CHAPTER 20

Come Together

SOME people believe things just happen. They sit back like a baby in a tub balanced over a kitchen sink, trusting in the sturdiness of the molded plastic and someone else’s hands. Jeremy Strom wasn’t like that. The guys who worked out at Mick’s Gym weren’t like that. They knew you had to make things happen and you could only trust your own hands.

Mick’s was open twenty-four hours. But that was just one of the reasons Jeremy loved the place. Mick’s Gym had substance. It hadn’t gone metro like the rest of them. There were gyms that called themselves health clubs–—all slick and neon, with surgery-enhanced babes in spandex serving wheat grass and protein shakes to overpaid executives. Those same clubs had members who exercised only until they broke a sweat, then paid sixty bucks for a massage and drove back to the office to write the whole thing off. 

No, Mick’s was the real deal. Real sweat, real iron, real men. It was all about the body and what it could do today, right now. Nothing else mattered: not tomorrow, not next week, and definitely not wheat grass.

Jeremy pulled on his gloves and went to work. Escaping into his routine, he forgot about the job and Sailor and what Deluca wanted him to do.

The clerk made room for Deluca and the ledgers at her small square desk. She’d been reluctant to allow him to sit there, but he’d said, “Please. I won’t be long,” and looked at her in that Fast Eddie way. So what was she going to do? 

She slid her picture frames to the edge of the desk and removed a potted plant. Deluca sat, feeling the heat in the seat of the chair. He glanced at the pictures of the clerk’s family. They stood in a parking lot, the sticker of a rental agency on the Hyundai behind them. The husband, a thin, slack-jawed man, held the hand of a toddler in a stained t-shirt that read, ‘Brat’. No one was smiling. 

The clerk returned to her filing as Deluca flipped open the first ledger. He remembered Gina saying something a few months ago when they were talking about getting away from it all.

She’d said, “If I could go anywhere, I’d probably just go back.”

“Go back where?” he’d asked.

“To Dauphin County. I have the best memories of that place. Maybe that’s dumb. I mean, I’m sure nothing is the same as it used to be. But I can’t help wondering...”

“What?”

“If it’s still there.” She’d begun clearing the plates and cups, walking away as she said, “My Grandfather’s cabin.”

Deluca wished he’d been paying more attention instead of trying to sneak a peek down her blouse. Gina still had the best tits. He opened another Dauphin County Real Estate register, ran his finger down the page of transactions and paused at Chamblee Acres. Gina was trying to protect Berger. That was her way, such a motherly sort, sweet in the hooker-with-a-heart way, but entirely unrealistic in the real world. What the fuck was she thinking?

“Find what you’re looking for?” the clerk asked, waddling over.

“Yes.” Deluca smoothed the page he’d been about to tear out. “You’re such a sweetheart for letting me use your desk.”

She blushed, waved him off.

“No really, I mean it.” Deluca gave her the full wattage of his smile. “I know you’re not supposed to, but could I have a copy of this?’ The clerk’s smile faded. She pursed her lips. Deluca pushed. “I won’t tell a soul.” He crossed two fingers over his heart then held them up, whatever that meant. He said, “Trust me.” 

Jeremy added two more plates to the squat rack and positioned himself under the bar. It was his last set of the pyramid, his quads were on fire. When the phone went off in his bag he almost ignored it, then remembered Deluca’s face that afternoon. Something told him this might be important. He took a swig of water, shook out his legs and walked to the lobby.

“I need to use your office.”

The neckless triangle behind the front desk shrugged and pointed to a closed door, “No problem.” 

Jeremy closed the door behind him, silencing the grunts and groans of the power lifters. He punched in Deluca’s number and wasn’t surprised when he picked up on the first ring.

“Shit!” Gina slammed on the brakes then remembered too late—you’re supposed to pump them. 

Steering was impossible. The car had become a sliver of soap on its way to the drain. 

“Move!” she screamed. 

But the three deer frozen on the middle line just looked at her, an obstacle of muscle, bone and hair. She pulled hard to the left, felt the tires slide off the road, the steering wheel jerking under her grip. The station wagon slammed sideways into a fifty-year-old oak and came to a stop, facing the way from which they’d come. On the road bits of glass and chrome littered the blacktop. 

“What the fuck!” Berger yelled from the back seat. “Goddamit, Gina! Oh, my fucking leg!” 

Through the cracked windshield and the light of the one skewed headlamp, Gina saw them. The doe and her two fawns stepped lightly over a hubcap and bounded off into the woods, white tails raised like fat middle fingers.

“Shut up, Hi.” 

Gina dabbed at her bloody lip and released the taut seatbelt. She rubbed where the strap had cut into her shoulder and bruised her breast. “Just shut the fuck up.”

She noticed how easily her door opened, thought that from this side you couldn’t tell anything was wrong, except she might have parked too close to that tree.

Berger dragged himself out of the back seat, his bandaged leg held before him like a package of meat. He hobbled three steps and sat down on a limestone boulder. “Now what?’ 

Gina looked at him on the rock, rubbing his leg and scowling at her. She sighed, reached inside the busted window for the keys and her purse, hesitated a moment, then felt around the backseat for the bottle of JD. 

“Now, we walk.” 

White Shoes had just finished with the transmitters in the bedroom and was cleaning up when his cell phone rang. 

“Yeah?”

Gallo said, “I need you to go to Dauphin County. I just got word that Berger and Gina are running. You know that old place by the gorge? JR should remember, Big Pants used to take him fishing there. Convince Berger to come back, you understand? And White Shoes? No one gets hurt.” 

“Got it, Boss. Don’t worry. I’m on it.” Slipping the phone in his pocket, White Shoes grabbed his toolbox and called to JR, “Finish up. We’re out of here.” 

In the dining room, JR wasn’t ready. He sat at the table with the red-haired kid, his gun useless at his side.

“What the fuck, JR? C’mon. We have to go.”

“Wait, wait.” JR wiped his eyes, swallowed a chuckle. “The kid’s funny, White Shoes.” JR poked Reilly with the gun. “Tell him the one about the Italian and the firing squad.”

White Shoes said, “I don’t wanna hear no jokes. Get your shit, JR. We’re leaving.”

“What about—?” JR motioned in Reilly’s direction.

“What?” 

“You know.” JR’s head bobbed again.

White Shoes looked at the glassy-eyed kid, imagined him calling someone as soon as they left. “Yeah, you’re right. C’mon kid, we’re going for a drive.”

Reilly tore open the plastic baggie, ran his finger around and rubbed the last of the coke over his gums. “Sure. Why not?”

On the way to the van, Reilly told White Shoes the joke about the Italian and the firing squad. White Shoes agreed. The kid was funny. He’d give him that much.

The harder Ray tried to clear his mind to go to sleep, the more he was bombarded with stuff he couldn’t change. He had no idea when he’d find out about his case. He could do nothing from here and a tiny part of him wished he’d never even tried to re-open the whole mess. He hated to admit he was afraid of failure. Even more, he was afraid of success. 

What if they did manage to convince the judge? Would there be a full-blown jury trial? Would all that stuff come up again? And what if by some miracle, some chance—no, some justice—he did gain his freedom? What would he do? No family, no job, no place to go. 

In prison, he was told when to sleep, when to eat and when to work. There were too many choices in the free world, and Ray was afraid he’d make the wrong one, again. He rolled over onto his back, closed his eyes and saw his former life, what he’d lost. Tara. 

He whispered to the chipped wall, “Tara, I’m sorry,” and “I’ll find her.” His voice echoed back, sounding hollow and false. Lost in a canyon of doubt.

In Sailor’s empty apartment, the answering machine went through its outgoing message and beep.

“Reilly? Are you there? I need you to pick up. Listen, if you get this message, we need you to delay the meeting with the Judge. We’re driving to Dauphin County to bring back Berger. Jeremy says Gina’s family has a camp at Clark’s Creek. We think that’s where they’re headed. I’ll try your cell again, and—”

There was a crackling sound, a few fragments of words, then just static.

Paris fingered the wrapped chocolates in the dish as she waited for the call to ring through. 

“Hello?”

“She’s in town.”

“What?” Deluca pushed the girl off his lap. 

“Maria’s in Philly. She just checked into the Rittenhouse.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What do you want?”

“I think you know.”

“Fuck. I’m in the middle of something.”

“So finish and get over here. I’ll be in the lobby bar, by the garden.”

“Fine.” He snapped the phone shut with his chin and then dragged the girl back into his lap, face first.