The Way Home

TWENTY-THREE

The large man wore a windbreaker over a T-shirt and jeans. The small man wore black. They stood before Chris Flynn, still seated in his chair. Chris had slipped his cell back into his pocket. He held a beer bottle loosely in his right hand.

“Get up,” said Sonny. “Let’s take a ride.”

Chris slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“We need to have a talk.”

“We’re talking now.”

“Not here,” said Sonny.

Chris’s eyes disconnected from Sonny’s. He drank slowly from his bottle of beer.

“Get up,” said Wayne.

Chris looked at him blankly. Wayne’s brush mustache seemed to spring from inside his nostrils and lay beneath a flat nose in a deeply lined, imploding face. He appeared to be rotting. His wiry arms were dominated by ink.

“What do you want?” said Chris, returning his gaze to the big man with the walrus whiskers and high cheekbones.

“Somethin that’s mine,” said Sonny.

“What would that be?”

“Try to tell me you don’t know.”

“I’m not playing this game,” said Chris.

“You will.”

“You’re trespassing.”

“Fuck you, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Chris looked at him with lazy green eyes.

The big man held one hand out to Chris and turned it into the shine of moonlight. Chris saw a tattoo on the crook of it.

“You know what this is?” said Sonny.

“Prison ink,” said Chris.

“What, specific? ”

“It’s a four-leaf clover.”

Sonny breathed out heavily in exasperation. Chris thought he saw the little one smile.

“It’s a shamrock,” said Sonny Wade. “You ride with the rock, means you’re part of a special club. You know what that club is?”

“The dick suck club,” said Chris.

Wayne grinned and giggled. Sonny’s smile showed perfect ugly teeth, gray in the light.

A car drove by and they all went silent.

“Let’s just get this done,” said Sonny, and he reached into his windbreaker.

“I wouldn’t,” said Chris. “Whatever you got inside that jacket, you pull it out, it’s a mistake.”

Sonny kept his hand where it was but made no move to pull his gun. “I said, let’s walk.”

“I’m not goin anywhere with you.”

“How ’bout I just murder your ass right here?”

“You’ll lose what you’re after.”

“Chris Carpet,” said Wayne. “Boy thinks he’s a real tough nut.”

Chris felt the blood leave his face.

“Shut up, stupid,” said Sonny.

A Montgomery County police cruiser drove by on the road beside the house. No one spoke, and the car passed from sight. Sonny’s black eyes flickered and he moved his hand. Chris saw the grip of a pistol inch out from the jacket.

“There a problem here?”

Andy Ladas emerged from the shadows of the side yard and stood well back from the two men. In his hand was a flipped-open cell.

“Chris,” said Andy. “Is there a problem? ”

“Is there?” said Chris, staring into Sonny’s eyes.

Sonny’s hand came empty out of his jacket and he dropped it to his side. He looked at Wayne and nodded shortly.

Sonny looked down at Chris. “See you around, fella.”

Sonny walked out of the yard, his little partner creeping along beside him. Chris heard car doors open and slam, and the turn of an engine. He heard the creak of worn shocks and watched the old black sedan roll down the street.

“How long were you back there, Andy?”

“I came off the porch soon as I seen those two walk back into the yard. Those guys didn’t look right.”

“What did you hear?”

“Most of it. I was about to call nine-one-one.”

“Wasn’t any need for that. But thanks.” Chris stood from his chair and killed the beer left in the bottle. He tossed it on the ground and noticed that his hand was shaking. He picked up the cooler and gripped its handle tight.

“You all right?” said Ladas.

“Yeah,” said Chris. “When my dad comes, don’t speak on any particulars. Just tell him I’m inside.”

He walked toward the bungalow, using his damp T-shirt to wipe away the sweat that had broken on his face.

Thomas Flynn arrived shortly thereafter and parked Amanda’s SUV sloppily on the road, one set of tires up on the curb. He jogged across the yard to the front porch of the bungalow, where Andy Ladas sat, working on another beer and a smoke. Flynn was winded and his color was up. His shirttails were out, covering the. 38 he had holstered at the small of his back.

“Is Chris all right?”

“Yes,” said Ladas.

“What’s happening here?”

“Couple of guys were talkin to Chris outside.” Ladas cut his eyes away from Flynn’s. “That’s all I know. They’re gone and he’s fine.”

Flynn went into the house. He stepped to the door of Chris’s apartment and turned the knob without knocking. It was a small place consisting of a bedroom, living room, kitchenette, and head. From behind the closed bathroom door he could hear the run of a shower. Flynn had a seat in a cushiony chair. He looked up at the crowded bookshelves. On the small table beside him lay a bookmarked copy of Wartime by Paul Fussell.

The shower shut off. Soon Chris stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist.

“Dad.”

“Everything all right?”

“I’m good.”

“You’re so good, why’d you send me that code?”

“Can I dry my hair off and put some pants on?”

“Go ahead.”

“There’s beer in the refrigerator, you want one.”

Flynn found a bottle of Budweiser and uncapped it while Chris changed. He drank off a good piece of it standing up and finished it sitting in the same chair.

He’s taking his time, thought Flynn. He’s figuring out his story and his lies.

Flynn went back to the refrigerator and got another beer. He was drinking it when Chris stepped barefoot into the room, wearing jeans and a wife beater. His hair had been towel dried and left uncombed. The look on his face was clever and annoyed, as it had been when he was a teen. As if he was expecting a tongue-lashing from his father, was prepared to take it, and would give up nothing in return.

“Well?” said Flynn.

Chris pushed hair back behind his ears. “Couple of dudes came by to speak with me about somethin. I thought there was gonna be trouble, but I was wrong. I apologize for bothering you.”

“What did they want?”

“I owe them money,” said Chris. “I get into these card games sometimes. Texas hold ’em, like you see on ESPN. Only these are played in basements around town. I was into those two for a coupla thousand dollars.”

“Bullshit.”

“It was a card debt.”

“No, it wasn’t. You’re lying. Don’t forget who you’re talking to, son. I had years and years of experience watching you lie to me. You don’t look any different to me right now than you did when you were sixteen.”

“I’m telling you how it was. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Say the truth. You sent me that signal. If it was nothing, you could have handled it yourself. If you needed just a little help you could have called the police. Shit, the station house is right up the street.”

“I wouldn’t call the police,” said Chris.

“I forgot,” said Flynn. “You don’t talk to the po -leece.”

“That’s not necessary,” said Chris, and he left the room to get himself a beer.

When he returned, his father was staring down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry,” said Flynn. “I was out of line.”

Chris dragged a chair beside his father and had a seat. Flynn popped the knuckles of his left hand with his right.

“Calm down, Dad.”

“Okay.”

“You know I’m tryin.”

“I do.”

“I go to work every day. I pretty much play by the rules. But you know, some things, some of the bad habits I picked up along the way, and especially the experience of being locked up-”

“I know. It’s hard to shake.”

“Me and Ali went out to Pine Ridge today. Ali had some work stuff to take care of out there, and I joined him. Bein back in my unit, looking into my cell, it hit me kinda hard. It’s tough to get that monster off your back. Wasn’t easy for Ben, either.”

“You telling me that you and Ben slipped back into some criminal thing?”

“No. I already told you; Ben didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So those two men were here because of a card debt.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit,” said Flynn.

The two of them sat there and drank. Flynn finished his and went to the fridge and got another. He caught a look from Chris as he retook his seat.

“You should slow down,” said Chris. “You gotta drive home.”

“Fuck that,” said Flynn. “I’m a grown man, and you sound like your mother.”

Flynn took a long pull from his bottle.

“I’m not comin in for a few days,” said Chris. “I need some time off.”

“How you gonna pay your gambling debt if you don’t work? What about the vig? Isn’t that what you guys call it?”

“There is no vig.”

“On account of there’s no debt. ’Cause this card game thing is bullshit.”

Chris chuckled. “You can’t let it go, can you?”

“That’s all right,” said Flynn, his eyes a bit unfocused. He drank off more of his beer. “You’ll tell me the truth when you’re ready, I guess. I don’t wanna pressure you or nothin like that.”

“Can I say something else?”

“Go ’head.”

“When I come back to work, I’m not wearing that polo shirt anymore. I’ll wear anything you want, but not that. Me and Ben, we never liked those things. They reminded us of our uniforms at the Ridge. Is that all right?”

Flynn could not look at Chris. He said, “Yes, Chris. It’s fine.”

Chris cleared his throat. “I’m…”

“What?”

“I’m thinking of taking a class or two, spring semester, over at Montgomery College. American history.”

“That’s nice,” said Flynn. And because he was his father, he added, “What would you do with that?”

“Just check it out and see what happens, I guess,” said Chris. “Maybe work toward a teaching degree. I dunno. Things are gettin kind of serious between Katherine and me. If I’m gonna be, you know, responsible for someone else… I’m sayin, I don’t want to be installing carpet all my life.”

“I don’t want that for you, either.”

“Anyway.”

“Yeah.”

Flynn got up and went to the kitchenette and stood over its sink. He drank deeply of his beer, took a breath, and finished what was left. He placed the bottle along a row of empties on the counter and walked toward the front door.

“I’m outta here, Chris.”

“Dad?”

Flynn stopped walking. “Yeah.”

“Thanks for coming. When I called, I mean.”

Flynn stared at Chris, his eyes sad and knowing. Now would be the time to say the words that needed to be said, but he could not. He waved and walked out the door.

Chris stared at the bottle in his hand. He drank from it, his chest heavy with emotion.

Flynn stood at his bar cart and poured three fingers of Beam into a rocks glass. He sipped at the bourbon and felt it bite as Amanda came into the dining room. Her eyes traveled over him and flickered away.

“I’m just having one before bed,” said Flynn.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“What would Jesus have done, Amanda? If he’d had a son like ours, I mean. Do you think Jesus might have a drink once in a while, just to take the edge off?”

Amanda hugged her arms. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I got there and whatever was going on was over. Chris says he’s in a little trouble over a gambling debt.”

“Chris doesn’t gamble. Does he?”

“No idea. But he’s lying about what went down tonight. Still lying to me, after everything we’ve been through.”

“Maybe there’s a reason.”

“He was mixed up with Ben on something. Ben was killed because of it, and Chris won’t tell me or anyone else what it’s about. That’s the reason, Manda. Chris fucked up again. He’s into something wrong.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you’re blind. You always have been.”

“At least I didn’t give up on him.”

“Yes, you did. Call it nurturing if you want to put a sweet name to it, but to me, you just gave up. Because you stopped expecting anything from him. I never did.”

“He’s our child.”

“He’s a man. And I can’t accept what he is. I won’t.”

“Give him a chance.”

“I always have,” said Flynn. “And I’m not the only one. You remember that time he broke into those cars in the parking lot of that Tex-Mex place on Wisconsin?”

“Tuco’s,” said Amanda. The owner of the restaurant had called them at home. His people had watched Chris do the crime on live camera. He’d been caught by a couple of employees and brought back into the kitchen. Her husband had told the owner he’d make restitution when he picked Chris up.

“When I got there,” said Flynn, “I went up the stairs with these Mexicans, or whatever they were, to this little security room they had with video monitors in it, on the second floor. In the dining room of that restaurant the waitstaff was dressed in bright outfits, the music was festive, and everyone was smiling. Y’know, one of those happy ethnic eating experiences for white people in Ward Three. But up in that room these guys looked like some rough Spanish dudes who’d just had a well-to-do kid come to their business establishment and ruin that experience for their customers. I mean, these guys were hot. I had to beg them not to call the police. And I had to stand there with them and watch a tape of my son in that lot, looking around and hesitating before he made the decision to break into those cars. I was saying, ‘Don’t do it, Chris. Please, don’t do it.’ But he had al ready done it. I was watching a tape of something that had happened an hour earlier. Those Mexicans must have thought I was nuts.”

“What difference does it make now?”

“The point is, I gave him plenty of chances. The guy who owned the restaurant, he gave the kid a chance that day, too. Chris just kept on screwing up.”

“That was ten years ago.”

“Right.” Flynn swirled bourbon and looked into the glass. “You’ll be happy to know that he’s making plans, at least. Says he’s going to take a couple of classes at Montgomery College in the spring. And apparently he’s serious about Kate.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Amanda.

“His blue area’s finally catching up to his green area.”

“What?”

“Reasoning and emotion. The limbic system and the prefrontal cortex. Remember Dr. Peterhead’s presentation on that easel? Chris’s brain is evening out. Now if he can only stop himself from stumbling. Refrain from those criminal impulses he’s got. I guess that’s a different area of the, the cortex.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“I’m going to bed.”

Amanda left the dining room. Flynn listened to her footsteps ascend the stairs.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he shouted.

There was no reply. He closed his eyes and drank.

In his apartment, Chris sat in the dark and drank another beer. He had been thinking on something the little man with the thick mustache had said. As the pieces began to connect in his head, murder came to his heart.