Уолтер Мосли - And Sometimes I Wonder About You

I had all kinds of family but I did not, and in some cases never did, belong to them. A man of my age losing love, or some adjacent emotion, was somewhere beyond grief. I imagined that my state of mind was like an innocent bystander being killed by a powerful explosion; one moment you’re standing there and the next you never were.

Gordo had shut down the gym to make preparations for the wedding. It was a crazy scene, all contradictions and outrageous juxtapositions. There were the heavy bags and speed bags wrapped in ribbons of bright colored silk; young boxers helping with organizing the flowers and placing the rented folding chairs all around the central ring.

In the ring itself Sophie, Mardi, her little sister Marlene, Tatyana, Katrina, and Aura were all futzing around. They were tying roses of all colors with ribbons of silk to the ropes, and wrapping the posts with bright-colored cloth.

Dimitri and a couple of other guys were stapling white silk sheets to the ring and arranging them so they flowed down from the raised platform.

I was amazed by the crazy transformation, but that didn’t stop me from having mild trepidation at seeing my sometime girlfriend and sometime wife working side by side. Just the fact that Katrina was there was a surprise. That made me look around the gym a little closer.

My father was there in Gordo’s office having what seemed like a very serious conversation with my mentor. I was about to go over to them when I felt the hand on my shoulder.

“Where you been, LT?” Carson Kitteridge asked.

“Stopped by the Tesla Building to pick this up,” I said, handing him a thick manila envelope filled with data and detail compiled by Bug. “In here you have all the information about everyone who does or ever did belong to the Jones Gang. There’s even information on how he has surveillance devices on every member and how to access the system. With the proper study from your tech guys you could bring down his whole operation in six hours — less. And I’m supposing you’re going to want to do just that because there’s over two hundred crimes planned over the next week.”

I don’t remember ever having seen Kit shocked. He held the hefty packet in one hand and stared.

“Are you kidding me?” he said at last.

“That’s my August of Sundays right there.”

Even though he was stunned, even though this would probably get him another promotion, even though this promised to be the greatest achievement in his career — I still saw a moment of regret for the promise he’d made me. And I have to admit I experienced a little pride that the cop felt that I was almost as dangerous as the phantom Jones.

I spent that night at the Hotel Brown. Looking back on it, I might have spent the time at home but whatever there had been between Katrina and me was over in the marriage department; and, anyway, with a woman like Marella there had to be some time to say good-bye.

When I awoke the next morning she was already awake and dressed and packed. Her black-and-pink-polka-dotted bag was at the door. I sat up and found a cup and an aluminum thermos-pitcher on the nightstand next to my side of the bed.

“I’ll go downstairs and check out while you get dressed,” she said. “Meet you at the front desk.”

Her tone was curt and she wasn’t smiling at all. The fact that she didn’t kiss me was more an expression of love than any sex could have ever been. Marella was facing the unfamiliar task of weaning herself off of emotional dependence upon another human being. I knew this to be true but it hurt me anyway. There aren’t many times in life that you meet another person cast in the same kiln, formed by the same dispassionate hand.

I drank my coffee before putting on my pants; browsed the headlines on my smartphone while tasting the bitter dregs that I needed to stay sharp and focused.

Aldo Ferinni, Max White, and Josh Farth — all from Boston — had been shot dead on the fifteenth floor of the Tesla Building by a squad of New York policemen. The three men had been identified by a private detective, me, to the NYPD as persons of interest in two murders. Two officers were wounded in the firefight. No bystanders were harmed.

Twill was sitting at the nearest round table in the first-class waiting room for the Acela to Boston. He wore a very nice dark gray suit with a bright white shirt and a razor-thin blue, green, and yellow tie. His shoes were matte black and tied with perfect bows.

When we approached him the smile that had been missing returned to Marella’s lips.

“You must be the Twill that gives him such sleepless nights,” she said, holding out a hand.

“And you’re Marella,” he said, surprising her with a kiss, “that kept him company through that hard time.”

The three of us would have been perfect together for as long as the gravy train ran.

“Son,” I said, using the word as an anchor as well as a greeting.

“Pops.”

We had stopped playing chess after Twill turned thirteen. From then on Go was our game. Twill set out a tablet device between us on the table in the block of four seats, two facing two. He hit an app that brought up a Go grid and we began to play.

After half an hour or so Marella asked, “What’s the purpose of this game?”

She had deigned to sit next to me with her hand lightly on my thigh. Having seen me at my best, or worst, she knew that I had a romantic bent and remained close to keep me going in a straight line.

“It’s a game of war,” Twill said, studying his next move. “The purpose is to defeat the enemy by surrounding him while maintaining your army if you can.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Marella decreed. “In a war it all happens at once, not one move at a time.”

“That depends,” my old-soul son replied.

“On what?”

“On if you think a mathematician learns how to add before he takes on calculus.”

Twill was never very good in math class but that didn’t mean that he lacked understanding.

At South Station in Boston my forces were beleaguered but Twill was hurting also. I had a couple of stones on him but that didn’t matter; it was the kind of war that the United States liked to make happen between its enemies. That was a lesson too.

Twill went off for a moment to call his clients while Marella and I had a talk.

“I do believe that that son of yours would have been just as effective as you if he was on that train from Philly,” she said.

“He’s something else,” I said with pride.

“You know I’m trying my best to forget you, Lee.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” I said. “A whole life.”

“You’re never going to come with me, are you?”

Instead of answering I took her by both hands.

“It’s like we were almost real for a few days there,” I said. “I don’t think that anybody could ask for more than that.”

We, all three of us, checked into a suite that Zephyra had booked for us at the Hotel Bombay.

After I’d shown my ID and credit card I asked the desk clerk, “Shouldn’t you be calling this the Hotel Mumbai?”

The red-brown Indian woman, PASHA her nametag read, smiled and nodded. She was in her forties and a beauty on any continent.

“ You have to call it that,” Pasha told me. “But my husband, who owns this hotel, is from Bombay, not Mumbai. Maybe our children will change the name.”

“Do you have a conference room available tomorrow afternoon?” I asked.

“What time?”

“We don’t know for sure but we’ll definitely need it. Can I take from noon to six?”

“I’ll have to check and get back to you later.”

After we’d lugged Marella’s hundred-pound suitcase to the rooms I kissed her on the lips.