George Pelecanos - The Way Home

“Chris doesn’t gamble. Does he?”

“No idea. But he’s lying about what went down tonight. Still lying to me, after everything we’ve been through.”

“Maybe there’s a reason.”

“He was mixed up with Ben on something. Ben was killed because of it, and Chris won’t tell me or anyone else what it’s about. That’s the reason, Manda. Chris fucked up again. He’s into something wrong.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you’re blind. You always have been.”

“At least I didn’t give up on him.”

“Yes, you did. Call it nurturing if you want to put a sweet name to it, but to me, you just gave up. Because you stopped expecting anything from him. I never did.”

“He’s our child.”

“He’s a man. And I can’t accept what he is. I won’t.”

“Give him a chance.”

“I always have,” said Flynn. “And I’m not the only one. You remember that time he broke into those cars in the parking lot of that Tex-Mex place on Wisconsin?”

“Tuco’s,” said Amanda. The owner of the restaurant had called them at home. His people had watched Chris do the crime on live camera. He’d been caught by a couple of employees and brought back into the kitchen. Her husband had told the owner he’d make restitution when he picked Chris up.

“When I got there,” said Flynn, “I went up the stairs with these Mexicans, or whatever they were, to this little security room they had with video monitors in it, on the second floor. In the dining room of that restaurant the waitstaff was dressed in bright outfits, the music was festive, and everyone was smiling. Y’know, one of those happy ethnic eating experiences for white people in Ward Three. But up in that room these guys looked like some rough Spanish dudes who’d just had a well-to-do kid come to their business establishment and ruin that experience for their customers. I mean, these guys were hot. I had to beg them not to call the police. And I had to stand there with them and watch a tape of my son in that lot, looking around and hesitating before he made the decision to break into those cars. I was saying, ‘Don’t do it, Chris. Please, don’t do it.’ But he had al ready done it. I was watching a tape of something that had happened an hour earlier. Those Mexicans must have thought I was nuts.”

“What difference does it make now?”

“The point is, I gave him plenty of chances. The guy who owned the restaurant, he gave the kid a chance that day, too. Chris just kept on screwing up.”

“That was ten years ago.”

“Right.” Flynn swirled bourbon and looked into the glass. “You’ll be happy to know that he’s making plans, at least. Says he’s going to take a couple of classes at Montgomery College in the spring. And apparently he’s serious about Kate.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Amanda.

“His blue area’s finally catching up to his green area.”

“What?”

“Reasoning and emotion. The limbic system and the prefrontal cortex. Remember Dr. Peterhead’s presentation on that easel? Chris’s brain is evening out. Now if he can only stop himself from stumbling. Refrain from those criminal impulses he’s got. I guess that’s a different area of the, the cortex.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So?”

“I’m going to bed.”

Amanda left the dining room. Flynn listened to her footsteps ascend the stairs.

“I’ll be up in a minute,” he shouted.

There was no reply. He closed his eyes and drank.

In his apartment, Chris sat in the dark and drank another beer. He had been thinking on something the little man with the thick mustache had said. As the pieces began to connect in his head, murder came to his heart.

Chris Flynn sat at a window deuce with Mindy Kramer in Thai Feast. Their view was of several painters’ vans and pickups jumbled in a parking lot dominated by a green Dumpster. But neither of them was looking out the window. Before Mindy was her noodle special, a glass of water, iced coffee, and a full cup of chicken-lemon grass soup that had gone cold. Mindy was staring down at the table, her oversize sunglasses and BlackBerry neatly aligned beside the plates. Her hands were in her lap and her fingers were tightly entwined.

Chris had ordered nothing and was drinking water. Mindy had agreed to meet him after hearing the malice in his voice during an early-morning phone call. She knew what this was going to be about. She wanted the conversation to take place in public.

“How did you know?” said Mindy. Her hair was heavily gelled and her makeup was as thick as a cardboard mask.

“One of them called me Chris Carpet. It’s the same stupid name you bragged about giving me when you entered it into your phone.”

“I meant you no disrespect. It was just a mnemonic device I used.”

“ And I got an anonymous call on my cell last Saturday night. The caller addressed me as Chris Carpet. So it all goes back to you.”

Toi, the house waitress, came to the table and refilled Chris’s water glass. She looked at the untouched food and drink in front of Mindy.

“You are not hungry today, Miss Kramer? Something wrong with the noodles? You don’t like?”

“Everything’s fine,” said Mindy, making a short, impatient chopping motion with one hand.

Toi smiled wanly and drifted to another table.

“Why’d you give up my name?”

“I was frightened,” said Mindy. “I thought they’d murder me if I didn’t give them a name. Can you understand that? I assumed that you and your partner-”

“His name was Ben.”

“I assumed that the two of you found the money and took it. I certainly knew nothing about its existence until the day those animals came into my life.”

“You were wrong,” said Chris. “We didn’t take anything.”

Mindy used her thumb to rub at the corner of one eye and smudged mascara onto the side of her face. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Tell me what they looked like.”

Mindy ran a hand up and down the goose bumps on her bare arm. “A large man with one of those mustaches that curve down around the mouth. It looked like he had false teeth to me. He had a small tattoo on his hand. A four-leaf clover.”

“And the other,” said Chris, his eyes losing their light.

“Much smaller. Bushy mustache. An awful, ugly face.”

“Their names?”

“The big one called himself Ralph Cotter. He made the appointment and I wrote the name into my daybook. I don’t remember what the little one went by. Cotter wasn’t his real name. He told me as much.”

“Any weapons?” said Chris, and Mindy looked at him quizzically. “You said you thought they were going to kill you. What would they have used?”

“The little man had a knife.”

“What kind of a knife?” said Chris.

“He kept it in a sheath tied to his calf. It had a wood handle and teeth on the blade.”

Chris mumbled something that she could not hear.

“What?”

“They killed my friend.”

“I’m sorry,” said Mindy.

“He didn’t take their money. He never hurt anyone. He couldn’t.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Chris said nothing and drank water from his glass.

“I have a daughter,” said Mindy Kramer. “Lisa’s about your age. She’s been… I don’t mind telling you, she’s been a disappointment to me. It’s not uncommon for a parent of my generation to feel that way, you know. We were so ambitious and hard-charging, and our children seem so, I don’t know, unconcerned with what they are going to achieve in life.” Mindy sipped her iced coffee and placed the glass gently on the table. “Lisa had two little girls. She’s no longer married to the father, and I don’t feel as if she’s equipped to handle the responsibility of motherhood. So I’m practically raising Michelle and Lauren myself.”