Tom Piccirilli - The Last Kind Words

“Take what from you, Terry?” he asked. “Why don’t you explain? What life lessons have you learned since you abandoned Kimmy? Since you left her to go through the most difficult time of her life all alone? Since you vanished without a word. Guide me with your newfound wisdom. What else do you have to tell me?”

There was nothing else to tell him, nothing further that I could elaborate on or account for. There was no way for me to articulate the all-consuming panic of being trapped in the underneath. The pure crystalline clarity of the terror that had made me run.

I said, “Don’t make my mistakes.” I knew exactly what my brother had meant about making ghosts. It hadn’t been that difficult to figure out. I had understood without wanting to face it.

The night of his spree he was compounding all the failures of his life, sustaining the sins, building the deeper, awful memories that he would carry to the grave with him. The underneath had welcomed him and he’d gone to it. That was the result of all that blood. He had taken his own life without putting a bullet in his head. I said, “Don’t get caught, Chub,” and left.

Just as I was about to pull into the parking lot of the Elbow Room, my phone rang. It was Eve. I answered and was surprised at how much I looked forward to hearing her voice.

“It’s late,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.”

“I work late,” she said. “And talking to contacts on the night shift is the best time to get honest answers from them. They’re bored. They’re just hoping to find an ear they can bend. So I did some digging into your friend Gilmore. He’s under IAD investigation.”

That didn’t surprise me. “For anything in particular?”

“They think he’s tipped off some mob boys about police raids.”

“He has. Anything about his wife? They recently separated. Anything like a restraining order? Abuse?”

Eve paused. I knew she was still wondering how this tied in with my brother, with me. “No, nothing like that, Terry. It appears to be amicable. Neither of them has filed for divorce. Maybe they’re working it out.”

“Anything else? Anything worse?”

“What do you mean by worse?”

“You tell me.”

I could hear her lick her lips. The sound heated me up a little. “You’re worrying me now.”

“Don’t be. I’m probably wasting my time. And yours.”

“Well, there was nothing I could find, and I dug around pretty well. I could pull in some favors, if you like, but that might get me onto Gilmore’s radar. Do you care about that?”

“Yeah, I do. You’ve done enough, Eve. Don’t put any more into this.”

“What were you hoping to find?”

“I wouldn’t say I was hoping to find anything. Thanks, Eve.”

Her voice hardened, but not much. No one liked to pull favors for a one-night stand. “Of course. You can pay me back with dinner sometime.”

I said, “I promise,” and I meant it.

I walked into the Elbow Room and found Flo perched at the bar in the same place as the last time I’d been there. She had lipstick on her teeth and still smelled of Four Roses. She was chatting up a john who stared at her like she was every woman in the world he’d ever hated, from his mother to his first girlfriend to his wife. She didn’t seem to notice his brooding, intense glare. I wondered, Is this the place every guy comes to right before he goes out of his skull and butchers a helpless stranger?

I stepped over to her and snapped a fifty in front of her face. I nodded to an empty corner in back. She whispered a few cooing words to the john, but he didn’t seem to notice. She followed me and put her hand on my ass.

“Hey, honey,” she said, “you got a car in the lot? You look so melancholy, just pining for the one who got away, huh? You won’t even remember her name after me. Let’s go to your car and-”

I turned and she breathed whiskey into my face. “You remember me?”

She didn’t ye201›t. She smiled and placed her hands on my chest and tried to take the money from my grip while humming empty promises. I gripped her by the shoulders and gave her a solid shake. Her expression tightened and her eyes focused.

“Know me yet?” I asked.

“Yeah. The white streak. Like your brother. You have a bad temper too. Buy me a drink.”

I held on to her. Her sweaty skin felt like wet clay. “No, you’re already stewed. You can earn half a C-note by not fucking with me and just answering a couple questions. Then you can get back to your other business, right?”

She looked back at the bar. The john was glaring at her empty seat, like he still saw her, or some other despised woman, sitting there.

She said, “All right, all right, let me go.”

I released her. “You know a cop named Gilmore?”

“Sure.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

She grinned and showed me her red waxy teeth. “The night he beat the piss out of you.”

“Right. Is he a regular around here?”

“No, nothing like that.” She licked her lips in what she thought was a seductive manner. It made my stomach crash. “Him and a few other cops come around every once in a while. The bar’s pretty close to the precinct. When they do I usually head out the back door. But like I said, it’s not often. Not regular.”

“He ever roust any women?” I asked. “You ever hear complaints about him? Following women? Anything like that?”

“No. What are you going on about? What are you getting at?” She moved for the money again, and this time I let her take the bill and crush it down into her cleavage. She put her hands back on my chest and tried to push me off. “I don’t like talking about cops. I don’t want nothing to do with them.”

“You said you were here the night my brother killed those people and was arrested.”

“Yeah.”

“Was Gilmore here that night? Think hard. And don’t try to bullshit me. There’s no more money to be made, so don’t string me along.”

A disgusted giggle floated up from her chest. “You don’t want bullshit then I’ll tell you I don’t remember. I remember your brother only because of what happened. I don’t know who else was here. I don’t know if Gilmore was around. I know he wasn’t one of the cops who arrested your Collie. I would’ve remembered that. But whether Gilmore was here having a beer, I have no idea. Did you really expect I would? That anyone would?”

It had been a stupid long shot, but it was all I had to play. “Okay, thanks.”

I walked her back to her seat. The john continued to drunkenly glower, lost in his bitter stupor. I took two steps toward the door. The fucking bartenders in this place never seemed to cut anybody off. Flo sat beside the guy and let out a laugh that made the flesh between my shoulder blades crawl. I got the hell out of there.

The drive home went by so fast it almost felt like it didn’t happen. My brain was on autopilot. I drove without thinking, without seeing the road. I couldn’t shake the vision of Gilmore strangling Rebecca Clarke, slowly squeezing the life adeout of her as she choked and gasped, and then five years later coming back to do the same thing to her sister.

I sat in the driveway without realizing I’d pulled in and parked. Maybe it was the slap Grey had given me, maybe it had rattled my brain loose. I put my head down on the steering wheel and started to drift again. I figured I’d better get inside to bed before I woke up on the Cross Bronx Expressway doing ninety-five onto the George Washington Bridge.

I barely got my clothes off before I hit the bed.

I dreamed of Kimmy. I would always dream of Kimmy.

She didn’t want to rush it. We weren’t speeding along. I had called the Montauk Lighthouse and asked a few questions about wedding ceremonies. I had the judge’s name. I knew what paperwork we needed to bring.