J Rain - Dark horse

The entire fifteenth floor was occupied by my father’s agency. His office was big, but not ornately so. There was a leather executive chair with brass nail trim behind a black lacquered desk. Piles of case folders everywhere, and from all indications, business was booming. No surprise there. He sat and motioned for me to do the same in one of his client chairs.

“Why you giving Reggie such a hard time?” my father asked.

“Just making friends and influencing people.”

On his desk, angled in one corner and slightly pushed askew by an errant folder, was the picture of a blond woman and a little boy. I had no idea who they were. A different family, a different life. For all I knew the little boy could have been my half brother.

“Tell me about the pictures,” I said.

He sat back in his chair and studied me silently. His gaze was unwavering. So was mine. Through the open window, in my peripheral vision, I saw a helicopter hover past, then dart away like a curious hummingbird. I tried not to let it distract me.

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why you gave them to me now.”

“I only discovered them a few years ago.”

“Why not give them to me then?”

“Because you were still working here as an apprentice.”

“What does that matter?”

“You didn’t know what the hell you were doing,” he said.

I smiled, realizing what he was getting at. “You waited for me to become a detective.”

“Actually, I waited for you to become a good detective.”

“So you think I’m good?” I hated the fact that this news pleased me.

“That’s what I hear.”

“You’ve been checking up on me.”

He tilted his head toward me and shrugged. “I hear things.”

“Meanwhile you just sat on these photos.”

He shifted in his chair and looked away. “Yes.”

“Tell me more about the photos.”

“When I moved in with Candy,” he nodded toward the blond on his desk, “I found them at the bottom of a box. I flipped through, the first time I had ever done so. To be honest, I don’t know when they were developed or when I picked them up. Probably they were included with some other pictures, and got forgotten.”

Something rose within me. Blood, anger, revulsion, hatred. “These were pictures of your murdered wife taken on the last day she was alive, the mother of your son, and they were forgotten in the bottom of a box?”

“Those were tough times. I really didn’t know my head from a hole in the ground.”

“Not a good analogy. Trust me you did just fine in that department. Remember, I saw first hand.”

We were silent. I did my best to control my anger. On the wall behind him was a picture of a lighthouse. His paperweight was a lighthouse, as were his two bookends. Since when did my dad like lighthouses? There was so much I didn’t know about the man, and so much I didn’t care to know.

“They were fishing together, and one of them appears to have taken an interest in the two of you.”

He sat back. “That’s how I see it.”

“It might have been more than an interest,” I added.

“Perhaps. Could also be a coincidence.”

I said, “Any idea who Blondie is in the picture?”

He shook his head sadly. “No.”

“Do you remember him?”

“Vaguely.”

“Were you aware that he had followed you back to the store?”

“No.”

“Did you see him again at any other time?”

“No.”

“Did you speak with him?”

“I think we did.”

“Do you recall what was said?”

“No, I don’t. I think I commented on the shark.”

“Anything else?”

“Your mother made them laugh with the rabbit ears. They thought she was funny.”

I digested this. “Since finding the pictures two years ago, have you done anything-anything at all-to follow up on your wife’s murder?”

More shifting, as if the plush leather chair could possibly be uncomfortable. He motioned toward the files on his desk. “I’ve been busy lately, too busy, you know…”

“Let me finish for you, father. You were too busy making money to follow up on your wife’s murder. Too busy solving other people’s problems to worry about a woman you never truly loved.”

He shrugged.

I got up and walked around the desk and looked down at him. I stood before him, breathing hard, blood pounding in my ears.

“Do what you’ve got to do,” he said, “and get the hell out of here.”

I backhanded him across the face. The force of the blow almost sent him over the arm of his chair. He regained his balance. A red welt was already forming on his cheek bone. Blood appeared in the corner of his mouth, then trickled out. He said nothing, did nothing, just watched me. His eyes were passionless and empty. No, not empty. There was something there, something deep within, something trying to climb up from the unfathomable depths of his cold soul, but then he blinked and it was gone.

I was sitting next to a window drinking a large iced vanilla coffee when he appeared in the parking lot from behind a large truck. The day was hot, but he didn’t seem to mind or notice his copious layers of clothing. In fact, he wasn’t even sweating. Maybe he was God.

Once inside, he ordered a cup of coffee and sat opposite me, carefully prying the plastic lid off and blowing on his coffee. Finally, when appropriately cooled, he took a sip.

“So where do you go when you’re not here speaking with me?”

“Wherever I want.”

“And where might that be?”

“It’s not where you are, Jim, it’s how you get there.”

“Wow, that’s nice. You should put that on a bumper sticker.”

“Where do you think I got it?”

“Great, now God’s quoting bumper stickers.”

“It’s an old truth, Jim.”

“The journey and all that,” I said.

“Yes, it’s about the journey,” he said, sipping quietly and watching me with his brownish eyes.

“And what happens once you get there?” I asked. “What happens once the journey is over?”

“That is for you to decide, my son. You can stay there, or you can start a new journey.”

“A new journey?”

“Of course.”

“Are we talking reincarnation here?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Are we?”

“Does reincarnation exist?” I asked.

“The soul lives forever,” said the bum in front of me as if he knew what the hell he was talking about. “But the soul can choose many forms.”

“Okay, it’s too early in the morning for this shit, Sorry I asked.”

“Apology accepted. But there’s a reason you asked, isn’t there?”

There was, but I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer. I put down my iced coffee and set it aside.

“So where’s my mother now?” I asked. “You know, her spirit, or whatever?”

As I spoke, Jack inhaled the coffee deeply, pausing, taking the scent deep within, making it a part of him.

“She is wherever she wants to be,” he said, exhaling.

“And where would that be?”

“For instance, she is with us now since we are talking about her.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“And is she sitting next to me?” I asked.

He didn’t answer at first, although he gave me a gentle smile.

“She is in your heart, Jim. Be still, and feel her there.”

I looked at the old man across from me. On second thought, he wasn’t really that old. On third thought, I was hard pressed to gauge just how old he was, although he was certainly older than me. And then another thought occurred to me: My mother. I suddenly remembered a time when she and I had gone to the beach together in the city bus. She let me ditch school and had treated me like a prince that day.