Ryan was heading upstairs.

  ‘You’re an alcoholic,’ his mother called after him. ‘You need help - before it’s too late. Your father never thought he had a problem, either - now look at him!’

  In his room Ryan lay in bed with his eyes closed, feeling shittier than when he woke up in bed next to that woman - Elly, or whatever the hell her name was. The long walk home had taken more out of him than he’d thought, and then having to hear all that crap from his mother had been the kicker. He didn’t care what she thought - he was nothing like his father, and he was pissed at her for even comparing him to that wife-beating son of a bitch.

  Then Ryan realized that today was Saturday - a workday for him. The idea of inhaling paint fumes all day sickened him, and he didn’t feel like he had the energy to get out of bed, no less paint a house. But then he remembered how he’d left yesterday, and that if he didn’t show up today he’d probably get fired.

  He took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and saw that it was off. He didn’t remember turning it off yesterday, but he must’ve at some point. He had eleven messages.

  Several were from his mother - he deleted those without listening to them. The rest were from Franky and Tim. He listened to the first couple, getting the gist about how pissed off they were at him for not coming back to work yesterday, then deleted the rest.

  Ryan went to voice dial and said, ‘Tim,’ then closed his eyes again, feeling like he might blow chunks.

  ‘What happened to you yesterday?’

  Tim’s voice was too loud for Ryan’s brain.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ryan said, wincing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Ryan said, louder.

  ‘I had a rough night.’

  ‘Night? What about all day? Franky said you took off at nine fifteen.’

  ‘My friend Stevie was in a car accident. I was at the hospital with him all night.’

  ‘Oh,’ Tim said.

  ‘That sucks.’

  ‘Yeah, it does suck.’

  Ryan couldn’t tell if Tim knew he was bullshitting. ‘So why didn’t you call and tell somebody?’ ‘Sorry, I just forgot to,’ Ryan said. ‘It was a really fucked-up situation. He was in a coma.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘He came out of it . . . this morning. The doctor said he’ll make it, but it didn’t look good for a while.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ Tim said. ‘So you’re coming in today, right?’

  Fuck, Ryan thought. Why did I have to say he came out of the coma?

  ‘Yeah,’ Ryan said. ‘Course. I’m just gonna be a little late. I only got a couple hours’ sleep last night.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Tim said. ‘As you can imagine, the guys’re behind on the job now. I need you to finish by Monday so you can start that Midwood job.’

  It was about ten fifteen now, so Ryan told Tim he could be at work by eleven. Tim said that would be fine.

  Ryan clicked off and started dozing, with the phone still in his hand. He forced himself to open his eyes and get out of bed, knowing that if he fell asleep he wouldn’t be able to get up for work.

  In the bathroom he drank some water from the faucet, then showered. He felt a little better - more awake, but still very weak.

  He got dressed quickly, putting on sweats, a Kevin Garnett jersey, and a white do-rag covered by an Oakland Raiders cap. Heading downstairs, he wanted to get something to eat, but he heard the TV going in the kitchen and he couldn’t deal with another lecture from his mother, so he shouted, ‘Goin’ to work, Ma!’ and left the house quickly.

  There was still a crowd with all of the news crews and cops in front of the Thomases’ house. Ryan remembered Rose-Marie telling him that a detective wanted to ask him some questions, and since he still had plenty of time to make it to work before eleven, he figured he’d get it over with.

  Ryan went over to a cop who was standing alone in front of a squad car and said, ‘Hey, I’m Ryan Rossetti - I live over there.’ He motioned with his jaw back toward his house. ‘My mother said a detective wanted to talk to me.’

  The cop pointed toward the gray-haired guy Ryan had seen before; now the guy was talking to a couple of cops near the yellow tape in front of the Thomases’.

  Ryan went over to the guy, waiting until there was a break in his conversation, then said, ‘Yeah, I’m Ryan Rossetti. My mother said you wanted to talk to me.’

  ‘Gimme a couple,’ the guy said to the cops. Then to Ryan, ‘I’m Detective Noll, Sixty-ninth Precinct, I did wanna talk to you. Got a few minutes?’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t think I can tell you anything.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘ ‘Cause I don’t know anything. I wasn’t here last night.’

  ‘Yeah, your mother said you didn’t come home. Where were you?’

  ‘I was out,’ Ryan said. ‘At a bar.’

  ‘Yeah? What bar?’

  ‘I don’t know the name of it,’ Ryan said, feeling accused.

  ‘Do you know where it was?’

  ‘Look, I had a little too much to drink last night, all right?’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘I don’t know what Antowain Thomas said, but he’s lying. Me and Jake - we had a little issue, that’s all.’

  ‘He said you had your hands around his son’s throat.’

  ‘That’s bullshit.’

  ‘He also said you threatened to come back and kill his son.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘But Jake Thomas wouldn’t confirm the story. He said it was just an argument.’

  Wondering why Jake had covered for him, Ryan said, ‘What does this have to do with anything anyway?’

  ‘Maybe nothing,’ Noll said. ‘We’re just talking to everybody, seeing if we can put a picture together of what was going on around here yesterday. So you say you don’t remember where you were last night, huh?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Ryan said. ‘It was up near Rockaway Avenue somewhere.’

  ‘What time did you get home?’

  ‘I came home this morning.’

  ‘Where’d you sleep?’

  Ryan hesitated. ‘With . . . somebody.’

  ‘Christina Mercado?’

  ‘How do you know about me and Christina?’

  ‘Antowain Thomas said you two had gotten together while Jake was out of town.’

  ‘I wasn’t with Christina .. . I was with somebody else.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Elly .. . I think.’

  ‘Is “Elly I Think” a girlfriend?’

  ‘I met her last night - at the bar I was at.’

  ‘Congratulations, you scored. You have a number where I can contact the lucky lady?’

  ‘Look I gotta go, all right?’ Ryan said. ‘I wish I could help you, but I wasn’t here last night - I came home about a half hour ago.’

  ‘Do you have Elly’s address?’

  ‘Snediker Avenue,’ Ryan said.

  ‘I don’t know the number.’ ‘Does the name Marcus Fitts mean anything to you?’

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘He was the guy who was shot last night.’

  Ryan shook his head. ‘Sorry, never heard of him.’ ‘Did you happen to hear or see anything suspicious around here yesterday? Maybe hear about a drug deal going down?’

  ‘No,’ Ryan said, ‘but I hope you catch the guy.’

  Ryan turned and started back toward where he usually parked his car, then remembered that he’d lost it last night. He could’ve borrowed his mother’s, but he didn’t want to bother explaining everything to her. The house in Mill Basin wasn’t very far away, and if he jogged he could still make it in time.

  Sixteen

  Ryan arrived at work at a little before eleven o’clock. Franky was in the living room, painting a windowsill.

  ‘Hey, there’s the man,’ Franky said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Not much, shy one guy on the job.’

  ‘Didn’t Tim tell you about my friend?’

  ‘Yeah. Sounds fucked-up.’

  Ryan could tell Franky didn’t buy the story.

  ‘It was pretty rough,’ Ryan said.

  ‘But he’ll pull through.’

  ‘That’s what Tim said. So where’d this accident happen anyway?’

  ‘Ralph Avenue.’ ‘Ralph and what?’

  ‘J.’

  ‘Huh? I drive by there all the time - doesn’t seem like a dangerous intersection. Wh o hit him?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘He was in a coma.’

  ‘Right, I forgot.’

  Wanting to change the subject, Ryan said, ‘Where’s Carlos?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ Franky said, ‘laying on the primer in the master bedroom. We should be puttin’ on the final coat upstairs today, but we didn’t even finish the downstairs yet.’

  Not wanting to get into it with Franky, Ryan went into the kitchen. Jogging to work had taken more out of him than he’d thought it had. He drank some water, but he needed something to eat. In one of the cupboards he found a box of Ritz crackers. He took out a handful and started eating them as quickly as he could.

  Franky came into the kitchen and said, ‘Come on, jeez. Can’t you eat before you come in here?’

  With his mouth stuffed Ryan couldn’t answer. ‘And you’re eatin’ the client’s food, too,’ Franky went on. ‘You know you’re not allowed to do that - we could get fired for that shit.’

  Ryan swallowed, then said, ‘It’s just a few crackers.’

  ‘Still. Can’t you order in if you’re gonna eat?’

  Carlos came into the kitchen and said, ‘Hey, man, what’s up?’

  ‘Hey,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Look at him,’ Franky said, ‘stuffin’ his fuckin’ face.’

  ‘Gimme a break, all right?’ Ryan said.

  ‘You give us a break,’ Franky said. ‘Stop doin’ shit that’s gonna cost us money, get us fuckin’ fired.’

  “Cause I’m eating a few crackers?’

  ‘I’m not talkin’ about the fuckin’ crackers. I’m talkin’ about runnin’ out of here yesterday, not tellin’ anybody where you’re goin.’

  ‘What’re you talking about? My friend was in a coma.’

  ‘You expect us to believe that shit?’

  ‘Fuck this.’ Ryan picked up his painting clothes to go change in the bathroom upstairs.

  ‘We saw the way you took off here yesterday,’ Franky said to Ryan. ‘It was right after you saw that article in the paper about Jake Thomas getting married.’

  ‘I got a call about my friend Stevie, you fuckin’ idiot.’

  ‘You almost fell off the ladder when Carlos showed it to you.’

  ‘You’re such an asshole, man.’

  ‘Yo, maybe he’s tellin’ the truth,’ Carlos said.

  ‘He’s full of shit,’ Franky said.

  ‘It hit me this morning, driving in. That chick J.T.’s gonna marry - Christina somethin’. That’s the chick Ryan talks to on the phone.’

  ‘So what’s that gotta do with it?’ Carlos asked.

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with it,’ Ryan said.

  He tried to leave the kitchen, but Franky moved over, blocking him, and said, ‘When I remembered the name Christina from the paper it all made sense. The article said Christina was Thomas’s high school sweetheart. Well, Ryan went to the same school -South Shore - so I started thinking, maybe Ryan had something goin’ with this Christina chick too. Maybe that’s why Ryan freaked when he read that article about Jake getting married, and why he always acts so weird when we start talking about J.T. He probably took off here to try to get his girlfriend back. Then, when he got busted, he made up that bullshit story to Tim about his friend in the car accident.’

  Ryan was amazed how accurately Franky had put everything together.

  ‘Nice try,’ Ryan said, ‘but you have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  He pushed past Franky and went into the living room.

  Following him, Franky said, ‘You better get your fuckin’ act together, Rossetti - stop slackin’ off. You already cost us a shot of gettin’ that bonus on this job. When your shit starts fucking with my paycheck I got a problem with that.’

  Ryan went upstairs. He changed into his painting clothes and got to work, putting on a first coat in the bathroom. The crackers he’d wolfed down hadn’t made him feel much better, and inhaling paint fumes wasn’t helping. Rolling on the paint, feeling queasy, he realized he had to talk to Christina as soon as possible. She’d probably already heard about how he’d attacked Jake yesterday, and he was worried what she’d think if that detective talked to her.

  He called her cell and got her voice mail, so he tried her at home.

  Al answered: ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is Christina there?’ Ryan was talking low, almost whispering, so Franky or Carlos couldn’t overhear.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ Al said.

  ‘Is Christina there?’ Ryan said, not much louder.

  ‘Who’s this?’ ‘Ryan.’

  Al grunted in a pissed-off way.

  ‘Call back some other time, will ya?’

  ‘Is Christina there or not?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s here.’

  ‘I gotta talk to her.’

  ‘She locked herself in her room. She won’t talk to anybody.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. Look, she just can’t talk to you right now, all right?’

  ‘Put her on.’ ‘I’m hanging up.’

  ‘Wait, don’t—’

  The line was dead.

  Ryan started to call back, then clicked off, knowing Al was screening calls.

  Working through his hangover pains, Ryan put in a solid hour of painting. Then, at around twelve thirty, he washed up, changed back into his street clothes, and went downstairs.

  ‘You gotta be kidding me,’ Franky said.

  Ryan said to Carlos, ‘I need a favor - can I borrow your car for, like, a half hour?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I just gotta do some errands, go to the bank. I wrote a bad check - it’s gonna bounce if I don’t cover it.’

  ‘What happened to your car?’ Franky asked.

  ‘Battery trouble.’ Ryan looked at Carlos. ‘Come on, what do you say?’

  Ryan had once loaned Carlos his car when Carlos had to pick up his cousin from somewhere, and Ryan knew he would have a tough time saying no.

  ‘I don’t got a problem you borrowing my car, man,’ Carlos said. ‘I just don’t know if my insurance covers that shit.’

  ‘I’ll be gone a half hour, forty-five minutes tops. I’ll be extra careful - don’t worry.’

  ‘Don’t lend him the car if you don’t want to,’ Franky said.

  ‘How about you shut up?’ Ryan said.

  ‘How about you make me?’

  ‘Chill, yo, chill,’ Carlos said. Then he said to Ryan, ‘It’s cool, man.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ryan said.

  As Carlos gave Ryan the keys, Ryan and Franky exchanged glares.

  ‘Just be careful at them intersections, yo,’ Carlos said. ‘I don’t want you gettin’ into no accident like your homeboy.’

  ‘What homeboy?’ Franky said, smirking.

  The muffler of Carlos’s Oldsmobile was noisy, but the car was a smooth ride - smoother than Ryan’s Impala, which wasn’t saying much.

  One cool thing about Carlos’s car - it had a new CD player with kick-ass Dolby speakers, which was the main reason why Ryan had asked to borrow it. Ryan’s plan was simple: Christina’s all-time favorite movie was Say Anything with John Cusack. She always talked about how romantic the scene was when Cusack holds the boom box up above his head in front of the girl’s house, blasting Peter Gabriel’s nauseating ‘In Your Eyes.’ It worked for Cusack -he got the girl back in the end - and Ryan knew that if he did it, Christina would be so touched that she’d have to forgive him.

  Ryan went to Sam Goody at the Kings Plaza shopping mall and looked for the Peter Gabriel CD with ‘In Your Eyes’ on it, but they didn’t have it in stock. He hit a couple of smaller stores on Flatbush, then found it in a store on Kings Highway and headed to Christina’s.

  He double-parked in front of her house, opened all the car’s windows, and cranked the song. Then he stood in front of the car waiting, feeling like an idiot, but trying to look as intense and sincere as John Cusack did.

  The whole song played; nothing happened, so he played it again. A couple of neighbors came out, wondering what was going on, but there was no sign of Christina. He put the track on repeat play, figuring that she’d have to come out eventually.

  Finally, when the song was playing for the fourth or fifth time, Al came out. Ryan smiled at him and waved, but Al remained deadpan. Then Al came over to the car.

  ‘The fuck’re you doing?’ Al said. He was talking loudly, nearly shouting, to be heard over Peter Gabriel.

  ‘Waiting for Chrissy to come down,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you on the phone - this isn’t a good time.’

  ‘And I told you I have to talk to her.’

  ‘Turn that shit off’

  ‘Not till she comes out.’

  ‘What the hell you think you’re doing anyway? Why’re you here?’

  ‘I’m in love with your daughter.’

  Al glared at Ryan.

  ‘What do you mean, “in love”?’

  ‘I mean I want to marry her.’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Al said.

  ‘So that’s how everything got all fucked-up. It’s ‘cause of you.’

  Ryan said, ‘I’m sorry that you—’ then had to duck to avoid Al’s right hook. It was a feeble old man’s right hook that wouldn’t’ve hurt if it had connected.

  ‘Whoa,’ Ryan said. ‘What the—’

  Ryan dodged another lame punch - a kind of right jab - and then grabbed Al, holding him.

  ‘I knew it had to be you, you son of a bitch,’ Al said. ‘You’re over here all the time, trying to get into Chrissy’s pants. I should’ve kicked your ass a long time ago.’

  Al struggled to break free.

  ‘Hey, come on,’ Ryan said.

  ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’

  ‘Hurt, my ass - I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!’

  Al was still trying to get loose, but Ryan held him tightly. Then Al stumbled backward and banged his back against the side of the car with Ryan still holding on to him.