her up.
***
Donne worked nighttime security at a storage facility in Piscataway. It was a great job. He got in about eleven and off at seven. No one bothered him, and he could come in a little buzzed after a few drinks at the Olde Towne Tavern. He could even catch a little West Coast baseball on satellite radio or take a nap.
Which was what he was doing when Franklin Carter approached him.
“Wake up, asshole,” he said, banging a fist on the desk. Jackson sat forward, his eyes shot open, and he stifled a yawn.
Carter looked like he’d just come from work, dressed in a pinstriped suit, pale blue shirt, and striped tie. Even his loafers were polished. His dark hair was combed back, his mustache neatly trimmed. “What do you want, Franklin?” Donne asked. His tongue tasted like leather.
“Your sister came to you for help and you turned her down.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
The silence hung in the room. Behind Carter, through the swinging glass door, headlights passed. It had to be earlier than Donne thought for there to be that much traffic.
“I want you to help her,” Carter said. “She came home the other day in tears. She had just been with your mother, watching her fade away. She said she went to see you and you two argued. You’re hurting her. I won’t have that.”
Donne shrugged. “It’s not my problem.”
Franklin Carter slammed his fists on the desk again and leaned in so close Donne smelled his breath. “It is your problem! This is about your mother and your sister. Don’t you have any sense of family?”
Donne thought about Jeanne. About what he knew about her now. “No,” he said.
Carter stood back up and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen and checkbook.
“What’s it going to take?” he asked.
“I don’t do investigative work anymore.”
He took a deep breath, then said, “Everyone has a price.”
Donne sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t have any college scholarships coming in. He hadn’t been paid a salary in a long while. The storage facility was an hourly wage and it wasn’t much more than rent and drinking money.
“You always were a rich prick,” Donne said. “Even in high school. I couldn’t stand you. I never understood why our parents were friends.”
“What’s the price?” Carter said, his voice unbearably confident.
Donne gave his brother-in-law a price. Carter scribbled out a check.
***
When Carter came through the door, his tie was loosened and his hair was out of place. Susan got off the couch and wrapped her arms around him.
“How was work?”
He pressed his hand against the small of her back and pulled her close. Susan smelled the faint remains of his sweet cologne.
Carter didn’t answer her question, so she moved her head away from his neck and looked at him.
“Work?” she asked, nudging his shoulder with her chin. “You know, meals, plates, table settings, schmoozing with customers on the Upper East Side? Or at the very least in Montclair? I asked you a question.”
Carter leaned in and kissed her. “Jackson’s going to help.”
“You’re kidding. He told me he didn’t want to see Mom. He seemed pretty adamant.”
Carter shrugged. “He’s going to help.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled and kissed her again. “Anything for you, babe.”
Business at the Olde Towne tavern had been booming in the last few months. Donne didn’t know what it was. Even with school out, people would pack the place on weekend nights to the point where you couldn’t sit at the bar and couldn’t move your elbows when you stood. On weeknights, you had to get there before seven to get a table. Maybe the new chef Artie hired had stopped overcooking the burgers.
Or maybe Artie had finally cleaned the taps.
Either way, Donne made sure he was there at six P.M. on the dot, Molson in front of him, a grilled chicken sandwich on the way. He placed his cell phone on the bar next to his pint glass. It wasn’t until Artie approached him that Donne realized he was staring at the phone.
“Waiting for a call?” he asked.
Looking up, Donne said, “No, deciding whether or not to make one.”
Artie nodded and waited.
“Bad date?” he asked when Donne didn’t elaborate. “No, my sister.”
“You have a sister?”
Donne downed his pint and Artie took it to refill. “There’s a reason you didn’t know that.”
“And now you have to call her about something?”
“You’re quick,” Donne said. There was no smile to go along with the comment.
Artie put the pint down so hard he nearly dropped it. He turned on his heel and walked away. Donne picked up his cell phone and dialed.
Susan picked up on the third ring.
“I’ll do it,” he said without preamble. “I can start tomorrow. Where’s Mom staying?”
“Uh,” she mumbled. “Grove Estates in Wayne. On Berdan Avenue.”
Two women walked into the bar, hair made up like they’d just come from shooting The Sopranos. They wore shorts and tank tops and cracked gum.
“I’ll be there in the morning.”
“Do you want me to be th—” He snapped the phone shut.
***
Steve Earle on the CD player. A good way to go, because he did feel all right. Surprisingly so. There weren’t any nerves, no sweaty palms, just the job at hand.
The Ryder truck rumbled up Third Avenue, crossing Seventy-sixth. Mike Garibell could see the restaurant up ahead. He was going to need to find parking soon.
Mike Garibell. He smiled at the name.
He was going to have to think of himself that way tonight. That was the name on the fake driver’s license. In case he
