Hidden Falls, page 16
“That’s good. You should keep to that plan no matter who it turns out to be,” he urged, patting me on the shoulder.
Does he suspect Derrick, I wondered?
Ben and Sarah arrived at the funeral home just before the final viewing. Ben was wearing a new black suit, and to pay homage to my dad, black Chuck Taylors. It was an old school New Bedford look, and it made me happy. Sarah wore a simple black dress with pearls I gave her for our tenth anniversary. She looked like old New England money. She would have fit in perfectly anywhere in the region except for my father’s funeral. She came, gave me a hug, and said her final goodbyes to my dad. It was truly sweet of her.
“I like the kicks,” I commented as I looked at Ben’s shoes. “Grandpa would have liked that. I’m less sure about Grammie, but that’s alright.”
“Maybe we could throw them over the telephone wires after the funeral,” he said. “You know, for like, a tribute to Grandpa.”
“Maybe,” I agreed as I hugged him. He held me tight, like he did when he was little. I felt no doubt in that moment about my place in his life. Sarah joined us in time to give me a Kleenex and tell me not to cry. We both bore the contemptuously fake smiles of people who wondered if they could have ever loved each other, yet there we were.
Vinny was among the first to arrive for the final viewing. My mother asked him to be a pallbearer and he recruited Bruce Toby and Matt Donovan to join him, all three guys from my high school basketball team who went on to be cops. They joined Bill Kocher, Joe Staid, and Sully Jr. It was a motley crew that perfectly represented the dichotomy of my dad’s life.
We were there to mourn my father, but all I could think about was the break-in and Derrick reaching for his gun.
Vinny told me I was lucky the $50,000 was stolen, but I wasn’t so sure. If Nikolai Andrianov thought the money was gone, it seemed like an open invitation for anyone who knew the truth to steal The Bet. Is this a mistake, or a lie, or am I overthinking this?
Ben stood by my side, my mother next to him, and Derrick next to her as the crowd began to arrive. I liked having Ben next to me, but it felt a little reckless given the potential threats. My mind jumped from suspect to suspect. Was it my brother? Was it Andrianov’s henchmen? Was Vinny somehow involved?
“Thanks for being here,” I said to Ben. “Having you here makes all of this a lot easier. Are you doing okay?”
“I am. Are you okay?” he asked with deep concern.
I told him I was and gave him a quick hug. I looked to my father, resting peacefully in his coffin, and I wondered what he would be thinking. I don’t know if you’d be worried shitless or laughing your ass off right now, I smiled, imagining he could somehow hear my thoughts.
There was a steady crowd coming in to pay their last respects. Everyone wore their dark dresses and freshly pressed suits. They all knew the routine. Vinny lingered near the foyer waiting for Bruce and Matt to arrive before saying his final prayers and coming through the condolence line. The three old teammates huddled before coming forward. Bruce and Vinny hugged me and told me they were sorry. I thanked them for being there for my mother the night before. Matt fumbled to find the right words. It had been too long since we’d last seen each other. We were close once, but now all I knew about him was that he wore a badge. “Matty,” I said as I put my hand out. “It’s great to see you. Thanks for coming.” He looked at my hand and then into my eyes. He seemed to be trying to read my mind. There was an awkward moment of hesitation before he stepped in and threw his arms around me for a hug. It was odd and abrupt, but welcome.
“I’m so sorry. I really am,” he said quietly, and he stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets like he was reaching for something. “My broth’ah sends his condolences. He couldn’t get back from the Vineyard.”
I introduced the guys to Ben while wondering if Bruce and Matt stole the money. Bruce was the first one on the scene. It easily could have been these three. Vinny could’ve gotten me out of the house while these guys robbed it, I thought and then I tried to stop thinking. Vinny is a good friend and a good cop.
“Matt Donovan, Bruce Toby, and Joe “Vinny” Ventola, this is my son, Ben,” I said as I gestured to each of them. “Ben, these guys and me were four of the starting five of a slightly better than mediocre high school basketball team.”
“But we beat Durfee,” noted Bruce, and we all laughed—even Matt forced a smile.
“That makes a winnin’ season in my book,” Vinny declared.
“It’s nice to meet you, Ben,” Bruce said, and he patted me on the shoulder. “Take care of this guy, okay? Ya old man needs lookin’ aft’ah. He’s gone soft since he left the neighb’ah’hood.”
“I’ll try,” Ben said with a smile. “Good to meet you all.”
The guys hugged my mother and told her to reach out to them if she ever needed help. They seemed slightly cold to Derrick. Bruce and Vinny just nodded and patted him on the shoulder as they passed, but Matt gave Derrick a heartfelt hug, which made him really uncomfortable. There was a bandage on Matt’s hand between his thumb and index finger. Derrick saw me notice and tried to cover it with his hands as the hug transitioned into a handshake. What the fuck is going on here?
Vinny saw what transpired and threw me a cold look that sent a chill down my spine. I’m not going to live through the weekend, I thought. They’re all crooked. “I wanted you to believe me when I told you I was a good cop,” Vinny had said while we were at Sully’s. Last night was all neatly curated for my consumption. They’ve all got to be in on it.
Fear surged in my veins. I felt like my emotions had been thrown in a blender. I was barely keeping it together as the other mourners came through the line. My mother, who had almost no ability to detect human emotion, even changed places with Ben so she could check on me.
“‘Ah you okay, Michael?” she asked. “I’m relying on you to get through this with me.”
“Is Joe an honest cop, Mum?” I questioned her softly. “Vinny, is he an honest cop?”
“Is the’ah such a thing?” she snipped. “Ya fath’ah trusted him, Michael. So, you decide what that means.”
I couldn’t decide. I scanned through the previous night’s events. Bruce could have already been there when we heard the sirens. He could have been waiting out front when my mother made the call. Vinny was the highest-ranking cop at the location and he was the only one to see the crime scene—he called it a failed breaking-and-entering. He let the rumor spread that The Bet was stolen and convinced me it was a lucky break. Those three bastards pulled off the perfect crime. They were all in on it. Vinny kept me at the bar until they had the money, and then he went and cleaned up the whole fucking thing. No matter how bad Andrianov is, he’s not going to kill three, or four, cops. How fucking stupid am I? It was a set up all along.
I was staring darts into Vinny’s head when I saw Bruce react to something in the foyer. It was as if he saw my father sit up in the coffin. Vinny, Bruce, and Matt all looked to the entrance. A short guy with salt-and-pepper hair came into the parlor—he had powerful forearms and shoulders that resembled cannonballs. He was dressed impeccably and moved with purpose. He had an old-world look to him, possibly Mediterranean, or somewhere in the former Soviet Bloc. It must be Andrianov, I thought. Sully Jr. and Bill Kocher walked in behind him. If this was a movie, the scene would have unfolded in slow motion, The Rolling Stones blaring on the soundtrack once the bullets started flying. This can’t be my real life, I thought. I was all the way through the looking glass and regretting ever calling Father Francis a wizard as I imagined him administering my last rights.
“Oh, God,” my mother whispered.
“What is it, Mum?” I spoke softly, trying to take deep, calming breaths.
“I can’t believe they brought him to ya fath’ah’s wake,” she sighed.
“Who, Mum? Brought who here?”
“What’s going on?” Ben asked.
“Why don’t you go sit with your mother for a little bit, Ben?” I suggested, trying not to alarm him.
“What’s happening?” he persisted. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s all fine, buddy,” I said. “Go sit with your mother, please.”
“Don’t make this big’ah than it has to be,” my mother sniped.
Bruce’s shocked expression became a sly smile, which worried me more. He had a crazy streak—one that sought out conflict. Ben didn’t go sit with Sarah, but insisted to know what was going on, which caused Sarah, and others, to also wonder what was going on.
“Oh, for goodness sake, that’s Marco Sapienza! He worked with ya grandfath’ah and he tried to kiss me once at Sully’s and Grandpa punched him in the mouth,” she said in a loud whisper. “They nev’ah talked again aft’ah that. Okay? Now you know!” She turned from Ben and the others to me. “Now please stop making such a big deal out of this!”
“O-o-o-kay,” I gasped like I’d just run a hundred-yard dash.
I was so relieved that it wasn’t Andrianov that I didn’t pursue the kiss-at-Sully’s incident any further, but I did make a mental note of it. I took a few more deep breaths as Marco, Bill, and Sully Jr. made their way around. Marco barely looked at me and completely ignored Ben as he approached my mother.
“He begged me to bring him. So, be nice, would ya, Adeline?” said Bill as my mother stared Marco down like she was a prizefighter waiting for the bell. She was at least three inches taller than him. His brown eyes were deeply set and almost completely hidden beneath a hedge of thick black-and-grey eyebrows. He seemed fixated on something that was not visible to the rest of us. He exuded longing and sadness. He looked so pitiful that I would have kissed him to wipe that expression off his face.
“Ya always causing trouble, Bill. Even today,” my mother said, then she looked at Marco. “Tell me ya sorry and be on ya way.”
“I am truly sorry, Adeline, for everyt’in’, and especially f’ah ya loss,” he said with his hands over his heart. “You ‘ah a good lady …”
“Thank you. Very kind. Goodbye,” she shot back before leaning over to Sully Jr. and whispering, “You keep him away from the funeral, even if it means breaking his legs. Do you understand me?”
The way Sully Jr. snapped to attention made me wonder if Andrianov was a front, and my mother was the puppet master running New Bedford’s underworld. I don’t know whether people feared or respected my mother, but they certainly listened to her. She showed no signs of softening with age. As Marco and the boys found seats, she smoothed her dress, looped her rosary beads around her hand, and adjusted her rigid stance to avoid accidentally catching Marco’s pathetic gaze. I, on the other hand, was fascinated by his seeming devotion to my mother. I was bewildered by her power over this man. I speculated he was born in a laboratory, wet-nursed by a reptile, and was generally repelled by displays of human kindness. It was the only plausible explanation.
15
#15 TOM HEINSOHN, FORWARD, COACH, BROADCASTER, BOSTON CELTICS
The funeral home cleared out and it was time to seal the casket. Seeing my father in the coffin was hard, but knowing the lid was about to close was agonizing. It seemed merciless to confine someone to a box for all eternity. Forever is unfathomable.
It was irrational to be concerned with a dead man’s comfort, but rituals are not for the dead. I would have felt more comfortable putting coins on his eyes to pay the ferryman and setting him atop a funeral pyre. But he was in a box and it was the last place he would ever be.
My mother, Sarah, Ben, Derrick, and I stood in the foyer of the funeral home waiting for the casket to be sealed and loaded into the hearse before the limo brought us the four blocks to St. Anthony’s. As we stood in silence, I noticed a placard at the opposite end of the hall directing Timothy Griffin’s mourners to another room in the funeral parlor. I turned back to read my father’s name one last time, but his placard had been replaced with one for Judith McElroy. His time was over. I wondered about Timothy and Judith and the names that would be on those placards the next day and the day after that. What were their secrets? What were their regrets? What were their untold stories?
The funeral director came to escort us to the limo. As we walked outside, he gently took my arm and motioned to a third car behind the hearse and limo. It was a silver Audi A8 with blacked out windows. “The gentleman in the silver Audi wants to pay his respects. He asked if you’d come to the car,” said the director.
Well, this is it, I thought.
My family got into the limo and I told them I’d be right back. I hoped I wasn’t lying. I looked to Derrick for some sign, but there was none. He just looked down.
“Who is it, Dad?” Ben asked.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly, but of course I feared it was Andrianov or one of his henchmen. I tried to show my bravest face to Ben, but more than that, I wanted to be brave for myself. Cowards die a thousand deaths and a brave man only once, I thought, even though it didn’t exactly fit my situation. I had imagined my own death several times since arriving in New Bedford and at least once already that day. But if it was my time, I needed something to steel my nerves.
I shut the door and ran my left hand along the limo as I walked toward the Audi. There was no grit or dirt on the car—not even pollen. I was surprised by how clean it was. The Audi’s rear driver’s side door opened, and an older man stepped out. He was unassuming, maybe in his early sixties. He was thin and shorter than average. He was wearing wool slacks and a collared sweater under his suit jacket, which was odd, given the heat and humidity. He had no distinguishing marks. If I saw him in a crowd, I’m not sure I would have notice him at all.
“Do you know who I am?” he inquired as I got close enough to shake his hand. He was deliberate in choosing his words and spoke without an accent.
I shook my head no.
“I’m Nikolai Andrianov,” he introduced as he offered me his hand, which I shook. “Do you know who I am now?”
“I do,” I said as I nodded and took my hand back.
“Why do you think I’m here?” he questioned. “And no games.”
“I was told my father worked for you, and that he also won a lot of money from you,” I said, surprised at how calm I was. “I suspect it has something to do with that.”
“My people tell me that money has been stolen,” he said. “Is that true?”
“Some money’s been stolen, but I don’t know how much he really won,” I said, neither lying nor completely telling the truth.
“But you know some money was stolen, yes?”
“Yes,” I said. “It was taken last night.”
“Do you know who took it?” he pressed.
I shook my head no, but I thought for a moment about speculating aloud.
“If you find out, you tell me,” Andrianov insisted. “Me or Sully. Not the police. Not your brother, and not your friend, the detective. Okay?”
I nodded in agreement.
“Okay. Enough about business. I’m sorry about your father,” he continued. “He was a good man, an honest man, someone who could be counted on. Are you such a man?”
“I try to be,” I replied, horrified by what I might be “counted on” to do.
“We all try,” he said with a small smile. “But I find they are rare, such men as your father. Maybe I don’t meet so many good people in my line of work. Maybe newspaper writers only meet honest people.”
Andrianov was a charming man. He reminded me of so many of the elected officials I’d known whose platforms I hated, but somehow still found them enjoyable to be around. This paradox made me uneasy. I wanted to hate him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He saw me noticing and seemed embarrassed, but didn’t wipe it.
“I paid the Irish man for the funeral arrangements,” he continued. “So, don’t let him charge you twice.”
“That’s very kind Mr. Andrianov, but not necessary,” I said.
“It’s done,” he replied, opening the door to his car. “I like your articles. But don’t ever write one about me. Understand?”
I nodded and he turned to get back in his car. There was so much more I wanted to know. “Mr. Andrianov, thank you,” I managed to say as he settled into his seat. “Sir, my father kept what he did for you a secret from me. I didn’t even know your name before I came home for his funeral. Is there anything you can tell me about him to help me understand that side of him?”
“If he didn’t tell you himself then it’s not my place,” he said. “Jake had integrity. That’s all I ever needed to know.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” I pleaded.
“In my experience, people don’t have more than one side. There’s only who you are in the moment when you face the devil.”
Chills ran though my body like I’d been dunked in ice water. He closed the door and opened his window. I stood, watching, unable to move. “Tell Sully when you find out who took the money and be careful not to talk with anyone else. Understand?”
I nodded as he drove away. I felt like I’d been swallowed by a serpent, but for the first time in days, I also felt safe and secure. As mad as I was at Derrick, Vinny, Bruce, and Matt, or whomever stole the money, I didn’t want them dead. I just wanted this nightmare to end. As I walked to the limo, I realized that having met Andrianov gave me a hand to play. My first thought was how I could use this meeting to my advantage. My second thought was, Just keep your fucking head down and get back to Oregon alive.
By the time I got back to the limo, I was feeling a different kind of scared. I was too calm for having just looked into the eyes of the devil. In a matter of minutes, I went from wondering who posed the biggest threat to me, to knowing I held people’s lives in my hand. Lives are at stake, and I may be choosing the next person to end up in a casket. I settled into the limo feeling a deep sense of responsibility.
“Who was that, Dad?” Ben asked.
“It was a guy who worked with Grandpa,” I said. “He wanted to pay his respects.”
My mother looked out her window, pretending not to hear me as she rubbed her rosary beads. Derrick fixed me with his dark, expressionless eyes. I returned his stare.
