Кен Бруен - Tower

“Ah, jaysus!” Rudi.

Turned to see him crossing himself. That was the last bit of humanity in him.

“Start talking, boyo.” He eyed me coldly, pressing the still smoking shotgun to my temple. I’d seen more compassion in the eyes of an insect.

“Well, I served my purpose. There’s your rat,” I said, pointing at Finney. “This dead guy here missing his ears and the eye was like that when I got here. Finney didn’t mention his name.”

“Tommy Mac,” Rudi obliged.

“Tommy Mac found out about Finney from a source inside the cops. At least that’s what Finney said. So Finney killed him and then lured me down here by... Well, you can see how. He was going to set it up that Tommy Mac was the rat, that I found out about it. Finney was gonna make it look like Tommy Mac killed me and the girl. Finney was gonna come to the rescue, but too late. Then he would prove his loyalty to you by torturing the rat to death. His ass would be covered and he’d be even closer to you.”

Story had holes, but it was pretty good given that I’d just killed my first three men and was half crazy with guilt. Rudi wasn’t buying it.

“Might believe it if it were any man but Finney.”

“You said it your own self, Rudi. You underestimated him.”

Nothing convinces a man better than his own words thrown back in his face. I saw Rudi’s eyes return to their mammalian incarnation and knew I had saved my fairly worthless life. He pulled the shotgun away.

“Ya done good, pal. There’ll be a bonus in it for ya.”

Not an “I’m sorry about the girl” or “What a terrible price to have to pay”, but a bonus.

“Take him back to the safehouse and get him fixed up,” Rudi said to one of his minions.

Felt hands lifting me up and moving me along.

“What about—?”

“Quiet now, boyo,” he shushed me. “I’ll clean up the mess.

In that second, I came to hate Rudi more than I could ever hate Finney or anyone else. Ever!

“What did their purpose conceal

If not the simplest units of friendship?

Like a ship returning in a foreign language

They have turned into beasts, conscious only

Of one another, blind to perfection,

Finding peace only in each other’s arms.”

Never believed in absolutes before Kathleen’s murder. Did now, absolutely. Was FFL. Fucked for life, that was me. There was no escaping culpability. Her blood was on me sure as my own skin. But her death led to a kind of clarity about the universe that had until then eluded me. When my mother took her own life, it was as much relief as loss. Only my dad cried. Then, for himself, really. This was different. Death and me, we were no longer going to stare at each other from across the dance floor. Once you feel loss, you always feel it.

O’Connor was neither fool nor saint. Let me be for a time. Drifted back into my life in New York like carbon monoxide: deadly and colorless. Boyle, Nicky, and Griffin folded me back under their wings without a second thought. In fact, I was treated with a newfound respect. Obviously, Rudi had let word leak back home about my making my bones, about the scene in the basement. Found myself wondering sometimes if Rudi hadn’t had his boyos take pictures of the carnage. Had an image of him staring at photos of Kathleen’s decimated body and masturbating. Christ, those were the nights I drank myself to sleep. As angry as I was at him, it wasn’t Rudi who killed her.

My two-week grace period was over and O’Connor had me meet him at the Einstein gravesite. Never would have visited my mom’s grave if it wasn’t for O’Connor. Was like a fringe benefit.

“That was some ugly shit in Boston, lad. You comported yourself well,” he said.

“Comported! Is that one in the glossary of the cop handbook?”

“We’ve business to do, so—”

“Do you know what they did with her body?” Couldn’t let Kathleen be brushed off like that.

“It won’t do you any good to—”

“Do you know if they even buried her?”

No idiot, he saw that he was going to have to answer if we were to move on. “They probably didn’t bury her, no.”

“What then?”

For the first time I could see in him a split between the human being and the cop. The human being didn’t want to tell me. The cop understood that the truth would fuel me. The cop won out. “They might’ve hacked her up and scattered her in dumps or fed her to—”

For the second time I vomited on poor Sonya Einstein’s grave. “I want to get these motherfuckers, all of them!”

“Okay then, let’s get to work.”

When he left, I did actually go stand by my mother’s grave. “So,” I said, “this is what real pain feels like. I still can’t forgive you, but maybe I understand a little better.”

Was the first and last time in my life I talked to a patch of dirt and blades of grass.

Brooklyn.

Axel’s.

The place was no longer a touchstone for my obsession with Leeza Velez. Given my time in Boston, Leeza’s memory was more like a faint ringing in the ears. After what had happened, I couldn’t even think of Leeza and me together. Felt dirty, a leper, that to imagine us together was sin. Not a God sin. Gotten over that bullshit concept fresh out of the womb. Was worried I’d rub off on her, stain her somehow. What the fuck was I worried about, anyway? I was never going to see her again. Leeza Velez, gone to me as my mother.

Nicky was sitting next to me. Whatever had happened between us in the past year didn’t seem to matter much to either of us. Good definition of friendship that. Took comfort in his presence and he in mine. In my eyes, he was like immune to my disease. He was the only friend I had, the only friend I was ever going to have. The cop shit? That was something else. Would have to work that out later. He was okay with the silence between us, but broke it with whispered curiosity.

“The fuck happened down there?”

Ah fuck! The question hit me between the shoulder blades. Sucked down my Jack on the rocks and chased it with cold Sam Adams. Had taken to drinking Jack to honor Kathleen. Crap! Fuck that lie. Had taken to drinking it to torture and anesthetize myself. The Jack burned, felt my face flush. Said,

“Shit happened.”

We left it at that.

A week later, I put in motion the wheels of destruction.

Nick and I were casing an apartment, at least that’s what he thought we were doing. We were getting high, Yankee game on the radio in the background. Noticed he couldn’t keep his mind on the job for listening to the game. Busted his balls, told him I’d become a true Red Sox fan. Nearly shit his pants.

“The freaking Sox! You’re a Yankees’ fan, the fuck you think you can switch like that, it’s as bad as that asswipe who sold the Dodgers.”

“O’Malley,” I corrected, “didn’t sell the Dodgers. He moved ’em.”

“That shanty prick.” Nick was riled. “Fuck’im!”

“Nick, not for nothing, but I’ve been a Mets fan all my life.”

“I don’t think I ever knew that.” Oblivious. Typical Yankee fan. “Still a betrayal.”

Guess he was right. Laughed. “Nicky, everything changes.”

“Fuck you!” Didn’t like my answer.

In a talkative mood that night, Nick was. Asked me what the deal was with South Philly then South Boston. Nearly bit through my tongue against the notion of confessing my new allegiance and describing, in exquisite detail what a woman’s body looks like after it’s been cut with wires, burned with cigarettes, and been hit at close range with buckshot. Forced myself to focus squarely on the building we were casing.

“Buddy,” I said, “one way or another, the business we’re in, everything goes south.”