Todd Robinson - The Hard Bounce

That wasn’t what I was looking for. I was there to see if someone had marked his territory. Made it look like a collapse when it wasn’t anything. Maybe he’d dropped his wallet or carved “I killed Cassandra Donnelly” on the wall and signed it.

As one last test, I gave the wood on the side of the broken stairs a good stomp. The impact boomed an echo through the lonely hallways.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Dutch complained. “Please don’t do that. No more dead whiteys, Boo! Please?”

I stared down into the hole. The cavity that swallowed Cassie’s short life. How long did she lie down there? Was she knocked out? Killed instantly? Or was she down there dying, alone, for hours? I couldn’t see through the darkness to determine what lay at the bottom. Basement? Closet? Was there blood? The hole just stared back at me, unconcerned with my opinion of it.

The wood held. I stomped three more times.

Bang bang bang.

Nothing. If it held me and withstood by best stompings, then-

Creak.

“Oh, Boo. Get offa there, please .”

With an earsplitting screech, the banister tore away from the wall, the entire stairwell collapsing under me. I was lucky enough to land on my good leg and roll when I hit. I bounced off the floor once, and Dutch screamed. I got the wind knocked out of me, but I was okay.

The same drop had been much worse for Cassie.

“Boo!” Plaster and ash floated thickly in the air, making Dutch wheeze.

“I’m over here, Dutch.” I called back, coughing in the chalky dust coating the inside of my mouth and lungs. I pulled the front of my shirt over my nose again as I ran for the door. Dutch was right behind me, gasping.

So the stairs weren’t up to code. So what? They stood long enough with my fat ass on them. They should have been able to take Cassandra’s weight without a squeak.

But they did collapse, what was left of my rational mind said.

But they should have held her , the irrational majority said.

But they didn’t.

But.

Ifs and buts.

I put on my one suit. My funeral blacks. It seemed death was the only occasion I had to put on decent clothes. It took me a long time to get the necktie knotted, since it had been about seven years since I’d last had to tie one. That, and I couldn’t use a mirror. When I caught my own eyes in the reflection, I saw the surfacing ghosts. A grief I hadn’t seen in many years. A grief I still couldn’t afford.

Junior and I waited at the New Cavalry Cemetery gates for the procession to arrive from the church. For reasons neither of us could touch upon, we didn’t feel it would be appropriate for us to attend the funeral mass, but we both wanted to be there for the graveside service.

I sat on Miss Kitty’s hood, leafing through the Sunday Globe . The story of Cassandra’s death had made the front page for a couple days, then been bumped to page three by the end of the week. Today’s article was about the funeral and Big Jack’s sudden spike in the polls. Sympathy made for a lot of votes, apparently. I doubted Mr. Donnelly felt the value of those votes versus what they had cost him.

“Here they come,” Junior said, spitting an empty sunflower seed into the street.

A long progression of black cars crept up the street, headlights on.

Cassandra’s casket was laid into the ground under a large willow tree, next to her mother. A good number of people were in attendance. Cassandra’s friends huddled together on one side, their pubescent emotions unchecked and on display. Two girls wailed their way through the entire service, the cries of kids who just got a sucker-punch of a reminder that they weren’t immortal. Their grief was a palpable presence, like currents of ozone before a thunderstorm.

Our sadness was for a recent loss. We’d barely known the kid. Our contact with her could be broken down into a matter of hours. So why was I hurting so bad?

Junior and I kept to the back. We didn’t belong, standing there in our cheap suits, barely knowing anyone there. I could feel the class line right there and then. Death may level all playing fields, but only for the dead. At one point, Kelly spotted us and lifted her fingers. I could see streaks of wetness underneath her sunglasses. I just nodded at her.

Jack Donnelly wasn’t so big that day. In fact, he was the smallest man I’ve ever seen, as though a sinkhole had opened in his chest and was pulling him inside out as the service progressed. His eyes never strayed from the copper-colored casket and the open grave underneath. At his side stood Barnes, looking like he was ready to take control if any control needed taking.

From our isolated spot, we couldn’t hear the priest’s words, but as he finished and the casket was lowered, the cries reached a crescendo and I saw Jack sway. In a heartbeat, Barnes curled his arm around his old friend for support. As the crowd parted, people cried on each other’s shoulders, held one another, shook hands, and went their ways.

I wanted to make my way over to Mr. Donnelly. I wanted to look him straight and say…

I don’t know.

That I was sorry.

A small procession of people before me were doing just that as Barnes led Donnelly back to his limousine. By the time Barnes got him there, I was a step away and found no words to say. I started to extend my hand when the levee of Donnelly’s grief broke. He bayed softly, crumpling onto the side of his car.

“Jack… Jack…” Barnes said in a calm voice to his friend.

“I killed her,” Donnelly wept. “I killed my little girl. I pushed her away from me, Danny. I pushed her, and she’s dead. She’s gone. Oh, God-”

“Jack, get in the car, please.” I heard Barnes’ voice crack as he opened the car door and placed Donnelly inside.

The mass of mourners looked away uncomfortably or cried harder for their friend’s daughter.

I just felt sick. I was physically ill at my own selfishness. I’d made Cassie’s death about me, my world. I’d placed my own bullshit existence into Cassandra’s death when I had no reason. No right. I realized that as I watched the collapse of Jack Donnelly, and I felt sick to my core about it. For him.

We went back to The Cellar after the funeral to drink death away.

“That sucked,” Junior said as he swallowed another mouthful of wine.

That pretty much summed it up.

Ginny was waitressing and came over to us. “What’s with the monkey suits boys? Somebody die?”

I gave her my eyes, and she realized her question wasn’t as rhetorical as she’d thought.

“Oh shit,” she said and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“S’okay,” I mumbled. I patted her hand.

“Let me get you guys another round,” she said, and she quickly sauntered off.

“It’s done, Junior,” I said.

“Thank God.” Junior sighed with relief.

I gulped the rest of my bourbon. “You were right. I don’t know what I was thinking. She was the goddamn district attorney’s daughter-”

“You wanted to be sure, brother. I understand that much.”

“I know you do. Seeing Donnelly like that, I dunno, made me rethink where we stand in all this. For crissakes, the guy is the top cop in town. I don’t know what made me think I could do any better than he could.”

Junior shrugged. “What can I say? You’re an egotistical narcissistical motherfucker.”

I glared at him, and he laughed. Then I started. We laughed in the only way friends can when they’re at their worst. Ginny was all the more confused when she brought our drinks over.

When we stopped laughing, I said, “There is one more thing I’d like to do.” I cleared my throat. “For Cassie.”

Junior raised his wine. “For Cassie.”