Frank Zafiro: Blood on Blood

“Mick. Here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I saw him, too,” I lie. “I’ll find them both and be right back, okay?” I get up and lean over. “Okay, Dad? Be back.”

He nods at me and his eyes still look okay for now.

I part the curtains and slide out. The twink nurse is at a desk in the corner and I walk straight to him.

“Is there a waiting room? Coffee shop or an area where visitors go to just sit it out for someone terminal?”

“A coffee shop ?” The fucker sighs and smiles at me all sarcastic-like.

“You don’t learn quick, do you?” I snarl at him. “I swear to God, when this over, I’ll be back for you. Now just point me — don’t say another word or I’ll put that ball point pen in your ear.”

His eyes got big on that and he points me down a short, bright hallway. I can see just the corner of a small sitting area. I don’t waste any more time with this shithead because I don’t know how much longer I have here.

When I come around the corner there are three people sitting there, two of them women but none of them Mom. There is another guy leaning on the wall over by the corner window. His back is to me but it isn’t Mick. Wrong build. I take a few more steps in and I’m sure of it. Nope, not him. I glance quickly around the room again but then something makes me come back to the guy at the window.

I get closer still.

“Hey, Hero.”

“Hey, Punk.”

Two nicknames from another lifetime.

The guy who used to be my brother didn’t turn around but he was looking at me in the reflection of the window. Probably been watching me the whole time, like the cop he was.

I meet his eyes but there are no smiles.

Mick

He hadn’t changed much. Still big. More cut than last time I saw him, but prison will do that. Still had that same expression in his eyes as when we were kids. A combination of smart ass and hard ass. It used to hide a boy who was just as scared as the rest of us at what the world held. Now it looked like there was nothing left to hide in those eyes but how much he really hated everything the world held.

Like I should talk, though.

“Surprised you came,” he grunted at my reflection in the window.

“He’s my old man, too.”

“Hard to say,” Jerzy said.

I thought for a second he was going to say more, something derogatory about my mother or something, but he didn’t. He just stared at my reflection.

“Almost didn’t recognize your skinny ass. You used to be more muscled up.”

I shrugged and stood up. “I run a lot these days.”

“Yeah? That figures.”

He wanted me to ask why it figures, I could tell. Then he could jack me around about how it was something I could do alone or how running was for pussies and cowards or whatever. But I didn’t bite. What was the point? I had this few hours here and another few at the funeral, and then we were quits again.

“You see him yet?” I asked.

His mouth tightened and he glanced away. “Yeah.”

“Not quite the Gar Sawyer of old, is he?”

His eyes snapped back to mine. “Hey, fuck you, all right? He was more man than ten of you.”

I raised my hands in a peaceful gesture. “Relax. I’m just saying that cancer is brutal. That’s all.”

He eyed me for another moment, as if gauging my sincerity. Then he said, “Fucking brutal is right. Dying in a room full of crazy people and a fag for a nurse.” He shook his head. “It isn’t right.”

“It is what it is.”

“Fucking philosopher. Listen, you seen Ma?”

“No.”

“Aunt Alina maybe?”

I shook my head.

Jerzy frowned. “They should be here.”

I wondered why he hadn’t stopped and picked up his mother, but I didn’t bother asking. Jerzy does what Jerzy does. You try to figure it out, you’ll go crazy.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, something he always used to do when he was anxious. It was an old tic he’d had since we were young. I wondered if he were even aware that he did it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“Something’s wrong.”

He fixed me with a hard stare. “No shit, Hero. Dad’s dying.”

I didn’t reply.

“Look,” he said. “I’m going back. If you want to see him before…” he paused and swallowed. “If you want to see him again, you should come, too.”

“Okay.”

We walked back down the hallway to the hospital bay. As we passed the nurse at his station, Jerzy growled an insult at him. The hate that came off my brother was palpable, but I knew it wasn’t even really directed at the nurse. I mean, in a way it was, but mostly it was just being directed at everything and the poor guy happened to be part of everything.

Jerzy pulled aside the curtain and we stood side by side next to the old man’s pillow. He looked up at us. A tired, cruel smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“My boys,” he rasped.

“Yeah, Dad,” Jerzy said. “We’re here.”

I said nothing.

His gaze went back and forth between us. He took a shallow breath and exhaled. The stale odor of his breath washed over us.

“Not much time,” he said. His ragged whisper had a mixture of hate and regret in it. “You think you have all the time in the world, but you don’t, boys. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Jerzy said. “We understand.”

“Death is a bitch,” he said. “She’s a conniving bitch and she comes for all of us.”

“Bitches ruin everything,” Jerzy said.

The old man smiled a little. “You know why I’m here?” he asked us. “You know the job?”

“The stick-up bullshit they framed you for?” Jerzy asked.

The old man raised his hand off the blanket slightly and waved Jerzy’s words away. “No. Before that.”

I thought about it for a second, but Jerzy was quicker. “The museum thing? With the diamonds?”

The old man’s eyes shined a little. “That’s it.”

I remembered, although it was all rumors and street legends. The old man and two of his running buddies supposedly caught a courier between the airport and the museum while he was delivering some jewelry. A necklace and earring set. They belong to some Polish or Hungarian duchess or something. Supposedly a big score, and the reason he blew town before getting popped in Wisconsin for the convenience store robbery.

“What about it?” Jerzy asked.

“It’s true.”

“No shit? Good for you, Dad.”

He shook his head slightly. “Bastards double crossed me on the necklace.”

“Who?” Jerzy asked, his voice gruff. “I’ll fucking kill those motherfuckers.”

“Jimmy and Speedo.”

“They’re dead,” Jerzy said. “Count on it.”

“They got the necklace,” the old man said and coughed for a long while. Jerzy just stared at him. I could feel impatience rolling off of him in waves.

I grabbed a few tissues from the bedside table and wiped the chunky spittle from the old man’s lips. He tried to hit my hand away but could only manage to lift it and let it fall back to his side.

“Goddamnit,” he wheezed. “Listen.”

I dropped the used tissue on the table and listened.

“Go ahead, Dad,” Jerzy said. “I’m listening.”

“They got the necklace.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

He coughed again, then continued. “Just…the necklace.”

Both Jerzy and I were silent with understanding. The old man got the diamond earrings. He still had them. Somewhere.

“I left something for you,” he said. His eyes went back and forth between us. “Both of you. My legacy. Your birthright.”

“Where, Dad?” Jerzy’s voice was intense.

The old man’s smile broadened. He shook his head again, sank back deeper into his pillow and coughed some more.