AMOK: A Dox Thriller, page 32
Wenzel was working the door, same as last time. “Didn’t expect you back,” he said when he saw Dox rolling up. “I heard you left town.”
“You heard right. I’m just back for a bit.”
This time Wenzel just nodded, skipping the chitchat. Dox gave him a nod in return and continued on his way.
He went through the red metal door and down the rickety wooden stairs. There was the same smell as always, tobacco smoke and beer and salted popcorn. But somehow, now it was different. There was no nostalgia to it. Maybe something elegiac, instead.
He walked over to the bar. Geeber and Guppy were there, their faces bruised. He wasn’t surprised to see them. He hoped for their sakes they weren’t going to give him a hard time.
They didn’t. They eyed him but said not one word. Maybe they had learned their lesson from the last time, from the rocks and the threat to turn them into baseball-bat Popsicles. But Dox had a feeling that wasn’t really it. Something in his demeanor had changed, and people could sense it, even ones as dumb as the Skove boys.
He didn’t see Marla. He’d called, so he knew she was here tonight. Well, maybe she was on her break. He watched the television set on the bar while he waited. This time, it wasn’t tuned to a game. It was a local news channel, covering the story of Marvin Hatfield, Robert Miller, and James Callaway, the three former felons who’d been shot to death three nights before outside a Clyde pool hall. All were previous inmates at the infamous Walls Unit and were known to law enforcement for their gang affiliations, both within the prison and without. Police believed the killings were gang related, and the consensus seemed to be that the killer was unlikely to be found, in part because the police had better things to do.
“Hey, you,” he heard from his left. He turned and saw Marla, smiling and coming his way.
For whatever reason, the sight of her gave him a terrible pang of sadness. They hugged, and then she stepped back and gave him one of her trademark head waggles, saying, “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“That seems to be the consensus. Can we talk for a minute?”
“You bet.”
She asked the other girl working the bar to cover for her for a few minutes longer, and she and Dox went to the back room, where a long time before, George Whitaker had told him how the world really worked.
“I’ve been in town for a week,” Dox said. “I meant to come sooner, but I’ve had a lot going on.”
“I knew. Word gets around. Your father?”
Coming from Marla, it didn’t feel intrusive. “That. And some other things, too. I’m going to be leaving, and . . . I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“You mean . . . if you’ll be back.”
He nodded. “I guess that’s right.”
She smiled, a little sadly. “I won’t lie to you, Carl Williams. I liked having you here. But nothing lasts forever, does it?”
“I won’t lie to you either, Marla. I don’t think I much cared to be back. But . . . I liked being with you. And no, nothing does.”
They were quiet for a moment. She said, “Where’d you go, anyway?”
He shook his head. “I can’t talk about it.”
He thought he meant it in an It’s top secret kind of way, but apparently Marla heard it differently.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “She must have been special.”
Dox nodded. “I’m sorry, too. She was.”
Chapter 44
Three weeks later, Dox was back in the parking lot at the Huntsville Unit, leaning against the door of the Ford F-250 pickup he’d driven over, squinting into the morning sun. He watched as the minute hand on the big clock face at the top of the brick facade clicked to twelve. Eight o’clock sharp.
The doors opened, and a line of men started filing out, each carrying a potato sack filled with personal items. No prison whites for the released men, Dox saw. Instead, they were dressed in street clothes, presumably the ones they’d been wearing on the day they went in, which for some might have meant just a few months earlier, but for others could have meant years. Maybe decades.
The column turned left at the bottom of the stairs. A few of the men, mostly younger ones, had family waiting—wives and mothers and some toddlers, too—and there were ecstatic greetings and laughter and tears. But most of the men kept trudging along, seeming dazed and even in shock, on their way to the Greyhound station a few blocks away.
A couple dozen men had already exited when Dox finally saw Roy, bringing up the rear. He was surprised Roy would be so far back. Maybe it was just happenstance, or maybe the administrators liked to line up prisoners alphabetically, or by the length of time served. But Dox wondered if maybe now that the day had finally come, Roy had found some reason to be at the end of the line, because on some level he was afraid to leave.
Dox didn’t wave, he just waited. After a moment, Roy saw him, then glanced around. This time, the scan didn’t have that air of confidence and dominion Dox had noted in the visitors’ area. This time, Dox was seeing a man trying to get his bearings. A man who found himself suddenly lost.
Roy hefted his potato sack higher and walked over, his shadow long on the cracked pavement in front of him. He stopped and glanced around again, then eyed Dox.
“I might have known it was you that did it,” he said, shaking his head slowly.
“Might have known it was me that did what?”
“Marv. And Bobby. And Jimmy Blue. Outside the pool hall. Guess that’s what that bullet around your neck is about.”
Dox stared at him. “They shouldn’t have done what they did.”
“You shouldn’t have done it. Sticking your nose where it don’t belong.”
“You ever think you sicced those three on a man who was doing nothing more than trying to help your son?”
“Like I said. You were sticking your nose, just like he was sticking his.”
“Well, Marv and Bobby and Jimmy Blue were sticking their noses in my business. What do you got to say to that?”
Apparently, Roy had not much to say to that. He just looked around again.
“Sorry they’re not coming to get you,” Dox said. “That’s why I’m here. Or would you rather take the bus, like the men on their way to the Greyhound station? The ones without family?”
“I got no family.”
“No? What am I?”
Again, Roy said nothing.
“Nobody testified against you,” Dox said. “We could have. All of us. And I could have pulled some other strings, too. None of us did. We all stepped aside. And now you’re out. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
Roy gave him a stare that just a month before would have made Dox buckle. Not anymore. And it wasn’t just because Dox felt different. He saw things differently, too. Because behind that fearsome gaze Roy trained on him, he could sense a man whose bluff had been called, and who didn’t have another card to play. Who was confused and scared and trying not to show it.
“I’m going to make a deal with you,” Dox said. “You want to hear it?”
Roy kept looking at him. “What if I don’t like it?”
“Then don’t take it. I’m sure they told you inside how to get to the bus station.”
They were quiet for a moment. Dox said, “Last time I was here, you could have fed me a bunch of bullshit about how you were reformed and a different man and didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. Bygones be bygones and water under the bridge. I wanted to help you, and you could have taken advantage of that. Could have given me everything I needed to rationalize not only not testifying against you, but testifying in your favor. But you didn’t. Why not?”
“I ain’t a liar.”
“Damn straight you’re not. Which is why I’m trusting you now to make this deal. If you want it.”
“What damn deal? You keep saying you have a deal. What is it?”
“The deal is, you look me in the eye and you tell me. Tell me you know the past is done. And you’re not going to hurt any of our family, or even scare them or bother them. You do that long enough, by the way, they might even come to you. You ever think about that? Your first grandchild’s on the way. Don’t you want a shot at getting to know him? Or her, I don’t know which it is.”
Roy shook his head, but more in confusion than denial. “Veronica?”
“That’s right.”
“She’s married?”
“Yes, Dad, she is.”
Roy looked away for a moment, still shaking his head.
“If you can promise me all that,” Dox went on, “then I can promise something to you.”
Roy looked back at him. He didn’t say anything, and Dox wondered whether it was because he didn’t trust himself to speak.
Dox gestured to the Ford. “I promise you this truck is yours, for one thing. I bought it used in Abilene, but the tires are new, and I took care of the engine myself. It drives great. And all your tools are in back. I used them in high school on summer jobs, by the way, just like you taught me. Plus I added a few new ones.”
“What am I supposed to do with all this?” Roy said.
Dox tried to tamp it down, but he couldn’t help feeling encouraged. Roy could have told him to go fuck himself. Or said nothing at all, just turned and hoofed it to the Greyhound station. Instead, he was asking questions. The tone was aggressive, true, but the questions themselves were practical.
“You’re supposed to get a job,” Dox said. “Doing construction. What do you think you’re supposed to do with it?”
“Maybe you’re not keeping up with current events,” Roy said, “but I’m now and always will be an ex-convict. I’m as good as unemployable, by anyone and for anything.”
Dox shook his head. “That’s not true. You got work waiting for you if you want it, at Marine Corps Air Station in Yuma. There’s civilian construction work there, and I have a friend who can make sure you get it. It’s about a thousand miles from Tuscola, but the Marines don’t have any bases in Texas. And besides, it might not be the worst thing for everyone to have a little space to get used to the new circumstances.”
Roy furrowed his brow. “Why are you doing this?” he said, and his voice was slightly thick.
“Because you’re my daddy. And I ain’t never giving up on you. Would you give up on me?”
Roy looked away. After a long moment, he said, “I thought I had.”
“Well, that’s up to you.”
Roy kept looking away. But he nodded.
“There’s one more thing,” Dox said. “One more thing I need from you.”
Roy didn’t respond. He just kept looking away.
“I’ve got five thousand dollars from a job I just did. It’s yours, to help you get set up. But you gotta send half to George Whitaker. Half of that, and half your wages, until Whitaker is back on his feet. Which could be a while, because your boys messed him up pretty bad.”
Roy turned back and eyed him, suddenly confident again, on familiar ground.
“I told you, he was—”
“No, sir. I already told you. Anything he was doing in someone else’s business, your boys were doing in my business. Which means you were doing it, too. Which means you received special dispensation, being that you and I are having a conversation in the sunshine and your boys are dead as dirt. And I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you that if you’d been anyone other than my father, there’d be four of you dead now instead of only three.”
Roy looked him slowly up and down. “What happened to you since you were here last? You’re not the same.”
Dox blew out a long breath. “I guess a lot.”
Roy nodded as though considering. He said, “You want to tell me about it?”
Dox shook his head. “Let’s start with other things. We got plenty to talk about and lots of time to do it. It’s a long drive to Yuma.”
“Oh, you’re coming with me?”
“Well, it’s your truck. But if you’ll have me, then yeah.”
Roy glanced at the truck, then at the prison, then out at the cracked pavement of the street that led into the town of Huntsville and to whatever lay beyond it. He started to speak, but his throat caught.
He cleared it. Then, still looking at the street, he said, “I could use a decent breakfast. You know any places between here and Yuma?”
Dox put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go find one.”
Epilogue
Two weeks later, Dox was back in Dili.
He would have liked to rent a motorcycle, or even a car, so he could get around by himself. But tourist infrastructure in East Timor seemed limited to guesthouses and a few hotels, so Fernando was waiting for him at the airport like last time, with his sunny smile and too-young-to-drive face.
On the ride to the Turismo, Fernando told him everything was different now—the Indonesians were cowed, Falintil had expanded its control of the countryside, people were emboldened. It seemed the whole country was united in its determination that the two hundred and fifty killed not have died in vain, and that their loss be a catalyst for the independence the Timorese craved.
Dox could see it was all true. The military presence was far less than it had been before. There weren’t even any checkpoints. He’d seen something similar in Afghanistan, where toward the end the Russian troops he and his Muj engaged didn’t even want to fight. They knew the fight was already done, and all they wanted was to make it home.
He realized it might have been Fernando who reported him to Falintil last time. Or maybe it was João. Or the woman who checked him in. He didn’t care. He didn’t blame them, and anyway it felt a long time ago. Another lifetime, in fact. He supposed it was possible someone might want to snatch him now. But if he was wrong, he didn’t care about that, either. What he was doing here was more important.
Fernando asked if he would need a driver later that day, after he was settled in. Dox told him he would. In fact, he didn’t need to get settled at all. They’d go to the hotel later. His first stop would be the clinic.
When they pulled up in front, he was gratified to see that ground had already been broken on the new wing, which when completed would double the clinic’s patient capacity. And the new name had already been painted across the front. It was no longer Clínica Médica Internacional de Dili. Now it was Clínica Médica Internacional de Isobel Amaral.
Seeing the sign, Dox felt the tears start to come, but Fernando was watching and he didn’t want the boy seeing him cry. So he cleared his throat, told Fernando he’d be back in a minute, and got out of the car.
Magnus had arranged everything after Dox called him from the hospital in Abilene—the rifle, the job for Roy, and the routing of Dox’s $50,000 payday to the clinic, along with related matters. The man was a genius at getting things done—language, cultural, and other barriers be damned—and would have made a fine diplomat if he hadn’t decided to become an even better Marine. Dox would look hard for a way to repay him, but it wouldn’t be easy to find something commensurate.
The clinic people at the check-in area recognized him right away, and he had to wait only a moment before a slight man with wiry, receding hair came out and rushed over. “Hello, Mr. Dox,” the man said in English, pumping Dox’s hand effusively. “I’m Dr. Ramos. We’re so grateful for what you’ve done for the clinic. I don’t think I have the words to adequately thank you.”
Dox shook his head. “I’m glad I was in a position to help.”
“Can you stay for lunch? We don’t have much, but . . .”
“I wish I could, but I’m afraid I’m in something of a hurry. If I could just trouble you for . . . the other thing.”
“Of course. Of course.” Ramos turned and nodded to a woman who was hanging back, who Dox assumed was an assistant. A moment later, the woman returned, holding a wooden cylinder, about nine inches high and six inches wide. The woman gently handed the cylinder to Ramos, and Ramos handed it gravely to Dox.
“Dr. Amaral had many admirers at the clinic,” Ramos said. “Everyone loved her. But she had no family. We would have buried her ashes ourselves, of course. But . . .”
“I know,” Dox said, wanting to go. “And I’m grateful for the trust you’ve put in me by allowing me to . . .” He had to pause for a moment, then went on. “To lay her to rest.”
To that, Ramos dipped his head solemnly, almost as though he was going to bow.
Dox suddenly had a bad thought. “Pardon me,” he said. “But . . . you’re sure . . . This urn . . .”
Ramos nodded again. “There’s a certificate inside. The crematorium we work with takes great care with the remains of everyone entrusted to it, not just to treat the remains with the utmost dignity and respect, but also to give the next of kin complete confidence in the rightfulness of the ashes. And I assure you that this time, I involved myself personally. The urn you’re holding contains Dr. Amaral’s earthly remains. All of them, and nothing else.”
They shook hands. Dox went back to the car and had Fernando take him to Aidabalaten.
He was as exhausted from the trip as he was by being back, and spent most of the two-hour drive dozing, remembering, and dozing again. When they arrived, he asked Fernando to wait in the car. He wanted to walk along the beach. Fernando didn’t ask why, only told him to take his time.
He stepped out of the car and was immediately grateful for the weather—warm and not too humid at all, with a breeze that smelled like the ocean and a pale blue sky over the water. It was a good spot, and he knew it would have made her happy to know he was doing this. And then the thought undid him, and he started to cry.
“Come on now,” he said aloud. “Come on.”
He found a cluster of mangrove trees, where he took a much-needed leak. It was such a pedestrian thing to have to attend to under the circumstances, but it made him happy to imagine how Isobel would have told him it was only natural, like the adrenaline shakes in the aftermath of combat. In response, he probably would have said something to make her laugh, like But will you hold me the way you do after I get the shakes?, and imagining it made him cry again.
