“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, man. They brought him over in the early ’70s. He got lucky, I guess. They didn’t close that place until the late ’80s.”
“The coma lottery,” Robbie said, staring at Caleb’s half-closed eyes and partially open mouth. “I guess that is lucky.”
“He wasn’t always this out of it,” Miguel said. “He’s gotten worse over time.”
“Sucks to be him.”
“You working all weekend?” Miguel asked. The next day was Friday, the start of Labor Day weekend.
“Most of it.”
“Time and a half, I’ll take it.”
“Yeah.” Robbie had shown about as little interest as possible in anything Miguel had to say. “Cigarette break,” he said, and left the larger man poised atop his mop handle before he could open his mouth again.
From his cage in the employee locker area on the ground floor, Robbie strolled out into the warm, muggy evening and sat down on a concrete bench outside the ground floor entrance. The sun was down, and the last of the light was melting in the sky, receding in a brilliant mix of red, orange, and purple. New Jersey’s “chemical coast” wasn’t much on scenery, but it did produce some fabulous sunsets. Summer sunsets reminded him of that long-ago July night. He remembered sweating in polyester shorts on slick vinyl and dodging his mother’s occasional cigarette cherries when she ashed out the window, the dirty air rushing through his hair. He remembered the boredom that drove him, at intervals, to fuck with his whiny little brother.
And underneath the mundane memories, in a way he couldn’t quite express to himself, he remembered the powerlessness. That shrugging sort of helplessness. Wasn’t that what being a fucking kid was, ultimately? All you had were the grown-ups who carted you around. You wondered. You worried. You counted the endless minutes in the hot, vibrating car. You weren’t in control, though. Not of anything. All you could do was sit there, propelled through whatever someone else had decided for you.
“Hi, Mr. DeSantos?” he heard. He was slumped over but now sat bolt upright. Before him was a short, heavyset, and attractive woman with bright eyes and blonde hair.
“Who’s asking?” he said, and was proud that he had thought of it on the fly like that. Truth was, he was startled. Wearing a pantsuit with a white blouse and carrying a briefcase, she had walked over from the parking lot. His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. You’re my brother’s lawyer.”
“Aideen Bradigan,” she said. “That’s right. I am.”
CHAPTER 57
8:13 p.m.
“You don’t have to speak with me,” she said, but without waiting she took a seat on the bench next to Robbie’s. “I hope you will, though.”
“My brother is toast,” he said. “I’ll talk, but I can’t help you, lady. I hope he’s paying you.”
“Do you mind if I take notes? I’m not recording anything, but I like to jot things down.” A lamppost over their benches cast a sodium glow on the notepad, and she readied her pen. Robbie seemed to stiffen, then relaxed. He looked older than in the one recent photo she had seen of him. There were dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if the fortieth anniversary of the blackout had gotten to him also.
“Whatever.”
“I know Joe asked you already about your mother. Like if you had seen her right before she was found at Coney Island.”
“Yeah, no,” he said, muffled, as he lit another cigarette. He looked up and grinned, the cigarette pointing upward between his lips as he sucked it to life. “I’d say the last time I saw my mother was the same night Joe last saw her, but I guess that’s not true, huh?”
“Correct,” she said. “Joe did see her, or he believes he did, before she was killed.”
“Yeah, that’s not what I meant.” His eyes, a little beady—which was strange, as Joe’s were so big and expressive—narrowed on her. “You don’t live in Staten Island, do you? You look like you drove a long way to hear me tell you nothing.”
“Westchester,” she said truthfully. “It’s a long way, but I’ve traveled farther to hear less. I assume you don’t have much to say about recent events. I’m actually curious about what you remember from the night your mother disappeared.”
The cigarette in his hand seemed to twitch. “The blackout?”
“Yes. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”