Bryan Gruley: Starvation lake

“It was either that or let the state boys grab you,” he said. “I have a little piece of paper here from Judge Gallagher that says you’re mine until six o’clock tonight. Then I’ll be having to hand you over to the state police, depending.”

“Depending on what?”

“Depending on what you tell me.”

Of course I was bursting to tell someone what I knew, and the longer I waited, the more time Blackburn had to get away. But I had no idea what Dingus was going to do with me. I wouldn’t be able to help Joanie much with that FedEx delivery if I was in jail. And where would Blackburn go anyway? Once the world knew he was alive, he wouldn’t be hard to track down.

I was thinking, too, about my father and what he had or hadn’t done. I told myself that Blackburn was lying, that Blackburn was just trying to manipulate me yet again. But what if he wasn’t? What shame might be brought down upon my father’s grave and, inevitably, my mother?

“It’s not my job to help you do your job,” I said.

“Oh, really?” Dingus caught my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Did you think you fooled me on your way out of Starvation? Did you think I don’t know those back roads?”

I didn’t say anything.

“For the record, we had you at every turn until you hit Old Twenty-seven. Not too hard to keep track of a car the size of a battleship.”

“Wait. You’re saying you just let me go?”

He lit another Tiparillo. “Sheriff Aho declined to comment.”

“You’re a funny guy, Dingus.”

The car filled with the smell of the cherry-sweet smoke. We drove in silence for a while.

“So,” he finally said. His eyes were in the rearview again. “Are you going to tell me what you learned on your little trip?”

The clang of a jail cell door woke me.

“You’re up,” Darlene said.

I looked around, blinking against the light from the caged bulbs. A little before dawn, Dingus had stuck me in a part of the jail I’d never seen before, away from Soupy and the other prisoners. In my cell there was a sink, a toilet, and, instead of a cot, a concrete slab where I had fallen asleep.

“I guess so,” I said.

“You have visitors.” She motioned down the corridor. Catledge appeared with my mother and Joanie.

“Oh,” I said. “Mom.” Her eyes were red around the rims. Joanie had an arm around my mother’s shoulders. Two days before, they hadn’t even met. Joanie was one great reporter.

“Skip, can you get a couple of chairs?” Darlene said. “Hold on, Mother Bea.” Catledge went for the chairs and Darlene stepped into the cell and handed me an envelope. “Here,” she said.

The envelope had already been sliced open. I took it and pulled out a note written on a piece of notepaper in pen.

Gus,

Very sorry to hear of your troubles. If you are in need of an attorney, don’t hesitate to have the police contact me.

Sincerely, Francis J. Dufresne

P.S. Our friend Leo will be remembered at a service this afternoon. I will pass along your regards.

I set the envelope on the edge of the sink as Catledge returned with the chairs. Mom and Joanie sat facing me.

“What time is it?” I said.

“Where were you, Gussy?” Mom said. “Why did you go away like that without telling me? Why didn’t you tell me the police were after you? Why are you keeping things from me? What’s wrong, son?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. Dingus says they’re going to take you to jail in Detroit tonight. He says he’s trying to help you but you’re not cooperating.”

“Does he?” I said.

Dingus had persisted in his interrogation all the way back to Starvation. Whenever I dozed off, he roused me with more questions. I told him a little, though obviously not as much as he wanted to know. Hearing that Blackburn was alive didn’t seem to surprise Dingus much; he kept asking who else was involved, who was the brains behind Blackburn. It was as if he’d listened in on Blackburn telling me he couldn’t have been the only one peddling porn. I thought of my father and shut my mouth. Dingus deposited me in that jail cell.

“Gus,” Mom said. “It’s time to grow up now.”

“I’m sorry you think that,” I said. “But I’m not the only one who’s been keeping secrets, am I?”

Tears welled in my mother’s eyes. “It’s all right, Bea,” Joanie said. She looked at me. “Your mother has some things to tell you.”

“Yes.”

“Tell him about Leo.”

Mom pulled a packet of tissues from her coat pocket and used one to dab at her eyes. “I think I told you,” she said, “that on the night of Jack’s accident, Leo tried to tell me he’d done a terrible thing.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m not proud of this, son. As I said, I wouldn’t let Leo tell me what the thing was. He was hysterical, one minute cursing Jack, the next near tears. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was trying to say. But I knew, I mean, I didn’t think I wanted to hear it. Then the police came. Leo must’ve gotten scared. But I’m not so dumb. I could see he wasn’t wet.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying”-she stopped to collect herself-“I’m saying I knew what Leo was trying to say. I didn’t understand until later, a lot later, when I didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

“What was it, Mother?”

“He meant he’d let Jack go.”

“And why,” Joanie said, “would Leo have thought this was so terrible, Bea?”

“I can’t be sure. But I thought something-something that wasn’t right-was going on at those little houses Jack had for the out-of-town boys. I was with him once at his own house after we’d gone to a show. I could just-” She paused. “He was a strange man. A very strange man.”

My brain had begun to throb against the inside of my skull.

“You have to believe me, son,” she said. “I didn’t know for sure what was going on there. And, yes, maybe I didn’t want to know. But at least I kept you away. I’m so glad I did that. Joanie told me about the young man in Canada.”

“Did you tell all of this to Dingus?” I said.

“I told him I wouldn’t talk until I spoke with you.”

“Anything else?”

From a sweater pocket Mom produced a folded sheet of paper. She set it on her lap. “Your father,” she said. “I know you’ve been looking for answers. By now”-she glanced at Joanie-“maybe you know some things.”

I looked at Joanie.

“The delivery isn’t in yet,” she said. “Snowstorms.”

Shit, I thought. I turned back to my mother. “I know Dad made some sort of investment in something that had something to do with Blackburn.”

“No,” Mom said. “Not with Jack.”

“Mother, he made an investment. I knew it even back then.”

“Whatever he did, he did for us. For you.”

“Can we please stop this bullshit? Dad’s gone. If you have something to tell me, just tell me. What was this second job he had on Saturday nights? What was the damn investment?”

“Settle down,” Joanie said.

Mom continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “On Friday nights, he went to those poker parties, and-”

“At Blackburn’s?”

“Some. Remember, Jack was only here a year or two before your father passed. They were playing poker long before that.”

“All right.”

“Those nights, after a while your father started sneaking that old movie projector out of the house. The same one you were sneaking out the other day. He thought I didn’t know. I wanted to think it was just some harmless boys’ fun. But Rudy wasn’t the sneaking kind.”

“So what?”

“It wasn’t like your father.”