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CHAPTER THREE

September 13, 1996

Still later

E ven though it was a Friday night, freeway traffic was light and we made it to the airport about nine-twenty. Cass had fallen asleep before we got to the 710. Not surprising. It was around midnight in Michigan and I had the impression he’d gotten up very early that morning. At the airport, I parked in long-term parking, Lot B, and woke him up so we could catch the shuttle.

It showed up a few minutes after we got to the stop. I made a mental note that my car was somewhere around the C6 marker. Since I had no idea what airline we should take, I asked the driver. “We want to fly to Reno, any idea which airline we should take?”

She was a nice Black lady who looked at me with amusement and said, “How about Reno Air? Terminal 4.”

“That’ll work. Thanks.”

Cass looked groggy, but I felt like I should make conversation. “Have you flown a lot?”

“Yeah. My mom used to take me places.”

He was a more experienced traveler than I was then. I’d only flown a couple of times, once to Vegas and another time back to Detroit to check out Dom Reilly. I wasn’t what you’d call a traveler. When I lived in Chicago there didn’t seem much point, everything was there. Yeah, some people have to get away from the winter, but I was always fine with it. And Ronnie’s not much of a traveler, either. We’ve been to Palm Springs, Rosarito and Santa Barbara together. The second two were only because we were loaned vacation houses by his clients. He was not the sort to spend thousands of dollars on anything that wasn’t either tax deductible or likely to return his investment twofold.

We reached terminal 4 and found the Reno Air ticket counter. There was a flight at 10:10 we could just make. After she sold us the tickets and took our names, the girl said, “Father and son? I can see the resemblance.”

“Adopted,” Cass said, which saved me from telling her she needed to have her glasses checked.

“Well… people grow together. No luggage?”

Fortunately, there wasn’t much of a line at security. Unfortunately, when I walked through the scanner it went off. I wasn’t surprised. I had a lot of hardware holding my shoulder blade together. I explained this to the security guard as he ran a wand over me. Since the wand went off exactly where I said it would he let me through.

Of course the gate was at the far end of the terminal so we had to run most of the way. We made it onto the flight just before they closed the door. Our seats were 14A and 14B. There were probably twenty-some rows, two one side, three on the other. The plane was less than a quarter full. Which I guess was not a surprise. If you wanted to go to Reno for the weekend you’d have left hours ago.

I was getting edgy, not about flying but about Ronnie. I’d hoped there would be time to call him before we left. The flight was going to be around an hour and a half. That meant I wouldn’t be able to call him until close to midnight. I told myself the party would still be going so I should just relax. Plus, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

The stewardess taught us how to buckle a safety belt, and explained that the flight was too short for meal service but there would be drinks and snacks coming around once we were in the air. Then the seatbelt light went on and we were speeding down the runway.

The plane rose at a steep and uncomfortable pitch. The planes I’d flown on before had been much larger, with two aisles and at least eight seats across. They seemed to lumber into the air, approaching everything gradually and much more gently. This smaller plane jumped into the air and sped upwards.

I wasn’t liking it. Cass, though, seemed untroubled. He sat next to the window looking out at the receding lights of Los Angeles. There was awe on his face. He seemed so young. I wondered if he really understood what it meant to kill someone. I didn’t doubt he knew what it meant to want to kill someone, but that was different from actually doing it. When we found his father’s killer, he believed he was going to want to kill them. I didn’t think he’d be able to.

Soon, the plane leveled off, and the stewardess’ got the drinks cart out and began coming down the aisle. I leaned a bit closer to Cass, and said, “Tell me everything you know about your father.”

“I just know he disappeared.”

“You know more than that. You said you were born four months after your parents got married. So they had to get married.”

“I guess.”

“And your mom was seventeen and your dad was twenty-four, twenty-five—do I have that right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, where did they meet? Did your mother ever say? It wouldn’t have been in school, unless your dad was a teacher. And it wouldn’t have been some place teenagers are supposed to be, would it?”

“They met at Harpo’s. It was a disco then with this floor that had lights underneath. I saw Napalm Death there last summer.”

I had no idea what Napalm Death was, but it had to be weird to see them at the place your parents met. “Your mother was there underage.”

“She and her best friend, Heather, used to get in everywhere just because they were pretty and had cool clothes. That’s what my mother says, anyway.”

“Do you know anything else about the night they met?”

“They Hustled. You know, the disco dance. My mom told him she was nineteen.”

“She told you that she lied?”

“No. My grandparents told me that part.”

Lying is not a great foundation for a relationship. Though I wasn’t one to talk. Ronnie didn’t know my real age, which was four years older than he thought.

The drinks cart arrived and the stewardess asked if we’d like a beverage. Cass order a ginger ale and I said, “Me too.” She gave us the drinks and a small package of nuts each, and then moved on.

“Are you an alcoholic?” Cass asked.

“No. I just don’t drink much.”

Drinking loosened my tongue and I had too many secrets for a loose tongue. Of course, not liking your behavior when you drink was one of the many definitions of alcoholism. But we won’t think about that.

Pouring my ginger ale, I asked, “Did your parents date for long before they got married?”

“Four months. I mean, you can count, right?”

“Four months? Or, at least four months? Did she get pregnant the night they met?”

“How would I know?”

“What have people said?” I had to remind him.

He thought for a moment, chewing on a nut, then said, “One time she said I was premature and my grandmother snorted.”

“Your mother’s mother or your father’s mother.”

“My Grandma D.”

That must be D for Di Stefano.

“What difference does it make?” he demanded.

“I don’t know that it makes any difference. When you’re trying to figure something out you just ask a lot of questions until you get some answers. What do people say their marriage was like?”

“Um… my grandma and grandpa never liked my mother. I remember that. There was always a fight when they wanted to see me. Which kinda ruined birthdays and stuff.”

“Do you have any idea why they never liked her?”

He shrugged, ate another nut. “I think I remember her saying she was too much for them.”

“What does ‘too much’ mean?”

“She likes to have fun, play cards, wear cool clothes.”

“She never remarried?”

“She’s still married to my dad.”

“There are ways to divorce a husband you can’t find.”

“She didn’t do that.”

“Boyfriends?”

He didn’t answer right away. He’d finished his nuts so he crumpled up the package. I hadn’t touched mine so I put my package onto his tray. I sipped my ginger ale and waited. Finally, he said, “She has a lot of friends.”

I took that to mean she had men in her life, just none that were permanent. He was starting to get touchy about her, though, so I decided to go in a different direction. “Your father disappeared in 1982 when you were four. I bought his papers in Reno in 1986. I suppose it’s possible that he was living under a different name and decided to sell his old identity.”

“So, he could still be alive?” Cass said. The hope in his voice made me cringe.

“Possible but not likely.”

“You disappeared and no one knows where you are.”

That wasn’t exactly true. Some people knew exactly where I was. I didn’t go into it though.

“Why can’t you be who you really are?” Cass asked.

“The mob is sort of after me.” It was the truth but it sounded kind of ridiculous.

“Why aren’t you in witness protection?”

“I’m kind of doing that on my own. Plus I’m wanted by the police for murder. I think.”

“You’re not sure? That’s stupid. How can you not be sure?”

“It was a long time ago. And now they have DNA so maybe they figured out I wasn’t even there. It’s not like they can call me.” We needed to not be talking about me. “Look, there are reasons I disappeared. Not really your business, okay? Do you know if your dad had reasons?”

“I guess he didn’t like my mom.”

“That’s a reason to get divorced not a reason to disappear. And most people who disappear don’t ditch their identities. They move far away and don’t list their telephone number. They might not file taxes for a while, but that only matters if you’ve broken the law. If you haven’t broken the law the IRS can’t give your address to just anyone so they probably file. Do you know if anyone filed a missing person report on your dad?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”

“Everyone thinks he ran off on his own?”

“No one talks about it.”

“If someone murdered your dad—and I think that’s probably what happened—then they either went to your house when you and your mom weren’t there and took all of his stuff, or your mom knows what happened and she got rid of all his stuff.”

I let that sink in. I was careful not to say his mom killed his dad, though I was already leaning in that direction. I didn’t want to push it, though. It would be better if Gavin told the kid it was his mom who sold him the papers. Cass could make his own connections.

A stewardess came down the aisle picking up the trash. I was pretty sure we’d be landing soon.

“You said your mom used to take you places. Where would she take you?”

“Atlantic City. Las Vegas. Places like that.”

“Reno?”

“I don’t remember.”

That might be true. He might not remember. He would have been somewhere between four and eight. She could have come out at any time and sold the papers to Gavin. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I was thinking about the possibility his mother had something to do with his father’s death. I wasn’t sure whether he was thinking the same thing. On the upside, if his mother did kill his father then he probably wouldn’t kill her.

Probably.

I decided to come at this from another direction. “So, why were you looking for you dad in the first place?”

“He’s my dad.”

“If you had found him, what were you expecting?”

“You asked me that all ready.”

“Maybe I’m hoping for a better answer. Do you have one?”

He looked out the window for long enough that I wondered if he was going to say anything. Then he said, “I guess, that he’d be my dad again.”

“You know… parents can be pretty disappointing even when they don’t run off.”

He shrugged. “But if he hadn’t disappeared, I’d know if he was a good dad or not, wouldn’t I?”

“You ran a credit report on your dad. Was this the first time?”

“No. I did it once last year.”

Behind my back, Ronnie had gotten a couple credit cards for us both. To build my credit. I didn’t know exactly when he’d done that, but those might have shown up.

“Were there a couple of credit cards on there?”

“Yeah. And an address in Long Beach. Not the one you have now. A different one.”

“Why didn’t you come last year?”

“I wasn’t sure. I thought my mom might have taken them out.”

“What made you think that?”

“She did it before. Eighty-seven, eighty-eight. She took out some cards, had them sent to a guy she knows up in Traverse who gave them to her, and then ran the cards up and never paid for them.” He gave me a funny look and asked, “You never wondered why your credit sucked?”

“I didn’t use it so I never thought about it.”

But, now that I was thinking about it, Ronnie had access to credit reports. He’d have seen those cards from eighty-seven, eighty-eight. He must have known there was something funny about them—especially if they went to an address in Traverse, wherever that was. The story I’d told him, the story I told everyone, was that I was living with my wife in the valley in the eighties—not in Michigan. But there was nothing on my credit report that would support my story. I was surprised Ronnie never brought it up.

And then we began the steep descent into Reno-Tahoe International Airport. It was the kind of landing that those in the airline industry describe as smooth and those of us who are passengers wonder if we should send them a dictionary. For a few terrifying moments I wondered if the plane might break apart and fly away in different directions. Luckily, it didn’t.

When we came off the plane, there was a small group of people waiting to pick up their relatives. There was no one waiting for us. We were at gate C4. We weren’t very far down the concourse when I saw a bank of pay phones. Across from the telephones there were two slot machines, but they didn’t seem to be on. I gave the kid a twenty, and said, “See if you can find a newsstand that has any aspirin or Tylenol.”

He gave me a questioning look but didn’t ask. About six weeks before I’d had surgery on my shoulder. I’d gotten stiff on the plane ride even though it was less than ninety minutes. I took out a calling card and called our house phone. It was ten minutes before midnight.

Ronnie answered, “Hello.”

I didn’t say anything for too long a time.

“I know it’s you, Dom.”

“I’m sorry. Something’s come up and I have to deal with it.”

“So, who’s the kid?”

“His dad is someone I used to know.”

“Where are you?”

“Reno.” Well, he would get the credit card statement, which meant he’d find out anyway.

“Does this have anything to do with the people you were with at the Westin a few weeks ago?”

Okay, I didn’t know he knew about that. My friends Brian and Sugar had come through from Chicago on their way to a Mexican cruise. I’d met them for a drink in the lobby of the Westin Hotel. We’d spend all of thirty-five minutes together and it had gotten back to him. Which didn’t surprise me but also didn’t make me happy.

“No, it has nothing to do with that.”

“What does it have to do with?”

“The kid’s father is missing. I said I’d help him figure out what happened to him.”

“And that had to happen in the middle of our housewarming party?”

“It did.”

He left the kind of silence that shouted ‘I don’t believe you.’

“When will you be back?”

“Soon. I hope.”

“You can’t be more specific?”

“No.”

We left another long pause.

“I don’t want to be doing this,” I said.

“But you are.”