Page 29

My dad speaks in riddles a lot more as he gets older, I notice. I just nod, and since he is in his serene haiku mood, I decide to get in there and try to get him to talk more.
“You talk to Perez since Cruz was found?” I ask him, starting off with business. I figure this is a safe place to start, and I’ll work my way to the other, more personal questions I have.
He nods. “He’s not happy. The kid is still officially on his payroll, and someone killed him. He’s got people working to try and find out the who and why. It’s personal for him.”
“Does he have any more information as to why we were involved?”
“No, I’ve been trying to look into that myself.”
“Does it have anything to do with that phone call the other night?” I ask as I focus all of my attention on the screw I am working into place.
“I told you what that was about,” my father says, not missing a beat. I wait, but my dad is silent as he tries the keys in the lock, making sure they slide in okay and lock and unlock the knob. I open my mouth to try and keep him talking when he stands up and walks over to Vivian, who is wiping down the counter.
“Good as new,” he says, smiling at her and handing her the new key.
“Thank you, Mr. Falco,” she says sincerely to him, then she turns to me. “Thank you so much, Declan,” she says with a smile. Those eyes. Damn, they lock me in. She looks so much better, I notice. Still not one hundred percent but so much better than she had the night before when I found her sleeping in the classroom.
“You are very welcome, Vivian,” my father says for us, then he touches a hand to his pocket. “Excuse me, I just have to take a quick call,” he announces and leaves the apartment, shutting the door behind him.
“I think this one won’t fall apart in your hand,” I tell Vivian.
She rewards me with a small, hesitant laugh.
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel much better,” she says. “I ate and took some Tylenol. I mean, I’m not a hundred percent, but last night I think I was like negative fifty percent, so I am much improved and ready for work.”
I want to demand she stay home and rest, but I keep my mouth shut, knowing that my argument about her job is worthless. She has no reason to listen to me about her life, despite how much I want her to. “We never got to work on our project. Do you want to get together today at the library after you are done with work?” I don’t even know where the suggestion for this came from. I don’t usually ask for things. Usually I am demanding, direct, and a giant asshole. But when I am around Vivian, I feel like I need to be softer. Something deep in me tells me to handle her gently.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, but I work my other job tonight at seven.”
“You work two jobs?” I ask, my tone full of complete disgust and anger.
Vivian recoils just a fraction at my tone, but recovers instantly, her defenses coming up. I hate myself in this moment. So much for me being softer and gentle.
“Yes, I do,” she replies frigidly.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat, “what about Saturday?”
She gives her head a little shake. “It’s my weekend to work, so I’m on tomorrow night too.”
I take the rejection and decide it is time for me to leave. If I keep asking, I’ll sound like a desperate kid, and I don’t want that. “Okay, well, I’ll see you in class then,” I say, turning.
“I’m off on Sunday though,” she says to my back. “We could meet then.”
I stop at the door and turn to her. “Okay, see you Sunday at five.” I exit out the door and down the two flights of stairs. I feel light and a little excited as I do. I’m just about to exit thebuilding when I see a small plaque on a door near it that says, “LANDLORD.”
I rap on the door. I can hear a TV and some coughing in the background, but no one answers my knock. I knock again, a little louder this time, so I know that I can be heard over the TV, but again no one answers my knock.
And that pisses me off.
I pound the door with the side of my fist this time, nearly sending it flying open. This gets movement on the inside.
The door is ripped open and a man who has hit every branch of the ugly tree as he fell to earth stands before me. “What?” he sneers at me, his beady eyes narrowed, looking me up and down.
“You Tim?” I ask.
“Who wants to know?” Tim asks back, real original like.