When the hug finally ended, Myron headed back down the corridor and changed back into his clothes. Beefy was there. The other two goons were gone. Myron didn’t know about their fate. He didn’t much care. Beefy nodded at Myron. Myron walked over to Beefy and said, “I need one more favor.” He told Beefy what he wanted. Beefy looked surprised but he said, “Give me a minute.” He disappeared into the other room, came back, handed Myron what he had asked for. Myron thanked him. He headed outside, slipped into Win’s car, and started it up.
It was almost over.
He was a mile down the road when Esperanza called him. “Your father’s awake,” she said. “He wants to see you.”
“Tell him I love him.”
“You’re on your way?”
“No,” he said. “I can’t come yet. Not until I do what he asked.”
Then Myron hung up the phone and started to cry.
33
Christine Shippee met Myron in the lobby of the Coddington Rehabilitation Institute.
“You look like death warmed over,” Christine said. “And when you think about what I see in here every day, that’s saying something.”
“I need to talk to Kitty.”
“I told you on the phone. You can’t. You trusted me to take care of her.”
“I need information.”
“Tough.”
“At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it may be a matter of life and death.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Christine said, “but you called me for help, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew the rules when you put her in here, right?”
“I did. And I want her to get help. We both know she needs it. But right now my father may be dying, and he’s looking for me to get some final answers.”
“And you think Kitty has them?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a mess right now. You know how my protocol works. The first forty-eight hours are pure hell. She won’t be able to concentrate. All she’ll want is a fix.”
“I know that.”
Christine shook her head. “You got ten minutes.” She buzzed him in and started leading him down a corridor. There wasn’t a sound. As though reading his mind, Christine Shippee said, “All the rooms are totally soundproof.”
When they reached Kitty’s door, Myron said, “One more thing.”
Christine waited.
“I need to talk to her alone,” Myron said.
“No.”
“The conversation has to be confidential.”
“I won’t tell a soul.”
“For legal reasons,” Myron said. “If you hear something and one day you’re called to testify, I don’t want you lying under oath.”
“My God. What are you going to ask her?”
Myron said nothing.
“She may freak out on you,” Christine said. “She may grow violent.”
“I’m a big boy.”
She thought about it another minute. Then she sighed, unlocked the door, and said, “You’re on your own.”
Myron entered. Kitty lay on the bed, half asleep maybe, whimpering. He closed the door behind her and moved toward the bed. He flicked on a lamp. Kitty had the sweats in a big, bad way. She blinked into the light.
“Myron?”
“It’s time for the lies to end,” he said.
“I need a fix, Myron. You have no idea what this is like.”
“You saw them kill Gabriel Wire.”
“Them?” She looked puzzled, but then, as though thinking better of it, she caved and said, “Yes. I saw. I went to deliver a message for Suzze. She still loved him. She still had his key. I sneaked in a side entrance. I heard the gun go off and I hid.”
“That was why you needed to run off with my brother. You needed to escape because you were afraid for your life. Brad was on the fence. So you added that lie about me—to drive the final wedge between us. You told him that I made a pass at you.”
“Please,” she said, grabbing at him desperately. “Myron, I need a fix so bad. Just one more and then I’ll let them help me. I promise.”
Myron tried to keep her focused. He knew that he didn’t have much time. “I don’t really care what you told Suzze either, but I imagine you just confirmed what Lex told her—that Wire had been killed all those years ago. You posted that ‘Not His’ message to get revenge and to send Lex a message that he better help you out.”
“I just needed a few dollars. I was desperate.”
“Yeah, terrific. And it cost Suzze her life.”
She started crying.
“But none of that matters anymore,” Myron said. “Right now I only care about one thing.”
Kitty squeezed her eyes shut. “I won’t talk.”
“Open your eyes, Kitty.”
“No.”
“Open your eyes.”
She peeked out like a child through one eye—then both flew open wide. Myron dangled the heroin in the clear plastic bag in front of her—the bag he’d gotten not long ago from Beefy. Kitty tried to snatch it from his hand, but he pulled away just in time. She started clawing at him, screaming for it, but he pushed her back.
“You tell me the truth,” Myron said. “And I will give you the bag.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
She started crying. “I miss Brad so much.”
“I know you do. That’s why you started using again, right? You couldn’t face life without him. Like Mickey said, some couples aren’t built to be apart.” And then, with tears running down his cheeks, still thinking about that five-year-old cheering his lungs out at Yankee Stadium, Myron said, “Brad is dead, isn’t he?”
She couldn’t move. She collapsed back on the bed, her eyes staring up, unseeing.
“How did he die, Kitty?”
Kitty stayed on her back, her gaze on the ceiling trancelike. When she finally spoke, her voice was a faraway monotone. “He and Mickey were on Interstate Five heading down to an AAU game in San Diego. An SUV lost control and crossed the divider. Brad died on impact—right in front of his son. Mickey spent three weeks in the hospital.”
So there it was. Myron had braced himself—had known that something like this was coming—but the confirmation still sent him reeling. He collapsed into a chair on the other side of the room. His baby brother was dead. In the end, it had nothing to do with Herman Ache or Gabriel Wire or even Kitty. It had just been a car accident.
It was almost over.
He was a mile down the road when Esperanza called him. “Your father’s awake,” she said. “He wants to see you.”
“Tell him I love him.”
“You’re on your way?”
“No,” he said. “I can’t come yet. Not until I do what he asked.”
Then Myron hung up the phone and started to cry.
33
Christine Shippee met Myron in the lobby of the Coddington Rehabilitation Institute.
“You look like death warmed over,” Christine said. “And when you think about what I see in here every day, that’s saying something.”
“I need to talk to Kitty.”
“I told you on the phone. You can’t. You trusted me to take care of her.”
“I need information.”
“Tough.”
“At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it may be a matter of life and death.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Christine said, “but you called me for help, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew the rules when you put her in here, right?”
“I did. And I want her to get help. We both know she needs it. But right now my father may be dying, and he’s looking for me to get some final answers.”
“And you think Kitty has them?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a mess right now. You know how my protocol works. The first forty-eight hours are pure hell. She won’t be able to concentrate. All she’ll want is a fix.”
“I know that.”
Christine shook her head. “You got ten minutes.” She buzzed him in and started leading him down a corridor. There wasn’t a sound. As though reading his mind, Christine Shippee said, “All the rooms are totally soundproof.”
When they reached Kitty’s door, Myron said, “One more thing.”
Christine waited.
“I need to talk to her alone,” Myron said.
“No.”
“The conversation has to be confidential.”
“I won’t tell a soul.”
“For legal reasons,” Myron said. “If you hear something and one day you’re called to testify, I don’t want you lying under oath.”
“My God. What are you going to ask her?”
Myron said nothing.
“She may freak out on you,” Christine said. “She may grow violent.”
“I’m a big boy.”
She thought about it another minute. Then she sighed, unlocked the door, and said, “You’re on your own.”
Myron entered. Kitty lay on the bed, half asleep maybe, whimpering. He closed the door behind her and moved toward the bed. He flicked on a lamp. Kitty had the sweats in a big, bad way. She blinked into the light.
“Myron?”
“It’s time for the lies to end,” he said.
“I need a fix, Myron. You have no idea what this is like.”
“You saw them kill Gabriel Wire.”
“Them?” She looked puzzled, but then, as though thinking better of it, she caved and said, “Yes. I saw. I went to deliver a message for Suzze. She still loved him. She still had his key. I sneaked in a side entrance. I heard the gun go off and I hid.”
“That was why you needed to run off with my brother. You needed to escape because you were afraid for your life. Brad was on the fence. So you added that lie about me—to drive the final wedge between us. You told him that I made a pass at you.”
“Please,” she said, grabbing at him desperately. “Myron, I need a fix so bad. Just one more and then I’ll let them help me. I promise.”
Myron tried to keep her focused. He knew that he didn’t have much time. “I don’t really care what you told Suzze either, but I imagine you just confirmed what Lex told her—that Wire had been killed all those years ago. You posted that ‘Not His’ message to get revenge and to send Lex a message that he better help you out.”
“I just needed a few dollars. I was desperate.”
“Yeah, terrific. And it cost Suzze her life.”
She started crying.
“But none of that matters anymore,” Myron said. “Right now I only care about one thing.”
Kitty squeezed her eyes shut. “I won’t talk.”
“Open your eyes, Kitty.”
“No.”
“Open your eyes.”
She peeked out like a child through one eye—then both flew open wide. Myron dangled the heroin in the clear plastic bag in front of her—the bag he’d gotten not long ago from Beefy. Kitty tried to snatch it from his hand, but he pulled away just in time. She started clawing at him, screaming for it, but he pushed her back.
“You tell me the truth,” Myron said. “And I will give you the bag.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
She started crying. “I miss Brad so much.”
“I know you do. That’s why you started using again, right? You couldn’t face life without him. Like Mickey said, some couples aren’t built to be apart.” And then, with tears running down his cheeks, still thinking about that five-year-old cheering his lungs out at Yankee Stadium, Myron said, “Brad is dead, isn’t he?”
She couldn’t move. She collapsed back on the bed, her eyes staring up, unseeing.
“How did he die, Kitty?”
Kitty stayed on her back, her gaze on the ceiling trancelike. When she finally spoke, her voice was a faraway monotone. “He and Mickey were on Interstate Five heading down to an AAU game in San Diego. An SUV lost control and crossed the divider. Brad died on impact—right in front of his son. Mickey spent three weeks in the hospital.”
So there it was. Myron had braced himself—had known that something like this was coming—but the confirmation still sent him reeling. He collapsed into a chair on the other side of the room. His baby brother was dead. In the end, it had nothing to do with Herman Ache or Gabriel Wire or even Kitty. It had just been a car accident.
