The Fixer

26

In the late afternoon, after moving to a new B &B, in Boston, Rick went back to the house.

He took measures-parked three blocks away and didn’t get out of the car until he felt sure no one had taken notice of him-and carried a cooler of Bud for Jeff and the crew.

But everyone had gone home except Marlon and Jeff. Marlon was still working, framing, screwing in two-by-fours. The racket made it hard to hear what Jeff was saying. Jeff and Rick popped open cans of Bud and sat on the plaster-dusty hardwood floor next to a Sawzall and a discarded can of Red Bull.

“The city inspectors came by,” Jeff said, popping open a beer.

“What for?”

“Make sure everything’s going according to code.”

“I assume we passed.” Rick opened a beer and took a few cold sips.

Jeff shrugged. “They know me by now. You do enough work in the city, they get to trust you.”

Marlon shouted, “Mind if I pack it in for the day? I’m finished up here.”

“Go ahead,” Jeff shouted back.

A moment of silence passed. Jeff scratched his chin. The goatee was probably new and he hadn’t gotten used to it yet. He looked at Rick, tilted his head. “Ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How much money was there, inside the wall?”

Rick hesitated, but only for a minute. The question wasn’t whether Jeff knew; it was how much he knew. He shook his head vaguely. “I didn’t count it. Forty, fifty thousand, maybe? Maybe not that much. But, I mean, it was a lot.” Because any found money was a lot, to him and to Jeff. Jeff, who worked hard for it. And Rick, who used to.

“It sure looked like more than that.”

“I wish.”

Jeff looked at him for a few seconds, but it seemed a lot longer. “Huh,” he finally said. “Hope you’re keeping it in a safe place.”

“I think so.”

“Good. I mean, that’s a lot of money, and you wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. People hear about that kind of money around, they do all sorts of extreme stuff.”

“I know,” Rick said uncomfortably. It didn’t sound like any kind of a veiled threat, but he couldn’t be entirely sure.

“You think your dad saved all that, or what?”

“I wish I could ask him about it.”

“Does he… I mean, I know he can’t talk or anything, but does he get what you say to him?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t be sure, but I’m pretty sure he does understand.”

“How do you know?”

Rick hesitated. “He grabbed my hand. When I said something about the money. Like he was warning me, maybe.”

“Warning you?” Jeff sounded amused.

“Could be I was just imagining it, I don’t know. Maybe it was nothing. I just get this eerie sense that he’s not a vegetable. That there’s someone home inside that head.”

“You ever watch Breaking Bad?”

“Sure.” He and Holly had spent several steamy summer weekends binge-watching that TV show about a high school chemistry teacher who becomes a meth cook, addicted, a couple of zombies sprawled on the bed, the air-conditioning on high.

“Remember the old guy with the bell? The-”

“Sure. You mean, could I do something with that kind of letter board they used on the stroked-out old guy? It’s an idea, sure. But I’m not sure it would work. Years ago we tried that on him, but no luck.”

“Can’t hurt to try again.”

“I can’t get him to blink once for yes and twice for no, or whatever. He blinks, but I’m not sure what he’s responding to. I need to get him seen by a good neurologist.”

“You know what; I just did a remodeling job on this great old town house in Louisburg Square, belongs to the chief of neurology at Mass General. I could ask him.”

“You stay in touch with him?”

Jeff nodded. “He’s a great guy. He was happy with the work. It was pretty damned fine, if I say so myself. We did an awesome winding staircase on the main level.”

“You think you could get in touch?”

“Happy to. He was telling me about all this crazy-ass new shit they’ve been doing at MGH with, like, magnets on the brain or something. Really wild.”

“Like electroshock therapy?”

“Isn’t that where they hook your brain up to a car battery or whatever whatever? Nah, I mean, it’s literally like they put some kind of really strong magnet on your head.” He tapped the side of his skull. “It makes depressed people undepressed, he said, and they’re starting to use it on people with brain damage or stroke. It made me think about your dad.”

“Put me in touch with him,” Rick said. “I’ll try anything.”