Soon the dragon’s wings are outstretched and it’s darting through the air.
“I didn’t know you were an enthusiast,” Nico says, making small talk now. This day keeps getting stranger.
“When I was a kid, it was the only good day I remember with my old man,” O’Leary says. “I come to the kite festival every year. If it wasn’t for my numbnuts nephew skimming from me, I would’ve been here all morning.”
Nico nods. No matter how bad the person, we all cling to the days of innocence we remember from our youth.
“You and your dad ever…？”
“Not quite,” Nico says.
O’Leary nods. It’s odd talking about their fathers, since Shane’s might be the reason Nico’s father disappeared. It remains a mystery Nico has no interest in solving, although there is one aspect to it he never understood: Once Dad was gone, no longer a threat, why didn’t his mother come back for Nico?
Shane carefully hands the reins of the kite to Nico. It’s then Nico realizes that his hands, his only means of defense, are occupied.
But there’re too many witnesses for that. No question, Nico could still end up in that trunk with a kite string wrapped around his neck … but not here.
Nico navigates the dragon as it tugs the line. He’s still in the sling, so it’s awkward, but he does not want to crash O’Leary’s toy.
“So, about my, ah, accident.” Nico keeps his eyes on the kite, the bright red dragon like a drop of blood staining the clouds, the Benjamin Franklin Bridge in the distance.
“Yeah, you gonna sue that show? Seems like you could make a pile of cash. I mean, how long
were you down there? I suspect you have some back pain and PTSD and other stuff that’s tricky to diagnose.”
Nico smiles. Always an angle. “What they haven’t reported on the news yet is that it wasn’t an accident.” He pauses, watches for O’Leary’s reaction.
“No shit. Like someone…”
“Set off a small explosive device.”
O’Leary chuckles. “Who’d you piss off?”
Nico’s mouth is dry. “I wanted to make sure it wasn’t you.”
O’Leary barks a laugh. “Is that why?—Is that why you came to the bar?” He laughs again, smacks Nico on the back. It sends a thunderbolt through Nico’s wounded shoulder.
“Sorry, I can’t think of anyone else who—”
“You owe anybody else?”
Nico shakes his head.
“Broads? Any husbands pissed off? Or crazy gals you jilted?”
Nico shakes his head again.
O’Leary shakes his head as well. “Usually it’s money or broads that will get you killed.” He laughs again.
“I’m glad you find it amusing.”
O’Leary stares up at the other kites bobbing against the gray sky. “We do got a problem, though,”
he says.
“What’s that?”
“If someone’s trying to off you, I need to increase the amount of your payments. If something happens to you, I’ll be out a lot of dough. You understand.”
Nico is so relieved O’Leary isn’t after him that he doesn’t protest. He’s not completely sure O’Leary is being serious. But then again, if he knows O’Leary, he is.
O’Leary says, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
Nico doesn’t understand. “What friend?”
“Oh shit, I forgot you’ve been in a hole. Your friend, the one who helped us with that thing, someone offed him.”
Nico feels a ripple of something vibrate through him. “You mean Ben Wood?” The kite takes a plunge and O’Leary grabs the strings from him.
“They caught the guy, one of the mopes he locked up. I think the news said the funeral’s tomorrow. Gonna be a big production. That’s why I thought you were in town.”
Nico doesn’t say anything, quickly flicks away a tear on his cheek, still watching the tail of the kite dance in the sky.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DONNIE
“Can we meet for dinner tonight?” Reeves asks. “I hear Jean-Georges is amazing.” They’re standing in the check-in line at the Four Seasons in Center City, Philadelphia, at the front desk on the sixtieth floor.
“For sure, Hemingway. I gotta go see Ben’s wife and my goddaughter. Then I’m all yours.”
Reeves nods. “I just read a story about Ben.” He holds up his phone. “He was quite a lawyer before becoming a district court judge. He was on the short list for the federal appellate court.”
“That was Benny. When we were kids, he was always the smart one. And in Chestertown it wasn’t exactly cool to be the smart kid at school. But Benny also was six foot tall by the time he was fourteen, so nobody messed with him.”
“The news says he was top of his class at Harvard Law, unanimously confirmed to the federal bench, which is pretty rare.”
“When we were kids, he watched the O. J. Simpson trial and that was it. It was like when Mr. J
gave me my first guitar. We both knew.” Donnie smiles. “Benny would go around rhyming everything like Johnny Cochran— if the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit.… If you want some food, don’t shade Mr. Brood. ” Donnie shakes his head and smiles.
“One of the stories I read said he was adopted by a cop who arrested him?”
Donnie nods. “When we ran off to Philly, we didn’t have any money and Benny went into the ShopRite and stole a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. The cop who arrested him was an amazing lady. Her kids were grown, so she let us crash at her house. After I joined the band, we hit the road, but Benny stayed behind. She ended up adopting him.”
“That’s incredible.”
Donnie gives a sentimental smile. “That was Benny. To meet him was to fall in love with him.”
“Why’d you guys leave the foster home?”
The hotel clerk calls Donnie up to the counter, sparing him from holding back the true answer: After Mr. Brood went missing, they knew Savior House would be closed down and the foster kids placed in new homes, separated. Exactly what happened.
Donnie secures his room key and heads toward the elevator bank. He sees a father lifting his young son to sit on the railing that separates the lobby from a coffee shop inside the atrium. The boy balances on the metal railing and Donnie feels a wave of terror rip through him.
A memory surfaces: his feet dangling over the black water slapping the side of the cruise ship
below.
“Everything okay?” Reeves asks, snapping Donnie out of it.
“Sure thing, partner,” Donnie says, trying to steady his breathing. “Sure thing.”
An hour later, he stands at the doorstep of the beautiful mansion in Chestnut Hill. The woman at the door looks similar to when they first met in Benny’s dorm room in Cambridge—smooth dark skin with large eyes framed by full eyebrows and a mouth that curls upward even when she isn’t happy.
But she’s even more beautiful, more elegant, now. Mia had not been equally impressed with Donnie back in the day. In her defense, he’d been erratic, cocaine speed-talking. Benny, then president of the Harvard Law Review, didn’t seem to mind. And from that first day forward, to when she’d wagged her finger in his face about the bachelor party, to her headshake at his best man’s speech at the wedding, to her grudging agreement that Donnie be godfather to Bell, Mia tolerated, rather than liked, Donnie. Today, she stands at the door, lips pinched tight, eyes red and puffy.