Sorry this update took sooooo long – I started back to school this semester and I'm just one (Russian) and it is kicking my butt! I have more respect than I thought for non-English speakers who write in English when their own language has such a different alphabet.
Thank you, Sands-Agent for the birthday wishes! I had a nice quiet day w/ my husband (we went to see The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe… and would you believe my husband has a thing for Tilda Swinton? Talk about out of the blue… ;) But he puts up with my Johnny Depp screen saver (my daughter counted 73 images on it) so it's not like I'm complaining... she is just so not his usual 'type.'
And thank you to everyone else who has reviewed! I truly, truly appreciate it. I promise that the next chapter won't be so long in coming!
Chapter Forty Seven:
Ramifications
Beth and I sit for a while holding hands, her in the bed and me in the chair; neither of us is really talking. I don't have anything useful to say and even though she's only been awake for a little while, I can tell Beth is exhausted. I've been shot enough times to understand… but every once in a while, she squeezes my hand or moves her thumb in a caress and I smile over at her and imagine she's smiling back. I really could spend the rest of my life with this woman – and that, my friends scares the shit out of me, because – because I just don't have that kind of luck. It's not just those God damned gypsies I must have pissed off in some former life, it's me. My life. My choices. Guys like me don't get the girl… but here she is. At least for right now, here she is…
"Why don't you go get some air," Beth's voice cuts into my thoughts. (I'd thought she was asleep over there, she's been still for so long…) "You need it, Cowboy," she adds when I don't move right away, "I promise, I'll still be here when you get back."
And – even though I know what she really means (that she's not going to vanish if I let go of her hand), I can't help but wince. Beth couldn't leave this room if she wanted to, not without someone to push her out of here in a wheelchair. My angel… my beautiful, vibrant, full-of-life angel, and she's going to be confined to a wheelchair, maybe for the rest of her life – just thinking about it makes me sick. And it's all my fault… all my fucking fault for putting her where she could get hurt like this…
"Shel, I'm not afraid."
"How can you not be?"
"I guess the only way to explain it is that I have faith in myself. I have faith in my body to heal – I have faith in the fact that I'm really just as stubborn as you are," she's smiling, I can hear it in her voice – but honestly, I'm having a real hard time smiling back at her. Beth goes on: "I have faith in you, too, you know."
"Why?" why the fuck would anyone have faith in me? How could anyone have faith in me?
"Someone has to."
Yeah, she's hit the nail on the head there… but still, "Ange – all the faith in the world won't – " it just won't make her walk again. She's a nurse, she has to know that.
"Tell me something – after you were shot – after – Guevara – why did you keep going? Hermano told me about how you had him guide you to the centre of the city – and about a rather spectacular gun fight – although I suspect he may have exaggerated a bit."
What does that have to do with anything I wonder… but, I guess owe her a little indulgence. I owe her everything. "Honest answer is that I just don't know. I don't know what was going through my head or what I hoped to accomplish – I just felt like I had to accomplish something. I couldn't let it all go to shit on me like that. I couldn't just curl up and die in the street. Why?"
"What makes you think I'm any less determined than you must have been, then?"
"I was pumped full of God knows what." And I'm a vain little prick. I couldn't go down without a fight, my pride just wouldn't allow it. But fuck if I really have any idea what I was thinking; I was just sort of operating on instinct there. Get to the centre of town and – and do fucking something.
"I won't go down without a fight either, Cowboy. It's not pride it's just – I don't feel like there's any other choice. I will walk again – I have to. How can you even begin to believe that – that I should just accept not walking, just because some doctor doesn't have the same faith in me as I have in myself?"
Her words cut right through, let me tell you. I don't think I've ever heard Beth so – harsh. I do feel a little ashamed of myself for not believing in her on this one, I just don't see how it's possible. All I can see (in my head, that is) is her in a wheel chair. "I guess I'm just a pessimist by nature."
"No arguments there. Now go on and get out of here for a little while – you really do need to get some fresh air. I'll be fine on my own, honest."
I guess – maybe she needs to be away from me for bit. I suppose I don't blame her. And – I could use a cigarette. I don't think it'll help – but – yeah. Smoking would be good. I give Beth's hand just a bare brush of a kiss and leave the room wondering if she really will stay with me after this… but I have to make myself believe that she will. I have to believe that someday she might love me the way I love her… maybe. Even if she only loves me a little bit, I'll take it – I'll take whatever she has to give a prick like me, because I don't think she realizes that she's already given me more than I ever thought I'd have. She's given me the world.
Now all I have to do is figure out how to keep it.
I don't quite remember getting from Point A to Point B last night, but stopping a couple of times to get directions, I make my way to the main entrance and park my ass onto a bench to have a much needed cigarette. I can barely remember the last time I went this long between smokes… and that memory is about as unwelcome as anything else, because it involves me and Milo and a small dark room… and… if he didn't sell me out and he's not dead… Beth is right. There's another very possible possibility and I don't fucking like it. I just don't know what to do.
Part of me wants to charge to the rescue – but where would even start looking. How would I fucking look at all. And you saw how useful Tonto was at a little B & E; he does not have the mettle for any serious "antics." I don't have any choice but to just sit on my fucking hands and let someone else do the looking, let someone else be the cavalry (not that I've ever actually been the cavalry… but it might have been nice to have been the good guy just once in my life.)
I'm half way through my second cigarette when I hear very familiar little feet running in my direction. I barely have time to ditch my smoke before Cicily is crawling into my lap – and let me tell you, it feels good to have her there. Somehow – somehow I don't feel quite so fucking useless when I wrap my arms around her and she snuggles in close like she's doing right now. She smells like her mother's shampoo – and – hmm, must be something from Tonto's pad, but it's still welcome. Warm. Everything about Cicily is warm.
"I missed you last night," she tells me.
"I missed you too, Sweetheart, very, very much. And I've got some good news," although there's still this fucking cold knot in the pit of my stomach, if I really think about it too hard.
"Mama?" Cicily asks hopefully – but she doesn't let go of me.
"She's awake."
Cicily just – she just hugs me. Tight. And I hug her right back – because this – this is just good.
Emma sits down next to me then; that's good too. She smells of freesia and leather and comfortable old flannel (yeah, what a combination, huh?) And I can smell Tonto's aftershave a little ways away off (I think I'm going to have to have a word with him about that crap – introduce him to something a little more – adult. Sorry if any of you all out there like that shit, but when I think of Aqua Velva, I think of the first aftershave I ever used, when I was about… well, never mind. You get the idea.) And at any rate, it seems as if Tonto's hanging back a little, giving us space. Giving me space. Smart boy – smart, smart boy… Em lays her head on my shoulder and slides her arm into mine without disturbing Cicily.
"How're you holding up?" I ask my kid.
"I'm – ok. I had kind of a melt down last night. Everything just – caught up to me, I guess."
But – she's still here, leaning into me… "I'm sorry, Em. You shouldn't have had to witness that." And it occurs to me (way fucking belatedly) that she's not the only one who saw what I did to Collins. Cicily might not have witnessed the act, but she heard him shrieking, she saw the blood, the hole in his head, where he used to have an eye… What the Hell have I done here – and why are they both still here, right here, holding onto me? (Maybe I'd be doing them all a favour if I just headed for the fucking hills…)
"I'm ok now," Emma tells me, although her tone tells me that she's not really ok at all. But she is hanging onto me. Despite what she saw me do – she's still – she's not afraid of me. "I – I grabbed a change of cloths for you too," she tells me then. "And – some of your personal stuff."
Personal stuff… I have a feeling she's not just talking about my toothbrush here. "Thanks, Kiddo."
"I left your bag back at Ryan's – I thought you might – you know want a shower or something today. The condo's still a mess."
"What are they gonna do with that man?" Cicily wants to know.
Oh talk about something I don't want to discuss… but I think (I hope) she's just asking if they're going to lock Collins up and throw away the key… "He's – he's never going to hurt you or anyone else again." I tell her in a tone that sure as fuck hope is reassuring. I really do not know how to talk to children.
"I knew you'd come back for us," Cicily tells me then in a real quiet voice. "But – I was scared it wouldn't be in time, for my Mama to be ok."
"Shhh – it's over now," I smooth her hair back away from her face a little. Yeah, I don't think either of the girls had a very good night last night… I don't think either of them is going to have a real good night for quite some time. "It's over and everything's going to be ok, now." Your mother can't walk – but – but fuck me because it really is all my fucking fault –
"I'm sorry – " Cicily begins.
"For what?" There's nothing in the world she needs to be sorry about.
"For being afraid."
"Oh Sweetie – " I stop myself. Talking to Cicily like she's a little kid isn't going to help. She is, for all that she really is a little kid, not a little kid. She's seen too much – been through too much – to be treated like some sheltered suburban child. "I was scared too, you know."
"You were?"
"I was real scared. I was scared when I walked in the door and realized that you and your mom weren't there – and I was scared when I found your mom and she wasn't awake." Small words, Sands – she's a kid – she's not a kid, but she's still a kid and she's still scared… I really am not cut out for this.
"Mama gets scared sometimes – she just doesn't ever want me to know."
"Grown ups are funny," I tell her (that gets just the wee-est bit of a chuckle out of the fruit of my loom – although she does a fair job of muffling it.) "But – what really matters is that your mom's awake – and she would probably love to see you." Because let me tell you, much more of this and I'm going to need another cigarette – only I just will not smoke with a kid in my lap. Fuck me – there is a kid in my lap. Ok, ok, so it's not the first time – but it's just one of those things that continues to boggle my mind (and if the Company is still survailing me, I hope to God they're getting this on video tape, because no one is going to believe it otherwise.) I give Emma Beth's room number and listen to the girls make their retreat – Tonto hangs back a bit.
"So how is she, really?" He parks himself on the bench, not quite next to me.
I get that cigarette I've been craving lit before telling him she's awake. I'm really not ready to go into details with anyone, least of all Tonto.
There's a bit of silence on his end (it doesn't last nearly long enough…) "Jeff – about yesterday –"
"Are you really that suicidal?" I ask the kid point blank.
"Come on – I'm serious."
"And what makes you think I'm not?" I snarl back at him. "Those water-cooler rumours aren't so far off the mark – or have you really forgotten how I almost blew your fucking head off that first night?" Yeah, I'm in a fuck of a mood all right…
"You weren't lucid."
Fuck. Just – just fuck. Fucking fuck, even. "Look – I appreciate you taking care of my girls last night, but that is about the only thing keeping you from pushing up daisies right about now, so don't push it."
"So – this is a – a bad time to try and talk you into reconsidering – "
"There won't ever be a good time for that little discussion, Kemo Sabe. Even if you hadn't landed that little bomb on my head, you're not cut out to deal with me. Why would you even want to? Or does it all just boil down to – to some twisted notion that blood is more viscous than good ol' H2O?" I take a long drag off my smoke. The nicotine isn't helping at all.
"Maybe," he admits. "But that doesn't mean that I'll ever expect any kind of – special consideration – "
"Good – you'll never get any, not from me or anybody else. The rest of the world isn't Mayberry."
Apparently he gets the reference, "I wasn't that sheltered growing up."
"Coulda fooled me. Come to think of it, you did fool me – you really had me going the whole time, because I never, ever would have guessed – " never would have guessed that we have something so fucking intimate in common… I think that headache is starting to come back...
"I wasn't trying to fool you, Jeff, I just knew this might be the only chance I'd have to meet you, the only way I'd ever get to know you, at least a little. I'm really not a deceitful person – and – and I understand that you're angry with me. I am sorry. I only wanted to know more about – about the rest of my family."
(I think I may be getting ill over here – or maybe I just need me some hip waders. Sad thing is, Tonto honestly sounds sincere – he's not laying it on thick, he's laying it on the line, all up front and honest like. Just what I need… I cannot believe we both fell off the same tree.)
"You've got your sister – you knew your father. I don't even have a photograph and my mother won't tell me anything about him. Can't you even begin to understand how frustrating that's been for me? Everyone else who knows anything just – just treated the whole thing the same way your sister did – they all slammed the door in my face. All I was looking for was some answers – some – contact."
"What about – whatever his name is, Wifey-Pooh numero doce's kid – ?"
"Arnie. He just wants someone to talk to – and I don't mind. I feel sorry for him because none of the rest of his family will have anything to do with him, and he's really a sweet guy."
"For a felon."
"It's not like he's some kind of hardened criminal or anything, he didn't kill anybody – er – "
I just smirk and wave Tonto onwards when it becomes obvious that he realizes he's eating his knees over there. If he only knew what my body count really looks like (and that's not counting the causalities of all those little wars I've either started or fueled, because I have no way to accurately tally those. But if you look at that last little escapade down in Mexico, you've got – let's see, a cook, a matador, a fucking clumsy waitress, Belini of course – those two fuckmooks outside the central building – oh yeah and that first guy – and Ajedrez – fucking bitch – sorry. I'm still really sore about that. And I guess it's fair to lay Barillo on me since I set it up – I'll take the credit for Guevara and Marquez too, even if once again I didn't pull the trigger – I did pull the strings. And that was just in – what – three days, I think – ? While it's unfair to call that typical – it certainly isn't unusual. The only reason I haven't done more damage since I've been back stateside is because – well, this just isn't Mexico and there's a big difference between being a wee bit of a sociopath and being just plain crazy. Only a truly crazy person goes around killing people when and where he's likely to get caught, because getting caught is just no fun at all.)
"Anyway," Tonto goes on, "Arnie isn't not much older than I am and – and he never really knew his father either. You're the only one – at least the only one who'll talk to me."
I do notice that Tonto is being very careful not to say 'our' father – I guess I have to give the kid a little credit on that score. He's figured out just how tender the subject really is. (And you'll notice I pretty much never use the word 'father' at all. I'm sure once upon a time, I might have thought of my old man that way, but that ended a fuck of a long time ago.) And of course, Tonto is still yammering:
"Do you really not understand how important this really is to me – ?"
"No, I don't get it at all," I tell him honestly. Really – I don't. I don't get it why Em ever wanted to meet me either, but I know she did. "But – what the fuck ever, right? You met me. You got to know me. You got to see for yourself just what kind of a twisted, insane little prick I really am. Bully for you. Now would you please just fuck off already? Go back to your happy little life and – and leave me alone." Why is that such an unreasonable request?
"Is there anything I can say to get you to reconsider? All I'm asking is for you to listen to me, Jeff – just hear what I have to say, that's all – then – then just do whatever you want – just listen to me first."
"Are you really going to give me a choice?" I take a long drag off my smoke. It really is a good thing I'm not armed with anything more dangerous than my wit right now, because I swear if I was this kid would end up worm food just on principal alone.
"I just – I want to make a difference, that's all. I know I'll never see the inside of a courtroom. I don't think I have to tell you I'd be a lousy prosecutor. I wouldn't make much of a defense attorney either – I don't have what it takes to stand up in front of a jury and argue a criminal case – I don't have your – charisma."
"Do not blow smoke up my ass, Kid," there's a real warning in my tone that time. I hate fucking brown nosers. (Chet Wheaton was a brown noser – most bullies are.)
"I didn't mean it that way. I'm just saying that – that I'm not a guy who would do well in front of a jury. I freeze up in front of people – and I just don't get the impression that you're at all shy."
Ok, that does get a little bit of a smirk from me – and a reprieve for him. (Of course, the funny thing is that I used to be shy – or at least a whole lot more quiet… but I think I'll keep that little tidbit to myself. Most people wouldn't buy it anyway, not even for a quarter.)
"My teachers all tried to talk me into corporate law, because most of that is drawing up and looking over paperwork – even when corporate attorneys go to court, it's never – it's just not like criminal law. It's almost always cut and dried, black and white, nice and simple."
Sounds just about his speed…
"I don't want to get stuck in the back of a file room looking up old case law to help someone else build his or her case. I want to do something – something useful, something that will really make a difference. I want to be the guy who – who brings down the bad guys."
Christ, is that a fife and drum core I hear playing the background? Might as well be. "All very noble, I'm sure – but just what the fuck does any of that have to do with me?" I am the bad guy…
"I know I'm no good in the field – but I can get better. I can learn – you could teach me. I meant what I said about enjoying working with you – and not just because of – of all that other stuff, I swear. I would have enjoyed working with you even if – if there wasn't – that. It's not the real reason I'm asking for a second chance and I am so sorry if anything I said or did was out of line. I just want you to know that I'm willing to work as hard as I have to on this. You're an incredible agent – a little challenging at times – but that's what makes you, you – and you're really someone I could learn so much from. Please – just – think about it before brushing me off."
Maybe I should start calling him Toto instead of Tonto, because he's starting to sound just like an eager little puppy over there. "Look – you really are a swell kid and all – but what makes you think I'm even planning on sticking around myself? Just in case you didn't pick up on it, I'm not exactly a people person. I don't play well with others – and I don't like anything about this city."
"I guess – I just hoped you would. Or at least that you might consider giving me another chance for as long as you are around. I'll give you one hundred and ten percent – "
"What makes you think I might want even one percent from you? Or half a percent? Was there maybe something in the warm reception you got from my sister that gave you the impression I might be that much more receptive to having a constant reminder of my old man's inability to keep his dick in his shorts hanging around my neck? Why would I want that?"
"I guess when you put it that way – I'm sorry, Jeff. I didn't mean to aggravate old wounds. You're right, of course – there's no reason you'd want me around – and every reason to want me to just get lost."
I wave aside his words (and the fact that yes, I have really popped his little red balloon over there.) "There aren't any wounds to aggravate – there aren't any real memories for me to pass along either. The fucker split when I was six. Al was two. That is the last time that I actually saw him face to fucking face." Although I do believe my tone may have just given away the fact that yeah, there are wounds all right, and they're about as deep as the fucking Grand Canyon. Greg Sands left us high and dry to go play house with his secretary, and about the only things he's ever given me are his name and a predisposition to be a real prick.
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault." And realizing that my fingers are getting a bit toasty there where I'm holding my cigarette, so I toss it to the ground near my feet and tromp out the butt. Fuck me. I need a drink. A big, stiff, one – don't really care what, either, just make it big. Fucking enormous. Gigantic even… and just about then my stomach rumbles loud enough to tell me that I could also use some food.
"You want – to maybe – get some breakfast?" Tonto asks, kinda cautiously.
This kid really doesn't know when to quit, does he? (Maybe it's just the ol' Mayberry congeniality – I'll bet this kid was a Boy Scout when he was younger.) "Just don't expect me to reconsider anything – and do not expect me to get warm and fuzzy on you," I advise in a tone I'm pretty sure conveys exactly what I'm thinking. "I appreciate you putting up the girls last night – but all you're going to get out of me for that is a thank you."
"I wouldn't expect any more than that. I didn't do it for any other reason than – than it was just the right thing to do."
Oh fuck me, he really was a Boy Scout, I'd bet my last cigarette on it. "How about you just direct me to the nearest chow – and maybe shut up for about ten minutes while you're at it." It's really not him, but my head is starting to throb. Well – ok, maybe it's a little bit him – but mostly it really is everything else. Beth. Milo. The fact that I really haven't eaten since Anna brought me those crackers and peanut butter sometime last night. I have way too much blood in my caffeine system – and – fuck me, but I share a serious amount of DNA with this Boy Scout from fucking Mayberry and that is enough to freak me right out over here – except that I have way bigger things to freak out about just now.
I mean – what exactly is 'eighty percent' mobility? And that was only a maybe, there, amigos. Maybe she'll only regain sixty percent mobility. So what – crutches? A walker? A wheel chair, but she'll be able to get herself in and out of it without needing too much help? She'll be able to dress herself – and – and take a fucking piss on her own. And she's not going to resent me for this someday…? Right. Sure she won't – just like I don't resent Collins for setting me up to get my eyes drilled out of my head…
And I don't even want to think about Milo and how fucking useless I feel there, too. I know I can't do anything for Beth, I'm not a doctor – but I should be able to do something to bring him home – if he's really still alive… but what can a blind man do in the field? (I know, I know, I shot those fuckers that day – but I was so doped up, I don't know what I was even thinking – or if I was thinking. I'm – I'm as useful as tits on a bull and I know it.)
Tonto gets me to the hospital cafeteria and manages to very succinctly walk me through the menu (something else I can't do without assistance – read a God damned menu.) I'm not even real sure I can eat right now – but the rumbling in my gut isn't giving me much of a choice. "You got an antacids on you?" I ask my little seeing-eye human as we park ourselves into a little corner table.
"No – but – there's a gift shop – they might carry some – "
"Make it so, Number One."
He just stops mid-whatever-he was doing.
"What the fuck do you think they play at two o'clock in the morning in butt fucking Mexico?" I ask him. The answer is that they play the one thing that is universal: Star Trek. And a fuck of a lot of info-mercials… but a man can only watch those for so long before going a little buggy – I mean, really, how many sets of Ginsu knives do I really need? "And see if you can get me some cigarettes while you're at it – I'm about out. These are what I like," I hand him my very-nearly-empty pack, "But I'll take just about anything as long as it isn't mentol, girly or 'light.'"
"Girly?"
Right. Non smoker. "Those long fucking sticks with the flowers around the filer."
"Right. No menthol, no flowers and nothing marked light. I'm on it."
Christ on a crutch – but at least he's gone and if he's gone it means he's not running his mouth (at least not in my direction.) I really don't dislike the kid, he's just too fucking eager, (and I really don't think it has to do with that DNA we share. I think he'd be like this no matter who I was in relation to him... but you gotta admit, it's still pretty fucked up. The sister I've known all my life, the sister I protected and took care of, wants nothing to do with me – this kid – this kid can't seem to get enough of me… and maybe that's just because he doesn't know me the way Al does…)
Fortunately for Tonto, by the time he returns, I've managed to force down most of my breakfast (I erred on the side of caution here and just got myself a Danish, coffee and a side of bacon. Hey – that's caution. Throwing it all to the wind would have meant go going for a full breakfast. Just the same, I think I need those antacids he'd better fucking have on him. I can do a world of hurt to a man with a cheap metallic utensil – just watch me.)
"Antacids – and cigarettes." Tonto sets each down in turn.
"Good boy," I mutter and swallow four chalky, fruit flavoured tablets. Fuck. "Next time no fruit," I wash them down with the last of my coffee. Blegh is right… but at least I don't have to stab him to death with my spoon.
"Sorry."
I just wave it aside, take the new pack of smokes from him and start tapping it down, to get the tobacco to settle.
"Um – Jeff – hospital – no smoking – "
"Right. Find me some place where I can smoke. And shouldn't you be toddling off to work by now?"
"I – thought – in case you needed anything – I'd – "
"Hang around." Just my luck.
"Just – in case."
"Swell. Ok – fine. First order of business is a cigarette, then – " then I'll answer the phone that's ringing in my pocket. "Yeah, hello – "
"It's Eddas," the boss lady says on the other end.
"Yeah?"
"I thought you'd want to know that the AFN made a number of arrests last night in Culiacan, based on information I shared with them – information I got from you."
"And?"
"They found Milo."
Fuck. "And?"
"He's in rough shape – but he's alive."
"How rough?" Because – because I know what guys like that are capable of doing.
"I couldn't get any solid details out of anyone. I'll be on a plane within the hour and Patrick is meeting me there – and Sands – I need you to remember that you're still wanted on some very serious charges in Mexico."
Sedition. Civil insurrection. General bad behaviour. "Yeah. I know."
"So you'll stay put?" It doesn't really sound like a question, despite Eddas' best efforts there.
I want to tell her to go to Hell because of course I won't stay put – but how much good could I do him if I went down there? It's not that I mind playing cops and robbers with the locals – I can do that with my eyes… yeah. Right. Anyway. It's not that I'm worried about the authorities or El Presidente – or even El Mariachi, it's just that what the fuck could I really do to help Milo anyway? I can't even seem to help Beth, and she's right here… "Yeah. Yeah, I'll stay put. I'm a good little rat, remember?"
"You're more than a good little rat, Jeff – and that's exactly why I don't need to be worrying about you ending up in some Mexican jail, or wondering if every little explosion I hear in the distance is your handiwork or just the usual local ambiance."
Which almost gets a smile out of me. I'm just not in much of a smiling mood right now. And the boss is still talking:
"De Jesus is still in the U.S., but by tomorrow morning Rebecca Suarez will be on her way back to us – and I need you and Ryan to start building me a case."
"Me – and Tonto – " she's got to be shitting me.
"Tonto?"
"The kid."
"Right. Just because he's never going to be much of a litigator doesn't mean he isn't a good attorney. I know you think he's a little wet behind the ears – and he is – but also he's extremely smart and he knows what he's doing."
"Yeah, right," no, I'm not real convinced. However, "What I want to know is what you expect me to be doing – I don't know shit about this shit. I'm – a spy – I've spent most of my career in covert ops and I'm usually on the wrong side of the law for real, not just according to you guys. No offence," I add. Good little rats don't bit the hands that hand out the cheese.
"None taken. I need you on this because you know what's been going on down there, and you'll get the – subtleties – of Suarez's operations and her connection to De Jesus. You'll see the kinds of things Ryan would miss. He is a good attorney, but he doesn't understand things the way you do."
"Ok, Boss, you sold me there." No one understands this shit better than me – and it's funny the way she says 'see' – it's not an insult and it's not an oversight either… oversight. Right. Fuck, I need to get out of here. I a nice stretch of beach, and – and an angel sitting next to me in the sun… I know, dream on.
"I know this isn't a good time for you to be working – "
"No – no it's a very good time for me to be working. If I'm working, I'm not thinking – well, I am thinking – " but yeah…
"How is she?"
"Awake." I'm still not ready to talk about the particulars. "The doc seems to be happy about – how things are going."
"I'm glad to hear that, I really am."
"Thanks – and ah – you'll keep me in the loop on Mexico, right?"
"As soon as I find out anything, I'll call – and as soon as Milo's stable enough, I'm going to bring him stateside. If I can't stay there until that happens, I know Patrick will. De Jesus and his people will not get a second chance at him."
"What about the Company?"
"Let me worry about the CIA. You've got enough on your plate right now – and by the end of the week you're going to have a whole lot more."
"Um – ?"
"Don't panic – at least from where I'm sitting it's all good."
"Ok ah – you know, Boss, there are lots of ways to interpret that little statement." I mean, I'm pretty sure she's not secretly planning on getting me fitted for an orange jumpsuit, but you really can never know for sure until it doesn't happen…
Eddas chuckles just a little, "I'm just not real sure you're going to enjoy being the new little star in my office, that's all."
Fuck me. But good. "No, that wasn't quite what I had in mind here."
"Tough. I've got a stack of evidence on your desk – and it keeps getting bigger. And – if you're up to it, Bernie's going to stop in sometime today – because – that problem isn't going to disappear just because I've got you working on something bigger in the grand scheme of things."
"Yeah," she's right and I know it. I also don't think Eddas will let me just shoot Emma's grandfather and have done with it my way (you know, the easy way…) because here in the United States, we have to at least pretend to be civilized. Now, if I could the old man alone in a dark alley somewhere, maybe on the wrong side of the tracks… but we all know that my luck just isn't that good.
"I – took the liberty of making arrangements with Emma's school – just contact them when you get a chance. She can take the tests she needs to take over the break and start in the new year. I figured you had your hands full yesterday."
"Thanks." And yeah, that was one of those sincere thank yous. "I appreciate it and – hey, when you see Milo, you tell him I said he'd better be back on his feet soon because we have a date for some karaoke and vodka and I don't think he wants anyone else taking his place."
"Karaoke and vodka?" Eddas queries.
"He'll know what it means."
"I'll relay the message – and I'll be in touch again soon."
Yeah.
But fuck.
He's alive.
I hang up my phone and take a nice deep breath. He's really fucking alive. And – he really didn't sell me out. He didn't sell out Beth and the girls… I just hope to fuck that he's not in the same kind of rough shape I was in when – when I ended up puking my guts out in an angel's petunias…
"Everything ok?" Tonto asks then – and I realize he stepped away a little to give me some privacy on that call. Guess the kid gets marks for good manners, too.
"Yeah. Peachy. But I think I need a shower before we head into the office."
"What's going on?"
I fill him in on the details on the way up to Beth's room.
Both she and the girls are glad to hear that Milo's going to be ok (I'm kinda sketchy on the particulars because of Cicily) – but it still doesn't make me real happy when Beth seems so relieved to have me getting out of here for the rest of the day. I would have liked it if she was just a little bit unhappy to see me go… but… maybe I don't blame her so much. I'm not real good company under the best of circumstances – and – and it's my fault she's like this. I know she told me not to blame myself, but how can I not? I didn't pull the trigger, but I did put her in front of the gun, just the same way I put Marquez in front of El.
Still, Beth doesn't shy away when I lean in to kiss her – and her kiss is still warm. Inviting. Maybe even a little hopeful…so at least for right now, I've still got the girl… maybe.
… On the drive to Tonto's pad (I really do need to get in a shower before going into the office – I smell ripe even to me) Cicily insists that I sit in the back seat with her. She curls up next to me and won't let go. She doesn't say anything, but I don't have to be a shrink to know she's pretty messed up by the whole thing. (I'm not real sure how much Beth told her, if Cicily realizes that her mother is never going to walk again and why…) And I'm trying real hard not to think about it – because – if it was my kid, I don't know if I'd want the person responsible for this much damage hanging around after the fact… fuck, I don't know how I'm going to get through this… I wonder if Beth would even believe me if I told her how much I love her – I wonder if she'd believe I was capable of it. I'm not real sure I believe it myself…
Tonto's pad is about what you'd expect, neat, orderly. Small. Kinda smells like mom's apple pie – well, his mother's, not mine. Remember, Alison learned to cook from our mother and Greta could burn water just trying to boil it for macaroni and cheese… guess the old man finally got sick of half frozen, half singed TV dinners and hooked up with a gal who could cook…
"It's not much, but it's home," Tonto says to me as we walk in the door (oh yeah, and Spencer was right there waiting to greet me as we walk in. Guess he missed me too – and truthfully, I kinda missed having him around. I've gotten used to him… I give that spot behind his ears a bit of a scratch, then make way so the girls can love on him.)
...The hot water from the shower feels good pelting down on my hide (so does getting rid of the stench. I really don't like stinking.) And… I remember being in Beth's kitchen on the Day of the Dead, and how good it felt when she rinsed me down with warm water. I remember the way she touched me – how that and the warmth of the water reminded me that I was still alive, that it really wouldn't always hurt that bad… I remember waking up in the middle of the night screaming, shaking – crying – how she convinced me to trust her enough to help me into the tub, to help me wash my hair. I remember how good it felt to just forget for a few minutes who I was, because she was just so easy to be around. I'm not sure, but I think that's when I first started falling for her…
Christ – everything aches right now and no amount of hot water seems to be enough to make me feel warm inside. I swear, I'm the world's biggest fuckmook – because – I need her. I fucking need her. Me, who doesn't need anybody – who's made a life-long habit of not making friends, not forming real close attachments – not doing anything that could jeopardize my reputation as a psychotic asshole (I know, I know I'm really a sociopath, but no one pays attention in psych class anyway, and the difference between the two is pretty fine. See, I'm not off my rocker, I just don't care. I don't know how to care. I don't want to know how to care. I'm not wired up like other people and that's just fine by me… really it is. Why would I want to be like other people?)
But just what am I going to do if she really she tells me to get lost – to exit stage left and get the fuck out of her life forever? How will I survive that?
I can imagine all the things I'm going to want to do, but I can't go off and do any of them because I have Emma and – and I just can't cut out on her the way my old man cut out on me…
"Jeff – you ok in there?"
"Peachy keen, jelly bean," I answer Tonto's query. Guess I probably have been standing under the water a little too long. Wonder if he thinks I may have gone and done something stupid – or if he just doesn't think a blind guy can take a shower without a chaperone. Just the same, I haul my ass out of the shower and get dressed (feels like Em packed one of my Western style shirts and a pair of jeans – and you know, the thought of my kid picking through my underwear drawer to pack me a pair of briefs – yeah, that's just fucking wrong somehow. But I was right about her packing more than just some cloths and my personals – there's a holster in the bag and – yep, my pair of Brownings – even a couple of extra clips. And the right ones even – looks like that day from Hell on the firing range wasn't a complete waste of time after all. Now, I just have to teach her that when she packs heat for her old man, she also has to pack a suit coat – but I guess my overcoat will do for concealing the guns while I'm on the street and that's where it really counts.)
I scrape the stubble from my face and the fuzz from my teeth before joining the rest of the world – which turns out to be just Tonto waiting for me in the bedroom (it's one of those 'master baths' – though not nearly as nice as Milo's beau's – attached to the 'master bedroom.')
"I just – wasn't sure if you – needed anything else," he sounds kinda unsure of himself there. I think that last little pause was when he spied the guns. Heh.
"You got an ashtray laying around?"
"Um – no – but here – this'll do," he says.
And into my other hand goes – hmm, what the fuck is that? Clay pinch pot – you know the kind of things little kids make in art class. "Your handiwork?"
"I was never very good at art – mostly I just use it as a paper weight."
"Uh-huh – you could put a good dent in someone's head with this thing," I park my ass in that chair I bumped into on my way through and get my smoke lit up (feels like a computer at my elbow too – looks like his bedroom doubles as office space.)
"So um – what now?" Tonto wants to know.
"First I finish this, then we head to the Batmobile to go battle crime, just like you've been dreaming of doing all your dreary little life," I smirk up at him – too bad I can't wink.
"Where are you going away to?" (That's Cicily – sounds like she's standing at the bedroom door – and no, she does not sound real keen on the idea of me taking off again, either.)
I park my cigarette on that substitute ashtray and hold out my hand to her – Cicily crawls right into my lap. "I have to go into the office for a little while, that's all – "
"But who'll take care of me?" It sounds like she's real close to tears there, too.
"You have Emma – "
"But – what if – what if another man comes to the door?"
"It'll be ok – I promise," I try to tell her. I'm not real sure I'm telling her the truth, I just don't know what else to say. I don't have much of a choice – the stuff we're likely to be going over isn't the sort of stuff I want Cicily hearing about…
"Um if I could maybe make a suggestion," Tonto butts in, "There's is a daycare at the office. It's just a couple of floors up from your office – and they're very nice," that last seems directed at Cicily, who doesn't quite seem keen on the idea (or at least that's the best interpretation I can make of the way she keeps wiggling closer into me.)
And oh, Emma's just going to love the idea of a 'day care'… now ask me if I'm going to give her a choice… "Ok," I say to Cicily, "You want to come with me, then?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good." And – truthfully, I really do prefer the idea of the girls coming with us. "You go tell Emma," who won't shoot the messenger if the messenger is Cicily – and even if she were to try and shoot me (literally), her aim is for shit. "I'm going to finish getting ready."
"Ok," Cicily pulls closer for one more hug – and Christ – I don't want to lose this, any of it. I love them both (and yeah, I love my little pain as well. I really will shoot that grandfather before I give her up, and if it comes down to that I don't give a flying fuck if Eddas approves of my methods or not.)
And… maybe thinking about that puts me in just a warm and fuzzy enough mood… I take a nice long drag off my smoke and turn my attention back to Tonto. "I got some stuff from my darling little sister the last time I visited and – I'm pretty sure there's at least one picture of the old man in with my collection of treasured childhood memories," sarcasm? Moi? "You're welcome to it."
"Jeff – "
"Do not gush," I warn. "It's not like I've got much use for old photographs these days, anyway," I add, gesturing towards my face.
"Thank you. I – I just can't get my mother to tell me anything –"
"You ever consider that maybe she's doing you a favour, there kid?"
"Maybe. But – that doesn't stop me from wanting to know."
"You know what they say about curiosity," I tell him, "I hope you don't end up regretting this." I hope I don't end up regretting it either… I hope I don't end up regretting a lot of things…
………………………………………………………
I just want to feel safe in my own skin
I just want to be happy again
I just want to feel deep in my own world
But I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore
On a different day if I was safe in my own skin
Then I wouldn't feel so lost and so frightened
But this is today and I'm lost in my own skin
And I'm so lonely I don't even want to be with myself anymore
I just want to feel safe in my own skin
I just want to be happy again
Dido
(Honestly Ok)
………………………………………………………
I have a smile
stretched from ear to ear
to see you walking down the road
we meet at the lights
I stare for a while
the world around disappears
just you and me
on this island of hope
a breath between us could be miles
let me surround you
let my sea to your shore
let me be the calm you seek
oh and every time I'm close to you
there's too much I can't say
and you just walk away
and I forgot
to tell you
I love you
and the night's
too long
and cold here
without you
I grieve in my condition
for I cannot find the strength to say I need you so
oh and every time I'm close to you
there's too much I can't say
and you just walk away
and I forgot
to tell you
I love you
and the night's
too long
and cold here
without you
Sarah McLachlan
(I Love You)