Tower

2000

Milwaukee

Downer Avenue

December, late.

Milwaukee? Yeah, don’t ask. Okay, ask. I don’t give a fuck. Because it wasn’t Philly, Boston or Brooklyn. A lot of places aren’t like those places, but not unlike them in the same way as Milwaukee. Just something about the Midwest, tough to put a finger on. Everyone pictures it in winter, as it is now: sunless, snowy, gray, frozen. There’s another Midwest that the rest of the country never dreams of in their philosophies. Like that? Paid attention in English, especially during Shakespeare and Frost.

Waited to make sure Nicky made it to Kentucky all right, had a long talk with Shannon and her boy. Cute kid, made me play catch with him. Assured Shannon that Nicky hadn’t done her ex. Neglected to mention that Nicky had done the man that had done her ex. Didn’t tell her she’d be under surveillance until Boyle was in Attica. Easy to see what Nicky saw in her. Who knows what the fuck she saw in him? Who knows what a woman sees in any man?

That done, got in my car and drove west. This is fucked, I know, but I was following the Mets. Wanted to see a game in Wrigley Field my whole life. It’s an ancient park, reminiscent in its quirkiness if not in style to Fenway. Scalped a sweet seat. Rained out. Figures. Thought Chicago was a pretty place, but it was too much like New York. Cleaner maybe, smaller with bad pizza. Still, had a subway and too many tall buildings for me to stay. Next stop for the Mets? Milwaukee. Me too.

Like Shea, County Stadium was an old piece of shit. But unlike Shea, the stadium food was great and there was a cool, new, retractable roofed stadium being built in the parking lot to take its place. It was supposed to be open already, but while they were building it a crane or something collapsed and like killed a few guys. My bad luck continued. Not so bad, I guess, as those poor bastards got crushed by the crane. Seen their last opening day. Didn’t have to scalp tickets at County. Some guy gave me a spare. Liked that. Liked that a lot. Liked it that the Mets won.

Decided to stay in Milwaukee for a week. Months later, still here. Found a place on Downer Avenue. Don’t you love that fucking name, Downer? Sums it up. Lived just up the block from a movie theater and a bookstore and not too far away from the university. Gotten back into my reading. Go to the movies all the time. Summer was great, not crazy humid like back home. Lake Michigan is cool. Kind of like the Atlantic with Kalamazoo on the opposite shore instead of Galway. There’s these weird silver fish, smelt or some such shit, that wash up on the lakeshore by the thousands. Like a Passover fucking plague. Passes for normal here.

Fall was short, like two weeks. Then the sun disappeared, replaced by snow and grayness. You think it gets cold back East? Fuck that! This is cold, brothers and sisters. Few more months of this and Brooklyn in February would feel like South Beach. You understand drinking in a place like this. Jack Daniel’s and me became even better friends... best friends. Hadn’t been about friendship before. Always a nod to Kathleen. Milwaukee changed that. Nights were darker here somehow, darker even than Boston. Leeza and Kathleen were ever present, Rudi too, the cocksucker. Just didn’t have the energy to leave. Figured I’d live through the winter. Lived through worse, much worse.

Then one day, about a week ago, God lifted the fucking veil. Grayness burned away by the sun like a match through dark acetate. Still cold as an icehouse, but to feel the sun on my face was redemption, if only temporary. Bypassed the place down the block and walked over to this little crime bookstore near the lake. Christ, I’d been in bigger bathrooms. Thing was, the owner, this tall gangly guy with a Led Zep tee shirt, had a New York accent. Didn’t mention it. Afraid it would break the spell. Handed me my bag. Smiled at him large. Probably thought I was queer. So what? The sun was out.

Two doors down, an Irish pub run by Germans. Sums up Milwaukee, that. Was about to order a Jack.

“What can I get for you?” barman asked.

“Anything but Jack Daniel’s.”

Didn’t flinch. Put a can of Point beer on the bar with a glass. Never had something so mediocre tasted so fucking good. Whispered “Goodbye” to Kathleen. Threw a twenty down on the bar. Left. Barman didn’t chase after me. Understood about not wanting to break a spell. Stayed outside until the sun became irrelevant. There’s no delaying darkness. Least, that’s what I thought.

Put my key in the lock, night falling over my shoulder.

“We’re in love, remember?”

Fuck! I was losing it. The weather was getting to me. My redemption was at end. The hauntings were back. Fumbled with the lock. If Nicky could only see me now.

“I’m gonna freeze my tits off if you don’t open that lock!”

Leeza.

Forced myself to turn in spite of the spell.

Eyes had aged, if nothing else. Brightness dimmed. What had they seen? Mouth still dangerous, magical. Coat, hood, and gloves hid the rest of her. I stood frozen, not from the cold. Single tear leaked out of her left eye. Wiped it away. More intense than any kiss.

Twelve years old again. Her too, this time. No pretense in her smile. She was acting, she was pretty fucking good. Didn’t care. We circled my apartment like two tentative boxers feeling each other out.

How’d you find me?

Guessed.

No, really.

Have my ways.

Get you something to drink?

Yes... No. What do you have?

What do you want?

Lawrence Block, huh? When did you start reading this stuff?

Boston.

How’d that go?

You didn’t hear?

Hear what?

Told her about Kathleen, about the men I killed. Told her about Rudi. Realized I’d just confessed premeditated murder to a U.S. Marshal. Bright, huh? At least I hadn’t done it in writing.

Leeza was silent for a moment, weighing it out.

“Good. Hope the lions didn’t get indigestion.”

“Oh, I spread Rudi around. Tigers, snow leopards and cheetahs got some too.”

Her smile made me weak. Vanished. Her turn.

“Remember that Friday night, the call I got before we went out?”

Like asking me if I remembered my own name. Shit, remembered everything about that night. Just said, “Yeah.”

“It was Rick’s C.O.—”

“Rick?”

“My husband.”

“Husband. You’re—”

“Not anymore. Not since that night. His C.O. was calling to let me know he was killed.”

“Killed doing what?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“But—”

“Okay, it’s like this, there was a weird kind of symmetry in my life when I was living with you.”

“What?”

“Jesus, Todd, you can read but can’t you read between the lines?”

“Guess not. I’m sorry anyway.”

“The marriage was already a victim of our choices. We were all over the place, hardly ever saw each other. Love doesn’t sustain you. That’s bullshit. You have to sustain love. When you stop sharing lives the love crumbles. Pining lasted a little while, but it just turned to anger. Everything does.” Sounded like Nicky. “You start resenting even the things you used to find charming. Then there was you.”

“Is this a reading between the lines thing again?”

“I’ll have that drink now,” she said.

“Jack, okay?” Nodded.

Brought it to her. Looked at my other hand.

Puzzled, “You’re drinking beer?”

“Jack and me, we parted ways today.” Explained about Kathleen, Jack and the Red Sox.

“Love her, Kathleen, I mean?”

“Wasn’t about that.”

“It is for me.”

Didn’t speak again until the next morning.

That night in bed, held on tighter than I’ve held onto anything or anyone, our mouths close enough to breathe in each other’s thoughts. Eyes open, the both of us, for fear of slipping away. Rocking inside her, I prayed hard to that attentive God.

Woke up. Still night. The world smelling of Leeza Velez. Understood somehow about symmetry.