Robert B. Parker’s Fallout

Twenty-Four

He was passed out drunk until he wasn’t because Jesse was slapping him away, then hoisting the big man to his feet and half-dragging, half-carrying him inside.

“Elena know where you are?” Jesse asked him.

Suit mumbled something Jesse couldn’t understand.

“Does your wife know where you are, Suit?”

“No.”

“Why did you come here instead of home?”

“No good options,” Suit said. “Shape I was in, I figured even you were a better option than she was.”

Jesse walked Suit over to the couch in the living room, sat him down, Suit slumping to the side like he wanted to curl up there and try to sleep.

“You gonna be sick?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Hold the thought.”

Jesse called Elena then, told her that Suit was with him, he’d just had too much to drink, and was going to sleep it off here.

Elena didn’t react to the news with anger. Molly often described Elena as the five best things that had ever happened to Suitcase Simpson.

“He’s hurting so much, Jesse. You have to know that.”

“I do.”

“I guess drinking was his way of dealing with it tonight.”

“That was always my first option,” Jesse said. “And second. And third. But no matter how many times I tried, it never seemed to work.”

There was a pause at her end.

“He didn’t get into any fights, did he?”

“Just with himself,” Jesse said. “Spoiler alert? He lost.”

Jesse told Suit he needed sleep. Suit said not yet. Jesse asked where he’d been drinking. Suit said the Scupper, a place in the Swap whose general state had improved the way that whole section of town had, which had transformed into “The Scupper: An Eating and Drinking Saloon.” To Jesse that just meant better food, slightly less sawdust on the floor, fewer fights, inside or out.

Jesse asked with whom he’d been drinking.

“Max.”

“Who’s Max.”

“Bartender. I used to play football with him.”

Jesse nodded. Of course. Sometimes he got the idea that Suit had played ball at one time or another with everybody except Tom Brady.

“I hope you Ubered here.”

“Walked.”

“From the Swap? You know how far that is on foot?”

“Do now.”

He went into Jesse’s bathroom and took a shower. Jesse left some sweatpants that were too long for him but probably would fit Suit just fine, and an old hoodie that had robbery homicide on the front, one Jenn had given him as a birthday present when they were still married.

Suit still looked wobbly when he came out of the bedroom. Like he had been tagged a few times tonight.

But closer, incrementally, to being Suit.

“I finally knew enough to get out of there,” he said. “Drunk as I was, I knew that if somebody made me for being shit-faced in public, you’d fire me.”

His hair was still wet. Eyes bloodshot. Jesse nodded at the kitchen, sat him down at the table, handed him a mug of coffee. Suit’s hand was shaking as he brought it to his lips. Jesse knew this feeling. He knew Suit’s face, he’d seen it often enough in the old days staring back at him from the mirror. Jesse had ended up like this at Molly’s house more than a few times when he didn’t know where else to go. When he didn’t want to be alone as drunk as he was.

Even though she still called him the alonest man she’d ever met in her life.

“Nobody ever fired me when I was like this,” Jesse said, “at least not once I got here.”

Somehow Suit managed to build a small smile. “But they sure tried.”

“And nearly succeeded a few times.”

“What you really needed was a boss like you.”

“Got one,” Jesse said. “Name of Molly Crane. Maybe you’ve heard of her.”

Jesse asked if he wanted to try to eat something. Slightly bigger smile from him. “Maybe next month.”

“Was gonna have you stay here,” Jesse said. “But I should take you home.”

“Face the music?”

“You know that’s not your bride.”

“And tonight’s not me.”

“Aware.”

“It just hurts so bad, Jesse.”

“I feel the same way about Charlie.”

“You didn’t go to the bar.”

“No longer an option for me,” Jesse said. “At least not so far today.”

They sat in silence at the kitchen table, the only sound the ticking of an old Seth Thomas clock that had belonged to Jesse’s mom, and had survived the cross-country ride when he’d left Los Angeles. In the hoodie, Suit looked like a kid again. Just one who’d had a very bad night, in the middle of a far worse time for him.

“I don’t know how to do this!” Suit said, the words coming out hot.

“Nobody does, Suit. Till they have to.”

“I know I’m supposed to be strong for my sister,” Suit said. “The problem is, I don’t feel strong.” He ran a big hand through his wet hair. “I feel like I’m the one who’s falling.”

Jesse asked if he wanted more coffee. Suit shook his head. Jesse took his mug and put it in the sink. Past one by now. Suit wasn’t the only one who needed sleep. Jesse wanted to get with Nicholas first thing in the morning, see if he had an explanation for what Jesse had found on Charlie’s computer. Then pay a visit to Miss Emma. He’d talked to her already, on the phone earlier. He wanted to see if she could remember in better detail her last few phone conversations with Charlie. And to learn more about how she’d been ripped off.

“Jack didn’t kill himself,” Suit said, staring down at the tabletop. “I know that boy.” He paused. “Knew that boy. He would never do something like that, not with everything ahead of him.”

“Suit. Look at me.”

Suit did.

“Every teenage kid who ever did something to themselves had it all in front of them.”

“No!”

All of the hurt in his voice now.

Jesse said, “I’m not saying he did. But at this point in our investigation, we can’t rule it out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“But what I know for sure is that you’re no good to Jack like this. Or your sister. Or me. We clear on that?”

Suit nodded.

“Gonna take you home to Elena now,” Jesse said.

And did.