”
”Yes!”
”I'll call you back.”
I fired up a cigarette and paced around my room. I peeked out tattered curtains. Fissures cracked the clouds. Freezing rain fell. Cars zoomed up and down the Turnpike, spinning mist and mud, miniature oily rainbows s.h.i.+mmering over mounds of dirty snow. Soon as I was done with one smoke, I lit another. The telephone rang.
”The header reads 'Executive Summary,'” Nicki said. ”It's like a cost a.n.a.lysis. An abstract. Concerns the juvenile justice populations in Kentucky and Arizona, the states where New Hamps.h.i.+re unloads its overflow. A feasibility prospective. Y'know, for privatization.”
”It says New Hamps.h.i.+re?”
”What do you mean?”
”Does it say that New Hamps.h.i.+re is the one s.h.i.+pping the kids out of state, and not, say, Vermont?”
”Why would New Hamps.h.i.+re keep a record of what Vermont does?”
”Never mind.”