Jim's heart pounded, the noise of the train was almost drowned out by the blood screaming through his ears. The gravel voice tore at his confidence and the sweat was slick on his palms. The leather of the grip on Hank's harness grew damp.
"It's me, Bobby."
Jim, motioned Hank to the seats on the left, nearest the doors and opposite his elder brother. "I know who it is. What are you doing here?" There was no use trying to avoid this now. He was locked in the train compartment until the doors opened at the next station. "How long have you been following me?"
"Since your tour ended. Pretty good workout, Bub. The old man'd be proud." Bobby sounded relaxed, jovial, not angry or sad.
Jim would follow his lead for now. "So, no night life for you tonight? It seems a strange way to spend your evening, trailing me." Holding his mouth a little open so his breath was quiet, Jimmy listened under his own words. But if anyone else was there, they were silent. He was reminded of how Bobby had taken him by surprise, in the darkened interior of the train those many years ago. Would tonight turn out the same as the last time his brother had met him on a train? Would he be aching with bruises tomorrow, washing grit from heated abrasions, or would someone else be washing his cold body on a slab?
"Look, Jimmy, I'm sorry about earlier today. I just want to talk to you."
"You carrying?"
"Yeah, so what?"
Unbelievably, Jim's tension rose another notch. Bobby was armed. At least last time they had both been armed and Jim had thought he stood a chance. Even then Jim had been beaten to a pulp, despite being armed, despite being so confident, despite being able to see every punch coming.
He took a deep breath and laid it on the line. "Bobby, if you're thinking about putting me outta my misery, then you should do it now, because I for one, do not want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life wondering if my brother is about to shoot me." Jim took off his glasses, folded them into his pocket, and glared in Bobby's direction.
"Shoot you? What the …oh, the blind thing?" Bobby got up while he spoke and began moving around the train cabin with heavy steps. The image of cowboy boots rose in Jim's mind, Bobby had always favored cowboy boots. Jim followed the big man's movements until Bobby finally settled in the seat right next to him.
"Look, I done some growing up in the last few years. I'm no way near as straight as you - and I still don't like gooks, or niggers or crips - but, you're my brother for Christ's sake."
His brother was a true hypocrite, but Jim wasn't about to point that out. In the past, a comment like that would have earned him a lesson. He wanted to get out of this undamaged, and he was pretty sure that Bobby wouldn't stop at teaching him a lesson if he started to beat up on him and got to see just how handicapped Jim was. Better to keep him talking.
"So?"
"So, I'm not going to shoot you. You're my brother." When Jim didn't answer right away, Bobby laughed. It looked like Jimmy didn't believe him. "Don't tell me you lost your lie sense too?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Jimmy? We Dunbars, we got this uncanny knack, remember? We can see a lie on anyone – no matter how good an actor they are. I know you didn't lose it. I saw you in that interview. You knew when he was telling the truth and when he was bullshitting to save his ass."
He leaned over, got really close to Jim. "What? You need to get real close to know now? Like you did with that guy today?"
"No, I don't need to get close," Jim answered warily, leaning away but not daring to shove Bobby. He did know what Bobby was talking about but had never talked about it with anyone, he had no idea it was a family trait. "I can… I can hear it, I guess."
Bobby sat back, out of his face. "I am not going to cap you or even lay a hand on you. Am I lying?"
Jim hesitated. Then he played Bobby's words in his head again. I am not going to cap you or even lay a hand on you. "No. I believe you."
And Jim did. Just as sometimes when the suspect lied to cover himself, he'd feel it, like a fish fighting at the end of the line. And all he had to do was reel him in carefully, uncover the how and why and the physical evidence, because this was his guy. Or when he'd hear a suspect protest his innocence and know, deep in his gut, that their perp was still out there. It had never failed him. And the fear that his brother was his enemy tonight left him, as fast as that.
Jim gave a half laugh, shook his head. "I just, I thought… you might think you were doing me a favor, like Lucky, you know?"
"You thought I'd put my own brother down like a dog?"
Jim shrugged. Lying to Bobby had never worked either. "So you wanted to tell me something?'
"That can wait. I came looking you up at your old job, they said you'd moved on, made detective. Wow, a Dunbar, a Detective in the New York Police Department. Talk about switching sides. You like it?"
"Yeah, it's… it's what I do."
"You any good?"
"I've been a Detective for well over a decade now. I made first grade a few years ago so yeah, I hope I'm some good."
"You're a Dunbar; if you're not going to be a great crook, you better be a great Detective." Bobby sounded proud.
Despite the years, despite everything, Jim felt warmth from the backhanded compliment. Sibling approval was hardwired and Jim was proud of his career. He checked his watch. His stop was due anytime now. "My station; you want to come up?"
"You got people? Rug rats?"
Jim wasn't sure how to answer.
"I heard you got married?"
"Yeah, she's ah, away, so it's just Hank and me tonight, and you, if you'd like to crash on the couch." The train slowed, Jim and Hank stood.
"You got beer?"
"Yeah, I got beer."
"Okay, you talked me into it."
Bobby leaned down and began ruffling Hank's fur.
Jim put his hand on Bobby's, "When he's in harness, I need him to work. You can play with him when we get home."
"In harness? This thing?"
The jingling of the brassware set Jim's teeth on edge. Maybe inviting Bobby home hadn't been such a good idea. "Yeah."
"So, how's it work?" Bobby's voice was slightly muffled, he was still bent over Hank, ignoring Jim's request to leave him alone.
"Maybe later, Bobby." Jim stood as the train slowed and the brakes screeched. Hank walked him to the door and Bobby followed, silent, watching.
Bobby hung back a little. He could see Jimmy was annoyed he asked about the dog. What was the problem? Maybe the dog was more important than Jim wanted to let on? He watched as Jim followed the dog through the doors and up the platform, holding the grip in his left hand and walking with a steady pace. Could've been just out walking his dog.
Together, the three exited the station; Jim slid his card through the exit turnstile. Bobby jumped the barrier, landing with a thump that caused Hank to sidestep. "Hey, watch it." Jim admonished.
What was the big deal? His little brother had always been a bit touchy, a bit unpredictable. Maybe Jim still worried Bobby was thinking of his as a crip? He stared at Jim's face, looking for a clue. "You thought I was gonna put you outta your misery? Is that why you cut the lines?"
"What, originally? No. I only lost my sight a couple of years ago."
A long silence accompanied Bobby's heavy steps.
Jim turned toward his brother, "You staring at me?"
"Yeah, you mind?"
"Well, it feels like being in a fishbowl and unable to stare back. You think you'd like that?"
"Guess not. So what's it like?"
"What? Being blind?"
"Yeah."
Jim sighed, but Bobby would never let a question go. "You'd have made a good detective you know, Bobby."
"No way, all that paperwork. Mind you, I guess you get out of that now, hey? That pretty one your secretary?"
"No, I do my own paperwork." They were at the apartment building, Jim stopped Bobby with a hand to his chest before they entered, "And don't even think about her, she's a full Detective and more outta bounds than anyone."
"You screwing her on the side?"
"No, Bobby, just lay off her." They went inside to the waiting elevator.
"You still haven't told me what it's like. Is it just dark, or can you see some?"
Jim didn't answer immediately. He pressed the button, acutely aware of the Braille notation under his fingertips. In its various disguises, this was a question that inevitably came up, and it still caught him like a barb on a fish hook every time, ever since that first time he was asked by the doctors in emergency. He debated if Bobby would let this one go or if he'd be forced to try to answer this question.
They walked into the apartment. "Beer's in the fridge," Jim said as he bent over to unbuckle Hank, and place the harness in its customary spot in front of the door.
Bobby was fascinated as Jimmy messed around under the dog and the whole contraption slid off. The dog gave itself a big shake and looked up as if to say, I'm ready for that game now. "Can I pat him now?"
Jimmy gave him a genuine smile, "I'm sure he'd love that. Hank, say hi to Bobby."
Bobby played rough and tumble with the dog for a while. Jim got beer and settled into the couch, he looked beat.
"So?" Bobby landed next to him and grabbed the bottle Jimmy had left on the table for him. "Are we talking theatre aisles with no flashlight or bottom of the ocean?"
Jim nodded. Alright, if he really wanted to know. "Try this." Nestling his beer between his knees, Jim took his own hands up to his face and pressed the heels of his hands gently into his eyes.
After a moment, Bobby grunted, "Yeah?" and moved his eyes around behind his hands. Splotches of light appeared and disappeared, mostly white but some colors, and patterns like fireworks.
"What can you see?" Jim asked, interrupting his brother's sightseeing.
"I dunno, lights, like fireworks I guess, but it's pretty dark."
"And can you see me, or the room, or your hands?"
"Nothing," Bobby snorted, "Shit, bottom of the ocean, how do you handle this?"
Jim was quiet. Bobby opened his eyes and turned to his kid bother. Jim no longer had his hands up to his eyes. He sat, on the edge of the couch, taking a pull of beer, facing straight ahead, looking tired. Other than blinking a lot, he looked normal. Finally he spoke, quietly, "How do you handle anything you can't change?"
"But…" Bobby searched for words, he didn't sound aggressive, just curious, "…it must be frustrating…difficult."
"It's like your worst nightmare that keeps going when you wake up."
"Why didn't you…" Bobby found the words hard to say, after all it was only a short time ago Jimmy had thought Bobby wanted to do him in.
"Kill myself?" Jim shook his head. Bobby watched as his mouth drew into a thin hard line. "The guy who shot me tried to do that. No way was I going to finish the job for him."
"But…"
Jim turned, anger blazed from his eyes, and it seemed to Bobby that he understood why the man in the interrogation room had felt afraid, Jimmy still had it.
"I thought about it – every day. I was angry - it was a fucking drag, a barrier, and a pain in the ass - but every day I told myself I could still live my life and no fucking bank robber was going to take it from me. I just needed courage. And we Dunbars have never lacked that, have we?" Jim turned to Bobby, inviting any challenge he wanted to bring.
"You kill the guy?"
Jim nodded and swallowed the last of his beer.
"Good." They drank in silence for a while. "You ain't got much of a scar."
"No, they managed to save my looks but not my sight." A note of bitterness entered Jim's voice instead of the humor he was trying for. He searched for a way to change the conversation track, but failed, it had been a very, very long day.
"Oh, Jimmy, if I'd known I would have come around sooner. I should have visited sooner."
Jim heard a dangerous note in Bobby's voice; pity. Unwanted, painful, and disgusting in someone else's voice; dangerous in Bobby's. Jim shook his head, it was definitely time to get off the subject, "No, I wouldn't have been up for it, with rehab and everything, honestly, I'm really only just now back on my feet. Your timing's okay. No more though, I can't stand talking about it. What's your news? You getting married, having a kid, what?"
"Nothing that good, kid." Bobby turned away, fiddled with something on the table.
Jim waited through the pause.
Bobby got up and raided the fridge.
"I had a couple of deals go well, legitimate ones." He called back over his shoulder.
"No?" Jim couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice.
"True, Jimmy boy, true. Your brother is a bona-fide businessman with money rolling in like fog offa' the lake." Jim heard a belly laugh start up and soon they were laughing together.
"Enough, enough, at least tell me what I am laughing about," Jim asked, gasping for breath. Bobby had always had one of those infectious laughs.
"Well, I set up a little business to launder some money for a friend. Don't worry, not in your precinct!" Bobby put in as Jim's frown appeared. "Anyhow, the friend's deals never came through so I never had to do anything with it, but the little business – it just took off, making me more dough than I ever made crooked." Bobby sounded amazed. "Who'd 'a thought, Bobby Dunbar, a real life business man?"
"Wow, that's great. So, you still dealing in illegal contraband?" Jim asked directly.
Jim could hear the rustle of clothes, he assumed Bobby was shrugging. "It's not like I'm going to bust you, Bobby."
"Actually I'm clean. Going to stay that way too." Jim was surprised to find he believed him, at least that Bobby intended to stay clean.
"So, what's the reason for the visit? You changing sides, wanna join the force?" Jim wiggled his eyebrows and faked a TV voice.
Bobby took the bait and laughed. "You never know. Hey, I'd know exactly which rocks to look under. You think you can write me a recommendation?"
Jimmy shook his head, refusing to answer. Bobby nudged him on the shoulder laughing.
A long silence, they drank. "It's not like I need a reason for calling in though, Jimmy. You're still my brother right?"
"Sure."
"I guess I just been thinking a little lately. I always felt a little bad for us growing apart. I wanted to make it alright between us before I went."
"Well, it's alright between us."
They sat quietly again, the dark encroaching on the apartment. Bobby jumped when lights came on automatically, knocking his beer over and asking, "Who's there?"
Jim smiled, "Christie set it up, I always forget and if she comes home and it's dark, she hates it. Says it creeps her out to find me sitting here in the dark."
"Doesn't she get that you're always sitting here in the dark, even with the lights on?"
Jim shook his head.
Bobby had wandered over to get more beer. He brought a picture frame back. "Wow, this Christie? She's top shelf. Where is she, Jimmy? You buried her under the floor?"
"In a fifth floor apartment?" Jim held his arms wide. "No, she's on a project for her job. LA. You know." Jim shrugged, hoping he wouldn't have to say anymore, that nothing had leaked onto his face. Christie's female hard assed lawyer had finally convinced him that Christie was serious about ending their marriage. She threatened to clean him out and leave him penniless on the street, with only half his salary to live on if he didn't sign the papers when they came. Jimmy had finally accepted that his wife's silence was never going to end. Funny how, after that, she rang him up to abuse him, when she found he had slept with her lawyer.
"Going to end it?"
"Probably."
"That upset you much?"
"I don't know, Bobby. Times were when I loved her more than breathing. And truthfully, if it wasn't for her, I don't know how I would have gotten through that first year, after the bank. But… she doesn't get this. It's just not the same for us anymore. Chemistry's gone." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "And truth is I can't protect her like a sighted man. I think she'd be better off with someone else." Bobby couldn't argue with that one.
"So you solved any interesting crimes lately?" Bobby asked, wondering if any of his friends might on the list.
Jim looked uncomfortable, "Nothing you'd want to hear about I'm sure."
"So, that guy you had in the room today, what's his story?"
Jim gave in. Bobby would just keep digging away until he was satisfied. Jim gave him a basic run over the case.
"I bet the alibi girl- that Loretta Hay girl- she did it."
Jim shook his head, "Na, shooting him in the face? I can't see it."
"Women shoot guys all the time," Bobby stated. Something clicked in Jimmy's head, he wasn't sure why, but he felt he'd just taken a step closer to solving the case.
They talked a little longer, Bobby more than Jim, giving up theories on how and why the DOA had ended up clogging Fiorelli's swimming pool filter. Finally Jim stood, "I've got an eight o'clock tour. I gotta get some sleep."
Bobby enveloped him in a big, unexpected hug, Jim felt some resistance and, surprising himself, some deep kind of loss, unwanted, not understood and very strange.
Bobby's parting words were like encountering rusty steel wool at the end of a fairly enjoyable beer. "I'm glad we talked, pity about the gun, but I'm impressed, you know, with you still holding down a job and all."
"Thanks, Bobby," Jim kept the grimace from his voice. During the course of the night, several beers, and a bottle of whiskey, Bobby had extracted all kinds of unconnected details of Jim's life. Jim guessed his brother was building a romanticized version of life as a blind cop that Bobby could fit into his idea of acceptable.
"You be here in the morning?" he asked his older brother.
"Sure."
Jim smiled and nodded, and wondered if his elder brother could smell his own lies.
Jim brought a quilt and a pillow for Bobby. He moved Hank's bed into the bedroom and wondered if he would sleep tonight. Exhausted he crawled into bed.