16. Friends with Fu Manchu

Coincidences, those are the Nature's way to warn you.

Frank Lundy stumbling upon Trinity while exploring the potential premises.

Angela Bishop having a casual conversation with Angel Batista.

Me noticing how familiar the name "Jacob Broussard" sounds.

It's all about noticing, making something out of fleeting almost nothing. So… thank you, Mother Nature – and what do I do now?!

The hell I know. Get your head out of your ass for starters?

Wasn't talking to you, Deb. But if you can offer some help…

I'm not here to help. I'm here to gloat.

Love you too.

No you don't. I'm just a part of your sub-fucking-conscious, remember? You knew something was wrong from the very beginning, that's why you've made me back.

I didn't know it was so wrong! If only I knew – I'd be much more careful and cagy and…

Oh you were, all the time, like a pro hoe. You even lied to Harrison about not being computer savvy, remember? You had no reason to, you did it out of sheer caution, the same caution that made you always hide a lot of things, like your mastery of advanced Jujutsu.

Well, I've only studied very specific fighting techniques, suited for The Code trade… but I see what you're trying to say.

You've always belittled your abilities to prying eyes, Big Brother. Nothing but a lab rat, geek, clumsy klutz…

Everyone's victim… You sound just like Fitz.

You couldn't help but learn from him, too.

All of the sudden, Deb's laughed and danced a weird kind of jig around me.

"What?" I asked out loud, knowing the direction of Deb's thoughts already.

Lucy, you fool.

Oh yeah…

Hey Jimmy, you're such an enormous charm, every hot lady in vicinity would jump in bed with you! Do me now, Jim, my loins are…

Stop making faces, Deb. I knew Lucy was assigned to me as a kind of spy. It's the oldest trick in the book, and the funniest part is…

What? Say it.

I genuinely like her.

Figures. You're drawn to any tail, you dawg.

Feeling like I should make some witty comment here.

That'd be first.

Say I'm the fool again.

Oh you are, bro. But maybe it's not that bad. Remember the only reason you started dating Rita was for a front.

The same could be achieved here, but… Do I even need a front?

You can't have one. They know you are you.

They're not able to prove it yet.

Make sure they won't be. Laugh to Hoop, bone Lucy, take genuine paternal care of Harrison. Stay in sheep's clothing. As long as you're not out of it, they can't shoot the Big Bad Wolf you are, no matter what they do know, Big Bad Brother.

And sooner or later they'll need to back off. No surveillance operation can last forever. But what if I couldn't, what if my Dark…

You've kept him at bay for ten years. And now you seem to be even more motivated to. Think of Harrison.

You're right, sis. Since Miami, I've never slipped once before Matt Caldwell. Now I just need to never ever slip again.

'Just', Deb said, leaving me alone.

I turned the key and took the Impala to Fuchs Road.

[***]

Deb's right: just is always easier said than done. Yet some parts of the just are easy enough nonetheless.

Routine saved me before, it was helping me now. I was thinking things through, I was putting my body in order; I plunged into the sweet abyss of mediocrity, cabotaging mostly between the motel, the hospital, and Harrison's school, cruising downtown for Damian Church sometimes, and landing occasionally at Lucy's.

Lucy was unfailingly sweet, asking innocent questions, to which I was answering with no less innocent banalities. I've never dared to rummage through her things again, and felt no need to. She's found a way to keep me away from the real her: any attempts at serious conversation about herself inevitably led us to bed. After sex, she'd gently laid her head on my shoulder, ran her little finger along the scars on my chest, and asked questions.

From time to time, I would start talking about something vaguely reminiscent of "plans for the future", and, with grim satisfaction, I've noted that Lucy would always gently put the brakes on this subject. Despite promises, she never introduced me to her son, and she neatly avoided talking about his father.

In one of our conversations, Dr. Stewart's mentioned that Lucy has been working at the hospital only very recently.

"Good girl," he said looking at me slyly but, being an intellectual he was proud to consider himself, refraining from winking, "Can't go wrong with this one, Jim."

I smiled back and turned the chat to my current condition.

And the condition wasn't bad. It wasn't as good as I'd like – yet it was getting better every day, definitely. I even started visiting a small local sports field at Morrison and Coté after dropping Harrison at school. It was free to the public, and there were even some rudimentary exercise machines crudely welded from pipe scraps.

At first, most of the regulars weren't too happy to see me on their turf, but after I've revealed to them the bits of my recent past, gangsta grins turned into something remotely more human. I was a 'Snow White' still, yet I was near destitute, crippled, and considered felon not so long ago – very desirable character traits – not really accepted, but tolerated at least.

"Killed a cop, allegedly" – quite a remarkable shibboleth in certain circles.

Most of those guys would fit my table perfectly, I thought as I traded 'yo!'s with them every morning. Maybe when I've got my money… if I get it. Harrison and I could move south, I would find a casual, normal occupation, and then maybe, just maybe, the very just just maybe…

At this point in the thought process, I'd pull myself up and move on to the next exercise. After having myself sweated out properly, I'd go to fetch Harrison if he had a short day, or to Lucy's if she was off duty.

"Now you've been exposed," I kept repeating Hoopman's words to myself.

"They told me to spy on you," I kept recalling all the time.

"This game is never really over for you," I kept obsessing, smiling so as not to grit my teeth.

Days went by, money were melting like an ice cube in a glass of Hot Rum Mojito at Casa Isola terrace; my Dark Passenger was lying low in his grim hiding.

One of these days, Hoopman's called.

[***]

We were meeting at Westbridge Business, in a small two-room office they rented specifically to support their local activities.

"Mister Lindsay," Fitz said as he stood up to greet me.

He looked exactly the same as when we last met. Even the button-down suit looked identical, although I was sure the little lawyer was just buying them in bulk.

In the Court, I witnessed how passionate Fitz can be in my protection, and I hoped to hope that at least he wasn't a part of this, for lack of a better word, "plot" against Dexter Morgan as you don't really want to know him. But logic, the heartless logic of The Code, demanded me to remain on my guard. Luckily, it's much easier to imitate friendliness when you actually feel it.

"Mr. Fitzgerald, good grief!" I said, "Am I glad to see you."

"Likewise, mister Lindsay. Likewise. How do you do?"

"It's getting better, what can I say. You?"

"Splendid, equally. Now, before we are interrupted…"

Hoopman's burst into the room with coffee on a tray.

"Had to rob the buffet… Hey ya, Jimmy!" he shouted out as he dropped his smoking plundering on the nearest desk and grabbed me into his arms. "Mah man! Looking good, eh? Fitzie, you look at him – strong as an ox, complexion's fresh… Still with the cane, no, yes? Nah, I know it's nothing! You will survive, you will survi-ive!.."

I was fluttering in his arms like a flag on a mast, occasionally inserting gulps and interjections of embarrassing nature. Hoopman's joy seemed so sincere and so overwhelming that I felt guilty for knowing his real goals for me.

On the other hand, what are his goals? For all I know, Hoop might represent the local police, the FBI, any other Federal agency, of which, fortunately, we have more than fits into the mind of any good citizen… He might be an 'individual entrepreneur' like Kurt, looking to avenge one of my past victims. He might be a fellow monster seeking an alliance with his Kindred. Or I might be wrong completely and there's some very simple, very beautiful explanation to everything, as innocent as I myself was in the Court.

I had no way to probe Hoopman any deeper, because the active probing could show I know something that goes beyond my projected scope. Just like in quantum physics where it is postulated that you cannot know the state of a particle without changing this state – because the measurement itself is an effect.

"Mister Hoopman, if you please…" Fitz intervened.

"Okay, okay! It's just…" the biggest particle I knew finally let me go. "We've such a terrific news here, Jim! Your life's gonna… Ahh. How's life?" he winked with both eyes at once, "How's Lucy, eh? Do you two, you know… wham-bam? hanky-panky? eh? He-he."

Don't blame me: I just couldn't completely avoid trying and probing. What's the joy in life if you couldn't troll your girlfriend's ex a little, right?

"Oh, Lucy…" I smiled stupidly. "You know, we go along so nicely. I like her, and she… I mean, I'm thinking…"

"Whah?"

"Well, I'm thinking of maybe, well, proposing. Well, not propose proposing, but…"

"Proposing!" he squealed off the top of his lungs. "Oh Jimmy, dude! Cowabunga! Proposing… Who's your best man? who's your best man?"

"Mister Hoopman, if you please!.."

"Fitz, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It's just I can't bear it as Jimmy's here kicking my butt, it's just so freaking much! Making Lucy a decent woman, turning squeeze to spouse, forgive my Canadian…"

Was it just my imagination, or did he really have an unkind squint in his eyes now, just for a split second mayhaps…

"By Jove, mister Hoopman," Fitz hammered out ever calmly, paradoxically so, "We are not really interested in quantifying how much abuse your arse can bear. You are proper blissful to see mister Lindsay and you have made the fact abundantly clear. We must get to the point now."

"The Best Man, 'member!" Hoopman silently mouthed to me, going from wild delight to businesslike concentration in an instant. He picked up his worn briefcase, which had been standing in a corner before, with solemn restraint pulled out a heavy folder of papers, and somewhat reverently handed it to Fitz.

"Looks important stuff," I said as I helped myself to a coffee cup.

"It is, mister Lindsay," Fitzgerald responded as he unbuttoned the folder, "Very much so. This portfolio contains the result of our, let us avoid misplaced modesty, successful work at the preliminary hearing stage, as well as the result of several months of subsequent interactions with certain Federal agencies. You shall have time to carefully review the contents of these documents. As for the time being, I have the honour to announce that, as part of the out-of-court settlement, the State has agreed to…"

"Three dot one million, Jimmy!" Hoopman yelled out, visibly unable to contain himself, "Geronimo!"

"What?!." I felt like I had been hit on the head with a heavy sack. Seven figures – yes, but this much seven?..

"Three million one hundred and seventy thousand United States of America dollars, to be exact. And I am inclined to regard this amount as a practically achievable maximum in a case like yours, mister Lindsay. Especially considering your stern unwillingness to spread and preach this horrific story nationwide."

"And you shouldda've, Jimmy!"

"Thank you, mister Hoopman, now would you please make yourself at least marginally less irritating, if you will? Thank you."

"Three M…" was all I could manage at the moment. Money equals freedom, and with this amount of freedom…

Act stupid. Be smart.

Yes. Yes, Deb.

"From this amount, we must deduct three United States of America dollars for the services of our company in representing you in the preliminary hearings in your criminal cases. And our company's fee for representing you in out-of-court settlement negotiations… mister Hoopman, next paper, please… thank you, right here."

"Normally we go for 35 or 40 percent," Hoop said, snappily turning pages, "But for you, for you we went down to 25!"

"Next, please," Fitz commanded. "As you can appreciate, your medical bills are covered completely… next… excluding any subsequent physical and mental health therapy of you choosing – those are to be covered separately. Living expenses… food expenses… contingencies…"

Page followed page. I obediently nodded after each, feeling like a detail on a very long and very monotonous conveyor belt. Were these virtuous paladins of the law robbing me along the way? Of course they were. I didn't care, and I didn't really mind: Fitz and his team did the impossible getting that much compensation for a non-fatal injury anyway; there were some notable forces at work behind the scenes obviously.

"How much?" I interrupted, feeling that I would be bombarded with these pages to death. "All this aside – how much in the end?"

"Well, mister Lindsay. Your net income will be two million two hundred eleven thousand fifty two point eighteen United States of America dollars."

So many years of hard work to cleanse society of murderers, rapists, pedophiles – and here it is, the reward. Gratz, Big Brother!

Thanks, I guess.

"Thanks, guys," I repeated out loud. "I… I don't really know what to say, but…"

Can you at least squeeze out a tear?

Nope.

Lazy fuck-nugget.

Can't help it.

"Relax, pointdexter, that's our job," Hoop said, "And we ace it, right, Fitzie?"

"This is our first and only collaboration to date, mister Lindsay," Fitz commented dryly. "And yes, we did it quite well, if you are ever in need of my own opinion."

Hoopman shook my hand scrupulously:

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Jim, seeing as it's you. Anyway, modern beans're not what they used to be, coupla 'ions won't get your kids very far in life, eh? But at least…" Hoop pointedly brought his glossy face closer to mine, "Now you can start making them, the kids, get my drift? Go propose, Jimmy, you're such a Dreamboat now!"

[***]

I wanted to called Lucy. After all, I did rattle I was going to marry her, right?

Ah-h, those neverending lies. Angela Bishop lied that she was the one who shoot me – and now she's in ocean-deep trouble, and no matter what happens, she can't take it all back without being punished for perjury. I lied to Hoop just to see his reaction – now I need to act my act with Lucy too, because it'd be very, very suspicious to act otherwise.

Oh dear… Most psychopaths find lying much easier; why did I have to become such an unconventional monster?..

So I pulled out my cell, hesitating over a way to break the news to Lucy without it requiring to hand over the ring immediately. Luckily, before I could take a breath, Harrison called.

"Hey Dad, where're you? Can you pick me up?"

"Hey you. Sure, wait for. Why early, everything okay?"

He chuckled over the speaker:

"Wake up, Dad. I'm done, it's Summer break already!"

I put down my cell and looked out the Impala's window.

These days, they were going by so fast it made my head spin out of reality. It was summer all right. In my dark dreams, I missed its coming.

Nothing really keeps you in Albany anymore, bro.