Andrew Vachss - Pain Management

He didn’t get angry. “I’d never do that,” he said, his voice as hollow as his eyes. “I love Buddy. She knows I love her. I never really had a . . . friend. That’s why . . . I mean, she was my buddy. I would never violate her. She knows that.”

“You violated her trust. You raised her in your image, not in your truth. So your own daughter thinks you’re a traitor.”

“No! I’m not. I had no—”

“You had choices, Kevin. You were in the underground. I don’t know what went on back then, but I’m guessing you did something pretty heavy. And that the G-men popped you for it.”

“I was with the—”

“I don’t care,” I told him, truthfully. “Maybe you set a bomb to make a statement and it made jelly out of some janitor. Maybe you stood watch outside a bank while a cop got gunned down. Maybe you smuggled a pistol into a prison and people got killed. Maybe . . . What difference does it make? They popped you, and you rolled over on your—what is it that you called them then?—comrades? What’s the big deal, anyway? Pretty standard for you people. Didn’t Timothy Leary turn in the same people who busted him out of prison?”

“It was a long time ago. You don’t understand. That was before Buddy was even—”

“A long time ago, sure. And you were scared. I can understand that. You weren’t raised to be a criminal. Turning informant, I’ll bet they even convinced you it was the right thing to do.”

“It was. ”

“Yeah. I know. Only, after a while, you got to like it, didn’t you?”

“No!”

“Sure you did, Kevin. You’ve been ‘underground’ for almost thirty years. Your old network, they can count on you. And you could count on them to spread the word. You were smooth, I give you that. At first, I thought I could just match up the money with the news of one of them getting arrested all out of the blue. You know, one of them that had been underground themselves for all these years. Married. Kids, job, community. A new life. And then it all explodes. Or, sometimes, for no obvious reason, they just ‘decide’ to come in out of the cold. As if they didn’t know the feds were breathing down their necks. But your checkbook didn’t prove that one out.

“That’s when I snapped to it. You’re weren’t getting rewards for ratting out your old friends, Kevin. You probably fingered all of them a long time ago. No, you were on the payroll. Bringing in new clients all the time. Word-of-mouth is the best advertising of all. That’s why all the left-wing stuff; that’s why you keep up the image. All camouflage. You would have been fine, except that your daughter, she believed it all. She bought your line. Because she loved you. Her daddy could do no wrong.”

“Why are you—?”

“You got what you raised, you pathetic motherfucker. A beautiful, intelligent, caring young woman. All she wants to do is change the world, make it a better place. The way her daddy took such risks to do. You told her all your old war stories, didn’t you?”

“I . . .”

“Yeah. Well, you did a good job. Such a good job that, when she found out what you were doing, you know what she did?”

“What?” he said, voice breaking.

“She went to an expert in Multiple Personality Disorder. A real expert, you understand. Someone who’d been there herself. Because, the way that pure-hearted daughter of yours had it figured, her father could never be a traitor. It had to be that you were a multiple. Like an evil twin, you know?”

“Maybe I . . . I mean, part of me always—”

“Save it. Christ, you’re a slimy maggot, aren’t you? Right to the end.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Me? Nothing. It’s what you’re going to do, Kevin.”

“I don’t under—”

“Shut up. I’ll tell you when to talk. How much of this does your wife know?”

“Mo was . . . there with us. At the beginning.”

“Yeah. That’s the way it scanned to me, too. Good. Makes it easier. What you’re going to do is this, Kevin: you’re going to sign some papers that make Rosebud an emancipated minor.”

“A . . . what?”

“And some more papers,” I went on, “that give custody of Daisy to Dr. Dryslan and his wife.”

“Daisy?! What are you—?”

“It won’t matter to you, Kevin. You’re never going to see either of them again. Because I’m going to give you something you never gave the poor bastards who trusted you all these years. A head start.”

“Please. Can’t you under—?”

“Kevin, it all happens. And right now. You’re going to sign these papers,” I said, taking them out of my inside pocket. “They’re all back-dated. Notarized. And tonight, while you’re packing, you can tell your wife she signed them, too. Forging her signature wasn’t much work,” I said. Thinking, even as I spoke, about how much I had counted on Gem for all this.

“Packing . . . ?”

“You can take all your money. Even your car, if you’re fool enough. But not the house—you’re signing that over to Rosebud, so she can sell it and have enough to take care of Daisy until they’re both out of school. You can tell your handlers that now it’s time to see if the Witness Protection Program really works. Or you can try the underground for real; it’s up to you. And, Kevin . . .”

“I’ve still got friends in the—” he muttered.

“They were never your friends,” I cut him off. “You think, because they were willing to put a couple of men in the street looking for your daughter, they were with you? Don’t make it worse. You send your tame G-men after me, somebody may get dead. Might be them. Might be me. But you do that, no matter how it comes out, you are for damn sure dead. Play it wrong now, and every single man, woman, and child you’ve fucked with your games all these years will know the truth. It’s all ready to go. Newspaper ads, the Internet, fax chains, word-of-mouth . . . everything. You’ll be hunted down the same way they were . . . only the hunters won’t be carrying badges. You wouldn’t even be safe in prison.

“But do it right, you can just disappear. People will wonder, but so what? Besides, your wife will want it this way. You’ll still have a nice, luxurious life.”

“You don’t know her. You can’t judge—”

“If you’re still here tomorrow night, Kevin, it won’t be me doing the judging.”

“Can you tell Buddy . . . ?”

“What?” I asked him, despite myself.

“Tell her I always loved her,” he said, sobbing, trying to manage his own pain the same way he’d manufactured it. “Tell her I understand what she did. Tell her I’m proud of her. Tell her to take care of Daisy. Tell her she did the right thing.”

“She still loves you, Kevin. She’d rather you were on the run than dead.”

“I’m . . .”

“Kevin, listen good. Me, I don’t care if you live or die. I think you know that. But I know a checkout promise when I hear one. Don’t do it. If you go to ground—and you sure know how to do that —you’ll still be able to see Buddy. Not a visit, but you can . . . watch from afar, you understand? Watch over your kid. You do that, I promise I’ll tell her what you said. Fair enough?”

“Yes,” he said, sniffling.

“Here’s your blood diary,” I said, tossing it at him. “And, yeah, I’ve got a few copies. You keep your deal, and no one will ever see them. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Kevin, this is simple. Yes or no. Live or die. Tomorrow night, you be fucking gone. ”

It took four days for me to make sure Kevin had done it all. That he was really gone for good.