Small crimes

Chapter 10

It was almost midnight before I got back to my parents' house. I was surprised to see my dad still up. He was standing by the kitchen sink making himself some tea. He turned and gave me a self-conscious smile when he heard me.

'You left in quite a huff this morning,' he said.

I slid past him and filled up a glass of water and drank it down. I did that two more times and then washed out the glass and put it back on the shelf. After that, I turned sideways to face him.

'What did you expect?' I asked.

'We're not trying to fight with you, Joey. We're only trying to talk with you, that's all.'

He looked old standing there with his shoulders stooped and his face drawn and haggard. It softened my attitude.

'I'm sorry, Dad,' I said.

'I'm sorry too, son.' His eyes widened with concern as he looked at me. 'Joey, are you feeling okay?' he asked. 'You're sweating.'

'I'm okay, I've just had a busy day.'

'My God, you're pale as a ghost.'

'Don't worry about me, I'm fine.'

'How about I make you something to eat. Would you like some scrambled eggs?'

'Sure, Dad, that'd be good.'

I sat down at the kitchen table and watched as he got two eggs from the refrigerator, cracked them into a bowl, mixed in some milk and black pepper and then stirred them with a fork. When he was done, he put a frying pan on the stove, melted some butter and then poured in the eggs.

'I got some ham, Joey, would you like some thrown in?'

'That sounds great.'

He took a slice of ham, broke it into pieces, and dropped them onto the eggs before scrambling all of it. He then scraped the eggs onto a plate and placed it in front of me.

'How about some toast?'

'Sure.'

After he made me some toast and coffee, he sat down across from me with his tea. He sipped his drink slowly as I ate the eggs.

'What did you do today on your first day out?'

'Visited some friends. Nothing much else.'

I felt awkward sitting there with him. We were never very close. When I was a kid he used to spend a lot of his time at the firehouse and I never saw him much. Later, when I was in high school and starting as quarterback, we got a little closer. He'd show up for my games and take me out to dinner afterwards. Still, we never connected. Now it was as if we were strangers. He was just some old stooped man drinking a cup of tea. And I could tell he was as uncomfortable as I was.

He cleared his throat and waited until I looked at him.

'Joey, have you thought about what you're going to do?'

'What do you mean?'

'I was hoping you would think about college.’

‘I'm too old for that,' I said. 'I'm forty. I'm not going to sit in a classroom with a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.’

‘Other people have done it.'

'I'm not going to. Besides, how would I pay for it?’

‘I'm sure you would find a way.'

If I kept the police pension I'd be able to, but I wasn't going to do that. Besides, I needed to get a real job so I could do something for my daughters. I couldn't wait four more years for that. 'Even if I wanted to, I don't think too many colleges would take a forty-year-old ex-felon. What I was thinking was that maybe I'd go to a trade school and become a plumber, or maybe an electrician.'

His face deflated with that. 'You could do that, Joey,' he said, 'but I hope you consider college. I'm sure if you set your mind to it you could find a good school that would take you. I think that would be the best thing for you.'

'I appreciate your concern.'

He gave me a sad, wistful kind of smile. 'Do you remember what you got on your SATs?'

Of course I remembered. My SAT scores were a sore subject that we had gone over time after time in the past. I shook my head and pretended I didn't.

'Eight hundred math and seven-sixty English,' he said. 'The only thing that I demanded of you when you were in high school was that you take the SATs. You didn't even study for them and you got those types of scores. Even though your grades weren't too good, with those scores and the way you excelled in sports you could've gotten into a good college. I should've pushed you harder. I shouldn't have let you just drift along and become a cop.'

'And why was that?'

He let out a loud sigh. 'Joey,' he said, 'I'm going to speak frankly with you. I'm not trying to start a fight or upset you. Can I do that?'

'Go ahead.'

He seemed stuck, his face locked in a pained expression. As he sat there with his hands resting lightly on the table, I couldn't help noticing all the liver spots decorating them. There were more spots along his forehead where his hair used to be. Finally, his internal struggle broke and he made a decision,

'I shouldn't have let you because I knew how it would turn out,' he said at last, his manner more relaxed. I knew you'd get bored, and I knew with the way you, uh, are, you'd end up getting in trouble. I knew all that and I did nothing about it. Just as I know you'll get bored as either a plumber or an electrician and that you'll end up falling into the same old patterns. I don't think you could help yourself. I think college could change that. At least it could give you a chance.'

As I sat and stared at him, I could feel my throat tightening and a hotness spreading along my face and ears. Part of what he said was true, but only a small part of it. Yeah, I got bored as a cop, but that had nothing to do with what followed. The fact that he thought he could sit there and judge me when he didn't have a clue was infuriating. And the fact that he was so damn sure of himself only infuriated me more.

'Dad, it's almost funny you showing all this concern now,' I said. 'You couldn't even visit me once in seven years.'

'I'm sorry about that, son.'

'Forget it.'

'No, I'd like to explain. About not visiting you in jail-’

‘At this point I couldn't care less.’

‘Now, Joey, don't be like this!’

‘Don't be like what?'

'I'm trying to talk to you as a man,' he said. 'I'm not trying to upset you and I'm not trying to pick a fight. But I do want to talk to you. And I want to explain why we didn't visit. This isn't easy for me, but I want to explain. I think I should. Joey, what you did was so, um, so…' He seemed lost for the right word.

I volunteered, 'Unforgivable?'

He nodded. 'It was. I don't know if you knew, but I was there that night. I saw you when you walked out of the courthouse covered with blood. You were still holding that letter-opener. I saw firsthand what you did to Phil.'

He seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then his eyes focused back on me. 'You got to remember, Joey, I've known the Coakleys my whole life. Barry Coakley, Phil's uncle, was a buddy of mine in the department. I had worked alongside him for over twenty-five years. I couldn't face the guys after what you did, I had to retire. And then I started finding out more about you. About your gambling and drug addictions. I also had a long talk with Elaine. She told me how you used to spend almost every night at that strip club having sex with prostitutes.'

'I never cheated on my wife.'

He showed me a frail, sad smile. 'Joey-'

'I'm not lying about that. I did have a gambling and cocaine problem. And I did spend a lot of time at Kelley's. But I never once cheated on Elaine.'

He shrugged weakly. 'Maybe you didn't,' he said. Anyway, it took me a long time to come to terms with what you did, especially my role in it. It took a lot of soul searching on my part. The toughest thing for me, Joey, was that nothing you did came as any surprise to me. To be honest, I think I almost expected it.'

All I could do was stare at him. Stare at him and hate him for being so damn sure of himself. Finally I muttered something about was that so.

'Yes, Joey. I've read a lot of books and talked to a lot of people.'

I didn't say anything. I just stared at him and hated him all the more.

'I talked to psychiatrists, Joey.' His mouth moved for a moment as if he were stuck. Then he said, 'You've got what would be called a narcissistic personality disorder.'

'You're making psychiatric diagnoses now, huh?'

'Joey, please listen to me. Please. I know it fits you. I've talked to enough people and read enough about it to know that. Back then, of course, I didn't know what your disorder was called, but I knew what was in you. And I did nothing about it. I'll never forgive myself for that. I think that was part of why I couldn't get myself to visit you.'

I could feel myself trembling as I stared at him. My voice sounded odd to me when I asked whether my mother felt the same way.

'I'm not going to lie to you, your mother was hit very hard by what you did. She'd never wanted to believe me when I'd try to talk to her about you. She'd always defend you, Joey, always ignoring what was right in front of her face. Then after you tried to murder Phil, she couldn't ignore it any longer. I think that's why she spends almost every day volunteering. She's trying to make up for all those years of ignoring what she shouldn't have ignored.'

I had only finished half my food, but I'd lost my appetite for what was left. I pushed the plate away. 'Well, thanks for the eggs and the psychoanalysis. I think I'm going to head off to bed.'

'Joey, I'm trying to talk honestly with you.'

'Yeah, I guess there's got to be a first time for everything. But I appreciate your taking the time to figure out my personality defects. It was Very thoughtful of you.'

'I wish you'd think over what I said and not be so dismissive.'

'Look,' I said, feeling the hotness intensify along my neck and ears, 'you don't have a fucking clue; Go play psychiatrist with someone else. You don't know me and you never did.'

'Then explain to me why you did the things you did.'

'Because I screwed up. Because shit happens. Nothing more and nothing less.'

'Son, how many close friends do you have?'

'What?'

'Humor me, please, how many close friends do you have?'

'What's that supposed to prove? I just spent the last seven years in jail.'

'Before that. You can go back to when you were in high school. Name me one close friend.'

'I had plenty of friends on the force before I was arrested. And I had plenty on my football and baseball teams back in high school.'

'I know, son, but name me one that you ever considered a close friend and not just an acquaintance.'

'Look, I'm tired of this. I'm not playing this game anymore.'

'Son, I'm bringing all this up for a reason. Partly so you can try to get help, but also for your daughters' – and my granddaughters' – sake. You've been talking about custody, but you got to understand how harmful that would be. You got to understand what that would do to Melissa and Courtney. I know deep down you don't want to hurt them. But you got to understand, Joey.'

I was too angry at him to explain that I knew that as well as him. That any talk of seeking custody changes was so that him and my mom could see my kids. 'You think I could hurt my daughters?'

'I don't think you'd want to intentionally, but be honest, son, what real feelings do you have towards them?'

'What the hell are you talking about?'

'If they were to die tomorrow how would you really feel?'

'I've had enough of this.' I pushed myself away from the table. I turned my back on him. I had to. I couldn't look at him anymore. As I made my way towards my room I heard him stammer out from behind how he had books on the subject in his den and that I should try to read them. That was the only thing he would ask of me. I got to my room and slammed the door shut.

I stood frozen for a long time and then I started sobbing. I couldn't help myself. It wasn't out of hurt or pain, but because I was so damn angry. I wanted to hurt him for being so damn cocksure of himself about me and for twisting me – in his mind anyway – into some kind of monster. And for questioning whether or not I had genuine feelings about my daughters. For doubting whether I truly loved them.

Of course I didn't have a chance of sleeping. Not with the cocaine in my system and not with the thoughts that were racing through my head. Sometime around three in the morning, I went to the den and found his psychiatry books. Several of them were nothing but general layman's books. One was on personality disorders and another dealt with surviving a narcissistic personality. I thumbed through the general books, and then took the other two to my room.

I had both of them finished by five in the morning. From what I could tell a narcissistic personality was a form of a sociopath. They had similar characteristics: an exaggerated sense of self-importance, a complete lack of empathy towards those around them, and they were exploitive in their interpersonal relationships. True sociopaths, though, were better at hiding what they were and could be charming, while narcissistic, personalities, because they were so caught up in their grandiose views of themselves, stuck out like sore thumbs. They tended to be arrogant and shallow, with an unreasonable sense of entitlement and a need to be admired; kind of like spoiled brats. There were other things that I found that were interesting; their drugs of choice were alcohol and cocaine, they seldom formed close friendships, and they were driven by power. All in all it was interesting reading, but that's all it was.

You could probably point to any person alive, take enough stuff out of context, twist it around, and use it to prove they had any personality disorder you wanted to. I guess with my dad he couldn't accept the fact that there was no real reason why I did the things I did. He needed an explanation, he needed some underlying disease or mental defect to point to, so he found one.

It didn't matter whether it made any sense or not. The alcohol and cocaine use was an easy match. And he probably worked out in his mind that my motivation for being a cop had something to do with power. He was right about my not having any close friendships, but there were reasons for that. Back when I was in eighth grade I started spending a lot of time with Elaine. Probably the only time I wasn't with her was when I was in class or playing sports. That went on all through high school. I didn't have any time left over to develop close friendships. And I guess it wasn't important enough to me to care about it.

As far as wanting to be a cop, well, there were a lot of reasons for that also, and none of them had to do with me seeking out some form of power over those around me. Yeah, the idea of it attracted me as a kid, especially the way the cops were shown on TV, but there were other reasons. I didn't want to leave Bradley after high school. I was comfortable there, and besides, Elaine couldn't leave since she had to take care of her sick mother. I didn't have a lot of choices. I wasn't going to be cooped up in an office making minimum wage, and I didn't want to work in a garage or do construction. Yeah, I could've worked an assembly line, either building military aircraft in Bradley or computer equipment in Chesterville, but I didn't think I could deal with the drudgery of that. And maybe I wanted something with some respectability, but that didn't make me a narcissistic personality.

The thing is, none of the major characteristics matched. I certainly didn't have any great love for myself, I couldn't care less whether anyone admired me, and as far as a sense of entitlement, well, I'd have to think the opposite was true. I started taking the payoffs because I didn't want to make waves. I never wanted the money, I didn't feel entitled to it, but it was easier to just take the payoffs and keep my mouth shut. The money, though, made me feel rotten, and at some subconscious level I must have wanted to get rid of it as quickly as I got it. That had to be why I started with the gambling and cocaine. It had nothing to do with a narcissistic personality. But there was more to it. Loving myself? Shit, no, I had to have been trying pretty damn hard to hurt myself, and the reason had to have been because in fact I hated myself. Hated myself for just going along and taking money I didn't want. For doing things I didn't want to do. For once again just taking the easy way out.

As for lack of empathy, I had to believe I felt bad about what I did to Phil. At least I think I did. It's hard to say exactly. I know I felt uneasy about it, but it could be because he was walking around so that everyone in Bradley could look at him and remind themselves about what I did. If he had died that night and I had gotten away with his murder, maybe I'd feel differently now. It's hard to say. Of course, what I did to him was in some ways worse than murder. Making him into a freak, driving his wife away, and leaving him as nothing more than a bitter shell of what he used to be. How could I not feel guilty about that?

The one thing my dad said that stuck in my craw was how he had almost been expecting the things that I had done. The hell with him. If he wanted to invent personality disorders for me that was his business. If he wanted to write me off, fine, let him. As far as my daughters went, he could read himself psychiatry books from now till doomsday for all I cared. He had no idea what was in my heart. He never did and he never would. I wasn't going to waste any more time worrying about what he thought.

As I mentioned before, it was five in the morning. It had been days since I'd had any real sleep and my head was feeling kind of fuzzy. I went into the kitchen and made myself some coffee. I decided none of what was going to happen was worth worrying about. I would do what I had to and then move on. Just like anyone else in the world would.