Walter Mosley - Fortunate Son

“What crimes?” Eric asked. “All he did was save my daughter from Drew.”

“He lied to the police; he escaped from custody. He committed identity theft by using a Social Security card that belonged to Bruno Forman. The prosecutor might even try to implicate him with the man who killed your girlfriend. After all, Drew Peters used Thomas’s cart to block the door and keep you from saving your wife.”

Frear was tall and extraordinarily thin. His dark-blue suit was made from the finest material, and his aqua tie had a ruby tack that held it perfectly in place.

“That’s crazy,” Minas said. “He’s just a boy.”

“He’s a man,” Frear corrected, “homeless and black. A convicted felon, an admitted drug dealer, an escapee from a state institution, and there’s even some evidence that he was involved in the slaying of a customer of his, a Raymond ‘RayRay’ Smith.

“I can take the case, but it’s going to be very expensive. And without remarkable luck, he’s looking at anywhere from six to ten years in a maximum security prison.”

Bettye freeling could keep the police from taking Thomas for three more weeks. Minas decided to retain Frear. The initial fee was fifty thousand dollars. The lawyer visited Thomas twice but received little help from his client.

“I just took a walk,” Thomas said, answering Frear’s question about how his escape occurred. “I just meant to go around the block, but then I kept on walking. It was such a nice day, I remember. The sky had those big white clouds that everybody likes so much.”

When Frear wanted to know about the shooting, all Thomas could recall was Tremont coming out with his Uzi and the police opening fire.

“He went crazy, I think,” Thomas said. “He was mad that the police wanted to be messin’ with him.”

“Did you know about the Uzi?”

“Sure. We all did.”

“Did you know that it was against the law to have that weapon?”

“Tremont was the law in that alley,” Thomas said. “That was the first time I ever saw a cop down there in the three years I worked for him.”

“So you worked for him for three years?” Frear asked.

“Yeah.”

Frear decided not to put Thomas on the stand.

Raela, in the meanwhile, emptied a special account that Kronin had set up for her. Using her ATM card, she took out five hundred dollars a day for twenty days.

She spent the afternoons helping Eric with Thomas’s physical therapy and the evenings sleeping with Eric in his childhood bed.

Her mother and father threatened to call the police, but she knew they wouldn’t. Eric’s father told his son that Raela was too young, but after a few dinner conversations with the dark-hued girl, he gave up his arguments.

Minas Nolan blamed himself for Christie’s death because he made Eric move out. He wouldn’t kick his son out again.

Raela spent long evenings talking to Ahn and Minas. She had read thousands of books since the age of eight. She was considerate and mature. She helped with the dishes and explained that she and Eric would be married one day soon.

“He needs me,” she said to Minas one evening while everyone else was in bed.

“Eric doesn’t need anyone,” Minas replied. He was embarrassed by the mild note of contempt in his voice.

“No, Dr. Nolan,” Raela said, sounding more like fifty than fifteen. “He’s afraid of people. He thinks everybody is too weak and that if he isn’t careful he’ll hurt them. He blames himself for you losing Mama Branwyn. He even thinks that he caused Tommy to get lost.”

Minas felt the weight of her words in his chest. He realized, maybe for the first time, how closely physical heart disease was connected to the emotional heart. The girl was telling him a truth that he’d always avoided. He knew that Eric had been forced to carry the weight of his broken heart. He knew that his son had lived with Christie because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

“How do you know all this?” he asked the child.

“Because I’m just like him,” she said. “Or almost. My life has been just like his, only I don’t worry about people like he does.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because you can’t save anyone.”

“I save people all the time,” the doctor said, wondering at his need to argue with the child.

“But when people die on your operating table, do you believe that they were going to die with or without you?”

After that evening Minas could not remember if he’d answered her question. He’d lost eight patients under the knife. Eight lives that he could not save. He’d forgotten most of their names and didn’t attend any of their funerals. He’d washed his hands vigorously after every failure, gone home and got into bed. He wondered how a child knew all of that.

At the end of three weeks Raela gave the ten thousand dollars she’d collected to Eric. The next day Ahn and Raela went with Eric to the hospital and helped Thomas down the stairs and then to the station, where the brothers boarded a train bound for Phoenix.

On the trip to Phoenix, Thomas said to his brother, “You didn’t have to come with me, Eric. If you just gave me a ticket and a couple a bucks I coulda gone on my own.”

“But what would you do when you got there?”

“I don’t know. There’s always somethin’ to do. It’s not that hard.”

“I know, Tommy,” Eric said. “But we just found each other. The only reason you would even go to jail is because you were looking for me and because you saved Mona.”

“But what about her?” Thomas asked. “She needs you to be with her.”

“It’s not gonna take long,” Eric explained. “We just need to set you up somewhere where the police won’t find you. Then I’ll go back home. I promise.”

Thomas stopped arguing. He was happy to be able to spend time with Eric. He knew that Eric could use his help, that he was somehow lost and needed Thomas to lead him out of a dark corridor. He could tell by the way Eric looked away so often. There was even sadness in his smile.

So they took a room in a Phoenix residence hotel and began to plan for Thomas’s future.

The first thing they did was go shopping for clothes. They cruised through Banana Republic buying sweaters, shirts, pants, jackets, underwear, socks, and even a hat for Thomas. The young man was amazed by the variety and cost of these things. He hadn’t been to a clothes store since his days with Monique and Lily when he’d buy a new pair of pants and a T-shirt at JC Penney once every six months or so.

At the same mall they bought walking shoes and a big suitcase for the trip that Eric had planned.

“I’ve never been to New York,” Eric told Thomas. “That means the police won’t think to look for us there.”

“What about Dad?” Thomas asked.

“I told him we were going and that I’d get in touch with him.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He just looked kinda sad and nodded, and I left.”

“Why’s he so sad?” Thomas asked.

They were sitting across from each other on single beds in the Laramie Extended-Stay Hotel and Residence on the outskirts of the city. Their window looked out onto a vast desert of yellows and oranges.

“He’s been like that ever since Mama Branwyn died and they took you away,” Eric said. “All he does is work and sleep.”

“You can see it in his eyes,” Thomas added. “He’s got old man’s eyes.”

“I think it’s because of me,” Eric added. “When I was a kid I always made him do things for me, and I didn’t even see it. And then when I got older it was already too late.”

Thomas rubbed the palms of his hands over his black-cotton trousers. He thought about not being in jail or on trial.