Unhinged Read online

  “I believe you,” he said.

  “Believe what?” I whispered back.

  “I believe that it was Michael Vernon Smith that you saw in the car,” Darren said. “I think Fred is lying.”

  My heart skipped a beat. It skipped two. Darren walked after Rosen and Matthew. I took a deep breath and followed.

  THIRTEEN

  Not for the first time, I cursed the architect and builders who had designed our renovated bakery space. Having all of us on separate floors had generally worked well – it gave us the feeling of privacy and self-containment, whilst we also had the freedom to wander into each other’s kitchens if someone was out of eggs or coffee filters. We all valued what little privacy we had, as we had all signed on for the “safety before privacy” edict. But the lack of proper soundproofing made having truly private conversations difficult.

  Darren and I had mutually agreed months earlier that if we needed to talk without fear of anybody hearing or walking in, we could sit in the same room pretending to be watching television and text each other. Hey – it seemed to work for teenagers.

  So later that night, after Rosen, assisted by Matty, had cleaned and re-bandaged my hand and I pretended to be sleepy but light-hearted enough, we said goodnight and went up to the third floor and sat in our living room. Darren put on a late-night talk show, not loud enough to keep Fred and the boys downstairs awake, and we pulled out our phones.

  Why? I texted.

  He’s acting squirrelly. I don’t buy that story about his old work friend.

  So this is a hunch? Nothing concrete?

  It’s a hunch, based on close and careful observation of our bro-in-law, lo these many years.

  Why do you think he’d lie? Do you think he’s in cahoots with MVS?

  Cahoots???

  We both laughed.

  Seriously. F hasn’t been right for a long time, if you ask me. He got beat up last night. What if it had nothing to do with the stripper? What if MVS has his talons into Fred again?

  I put my phone down and looked at Darren.

  “Shit,” I said out loud.

  He nodded, and typed.

  We have to keep eyes on him all the time. We have to follow him wherever he goes from now on.

  We need Dave et al.

  I glanced at Darren, whose eyebrows were up near his hairline.

  Shut up. Dave and I are over. Just leave it.

  That reminds me! Luke has a girlfriend.

  ????!!??

  Moira. She’s going to the same school this year. She was at the gym this summer.

  Did he tell you?

  A little. But I also saw some of the texts. In the interests of making sure the boys are safe, of course.

  Dickwad. Does Matty know?

  I assume so.

  “Enough,” I said out loud. “My hand hurts.” We both stared at the TV for a few minutes.

  “I’m going to bed,” Darren said. “And so should you. Help you heal.”

  “What, are you Dr. Singh now?”

  “I meant your hand, Bean, not your psyche,” Darren said. We laughed softly. I’d go stark raving mad without Darren around. I rarely forgot that fact.

  “I’ll get up and do, uh, morning shift,” he said quietly. He gestured downstairs, to where Fred’s room was. “I’ll get you up at noon. Sleep in.” I nodded, and patted Darren’s head as I walked past him. I was going to soak in a bath, or try to without getting my bandages wet.

  I’m generally a shower person, but I’ve been in enough fights to know that nothing beats a soak in a hot bath with Epsom salts for muscle soreness. Plus, I was hoping it would help me relax. My nerves felt frayed. I’d been ping-ponging around from thinking that Fred had been kidnapped by an evil sonofabitch who’d vowed to destroy our family in the worst ways possible, to fighting off a mob of stupid boys with too much lager and porn affecting their judgment. Then, of course, learning I’d been very, very wrong about what I’d seen, and my overreaction had caused a lot of hassle and upset to people who didn’t deserve it.

  And now, the person I trusted most in the world was telling me that he was sure that Fred was lying. All the security precautions in the world wouldn’t help if the enemy was already inside the barricades.

  I dearly wanted a solid sleep in my own bed. But, hauling myself out of the tub with some difficulty, trying to keep my hand dry, I knew that more than any other time, the boys needed protection. Especially if Darren was right. I didn’t really think that Fred would do anything to hurt the twins. He might not be winning any Father of the Year awards anytime soon, but it was difficult for me to conceive of a situation in which he’d let any harm come to them.

  But then again, I also would never have thought he could have cheated on my sister, and with the nanny, no less. People change, and very often for the worse. Could my brother-in-law have sold his soul for some reason? He’d always been ambitious, and after what had happened in California, his business was all but bust. What if, to quote The Godfather, he’d been made an offer he couldn’t refuse?

  I wanted oblivion. I couldn’t do crack, and I found I didn’t actually want to. It wasn’t the kind of escape I wanted. After Fuckface Smith was dead and buried and I knew my family was safe, I could buy a rock of crack the size of my head, go to a hotel and have a party with myself until my heart and brain exploded. But until then, I owed it to Ginger to protect her boys, and to Jack, who died trying to protect them.

  I put on clean pajama pants and one of Jack’s old t-shirts, which read PARTY TILL YOU PUKE. He used to like to sleep in it. He found it funny, for some reason. I grabbed my phone, pillow, and the duvet from my bed, and crept downstairs to sit sentry outside Luke and Matty’s room. I was used to that floor; it was like my bed away from bed.

  I heard soft laughter coming from their kitchen, so I dropped my pillow and duvet outside the boys’ bedroom and went down the hall.

  Belliveau, Rosen, and Matty were sitting around the table, playing cards.

  “Whoops,” Belliveau said. “Hide the cards, boys. Here comes da fuzz.”

  “The fuzz?” Matty said.

  “It’s what they used to call the po-lice back when Paul was a kid,” I said. “Like ‘five-oh’ or ‘the po-po’.” I grabbed a bottle of orange juice from their fridge and sat down. “What’s the game?”

  “We are teaching Matt the finer points of poker,” Rosen said. “It is, of course, a skill all men must learn.”

  “Men?” I said. “Deal me in. I’ll school you fools.” Matthew looked so happy I almost couldn’t bear it. “Watch and learn, Matty,” I said to him. “Watch and learn.” I looked at his smiling face, which had grown so much leaner and adult, seemingly overnight. I wanted to burn this memory into my brain.

  “Fred asleep?” I said. “And Luke?”

  “Luke’s texting his girlfriend. Or he was. He might be asleep now. But Fred went for a run,” Matt said. “He said he couldn’t sleep and he wants to get in good shape like you.”

  “A run, huh,” I said. I looked at Rosen, who was looking back at me. “Well. Whaddya know.”

  Belliveau was dealing. “Fred not much of an exercise nut like the rest of you?”

  “Not so’s you’d notice,” I said. Matt was looking at me. “But then again, not everybody can be graced with the natural athleticism of young Matthew here.”

  “Fred falls up the stairs,” Matt said to Paul. “James says we take after our mother.”

  Rosen nodded. “She was very graceful and athletic,” he said. He cleared his throat. It occurred to me that perhaps Rosen had been carrying a torch for Ginger when he worked for her. But as she was a married woman, not to mention his employer, he never would have said anything. The phrase “man of honor” popped into my head, and I smiled at him.

  “She definitely was,” I said. It was the first time in probably a year that I’d heard Matty mention his mother. “She was the best person I have ever known,” I said. “Ever have, or ever will.” I raised my bottle of
juice. “Now, I hereby dedicate this game of Texas Hold ’Em to Ginger, who could outplay anybody at poker, and who taught me everything I know.”

  “To Mom,” Matt said, raising his cup of hot chocolate.

  Rosen and Belliveau followed suit, with water and a beer, respectively. “To Ginger.”

  “Alrighty,” I said. “Let’s get this party started, boys. I’ll deal.”

  I looked at the clock on the wall. One a.m. I picked up the cards.

  Fred was about as likely to take up running as I was to start doing embroidery. And I could see that Rosen knew it too.

  FOURTEEN

  For the next three days, I drove myself crazy.

  I paced. On the first day, I did a run-through of our security protocols with Rosen. Then, the next day, another drill. I prayed for rain, so we could keep the boys focused on indoor activities. I thanked God that we had our own gym downstairs, so Matty, Luke, and Eddie could burn off some steam with their invented version of hoops, which involved a Byzantine set of rules that only the under-thirteen set could understand. I watched The Godfather again, practically forcing the rest of the household to watch it with me. And The Godfather Part II. Matty and Luke loved it, which surprised me – seventies films don’t have the pacing that pre-teens are used to – and I felt like I had fulfilled an important part of my guardianship duties. A bit more education in classic rock, and the boys would be nearly complete. Marta, meanwhile, had let Eddie sit in with us, but she frogmarched him out of the room when Sonny gets machine-gunned at the tollbooth.

  Obviously, Marta hadn’t been paying much attention to the video games the boys played.

  Darren talked to Dave in Jakarta (Jakarta!), who said they would be delayed by up to a week. He’d been told of my embarrassing identification blunder vis-à-vis Fred and the town car, and so their presence, while still required as far as I was concerned, was a less pressing matter. And apparently they had a client there who had “gone off the reservation”.

  I thought about working with Dave’s crew again, the excitement and adrenaline, and tried to tell myself I didn’t miss it at all.

  One afternoon, Fred brought his old friend Cliff King around to see the place and meet the boys, and, I think, to put my mind at ease that this was the man who had whisked Fred away in a town car outside of Helen of Troy that night. I shook the man’s hand and wanted to ask him to come outside and get into my car while I stood ten feet away to see if he could resemble Michael Vernon Smith from that angle, but I refrained. The two of them played video games with the boys for a while – I had never seen Fred play anything with the boys, so despite everything it was heartening – and then sat in Fred’s kitchen laughing and talking for hours.

  “I can’t believe it,” Darren said to me upstairs in our kitchen. I was so antsy, I was actually washing dishes. “Fred has a friend.”

  “And they hung out with the boys, too. Oh look!” I gazed out the window. “Pigs flying.”

  “Maybe we were wrong,” Darren said. “Do you suppose?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. I just know that we can’t stay holed up here forever, in case that dickwad is around.” I peeled off my dishwashing gloves and poked at the wound on my hand, covered still by bandages.

  “School starts in a couple of weeks,” Darren said. “And Dave’s crew will be here eventually. Either something will happen or it won’t. Maybe he’s just… moved on.”

  “Fuckface Smith? Moved on?” I splashed water on him. “Get a life.”

  “He could be in Canada for a million reasons,” Darren said. He stuck his head in the fridge, as though it would contain something different than it had five minutes ago. Jack used to do the same thing, as did both the twins. And Fred, come to think of it. Men, I swear. “We have to go on with our lives, but stay vigilant. Otherwise we’re prisoners, and even if the man never contacts any of us again, he’s still ruined our lives.”

  “We have good lives,” I said. I didn’t want to say “he’s already ruined my life” but I thought it. “This is a great place. The boys have fun.”

  “It is a great place.” He pulled a package of string cheese out of the fridge and opened it with his teeth. “But are we still going to be trying to keep the boys indoors when they’re fifteen, sixteen?”

  “If necessary.” I stuck out my tongue at him, and he opened his mouth to show me his half-masticated cheese.

  Yes. In many ways, my brother and I hadn’t matured much past the age of twelve.

  “I know you’re right. But you’re a fine one to talk. You could be making music, gigging, whatever,” I said.

  “I’m writing some stuff,” he said. “Besides, I’d been on the road since I was twenty. I needed a break.” He coughed, which I had come to notice that he did whenever he talked about performing. He wouldn’t say it, but I knew he was afraid of getting on stage and simply not being able to sing.

  “The boys are starting a new school. That will be an adventure in itself,” I said. “Hey – didn’t you say that Luke’s little girlfriend is going to the same school?”

  He nodded. “Moira. Do you think I should have the talk with him?” he said.

  “You mean the sex talk? I think they’ve probably already had it. Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. They’re going to be thirteen soon. Some kids are already screwing like rabbits at that age, and some still sleep with their teddy bears.”

  “Oh God.” I took one of the cheese strings and looked out the window at the rain. “I think these kids are more in the stuffed animal category. Or Archie comics. Graphic novels, excuse me.”

  “They’ve been pretty sheltered in some ways, at least from that kind of thing. I mean, they’ve been away from their friends in California for, what, sixteen months?” Darren did a few jumping jacks, which he only did when he was tired. He worried about the boys at least as much as I did.

  “Something like that.” I didn’t care about the rain. I had to get out and run, and dispel the thought of either of my nephews actually having sex. Oh God. “But anyway, that’s sort of Fred’s job, isn’t it? To talk to them about that?”

  Darren gave me a look. “Theoretically,” he said. “Look, all I’m saying is that they may still be kids, but, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, they’ve shot up in the last months. They’re tall, and they’re filling out early. Look how much bigger they are than Eddie, even though I know he’s younger. And you know what that means.”

  “They’ll be good fighters?” I said. “Please tell me that’s what you mean. If you love me, Darren, you won’t say what you’re about to say.” I gently banged my head against the window a couple of times and scared a few pigeons off the fire escape.

  “Puberty, Bean. Yes. Someday you’ll go through it, I promise.”

  “No, thanks,” I said.

  “I’m going to pick Luke up some condoms.” He shoved another whole cheese stick in his mouth.

  I put my hands over my ears and started laughing, happy to see by his face that he was joking. At least I hoped he was.

  “As we are having this unfortunate and disturbing conversation, I have something to tell you.” I looked at Darren and removed my hands from my ears.

  “You’re pregnant,” he said. “Bean!”

  “What? No, ass-wipe. I was going to say, I have decided that the Summer of the Prowl is over.”

  “Oh, really? Have anything to do with one security expert of our acquaintance who’s coming to call soon?”

  “No,” I said, though in fact there was some truth to that. “But you can feel fall in the air now. I got it out of my system. And now that the boys are going to have a new start, new school, and Fuckface is apparently in the country, I need to pursue more immediate goals.”

  “Like letting your hair grow out so you look female again? Hopefully?”

  I chucked a spoon at him, which he caught and then balanced on his nose. “I am going to take that job. I’m going to work at Helen of Troy.”

 
; “Your goal is to be a bouncer in a peeler bar?”

  “Gentlemen’s club, if you don’t mind,” I said. “And yes. There’s something wrong down there. On the surface everything looks fine,” I made to continue, but Darren interrupted.

  “I agree. Seems pretty wholesome, for a, uh, gentlemen’s club,” he said. “Nobody even approached us for a lap dance. Rosen was very relieved.” Darren and Rosen had gone for lunch to check the place out. They hadn’t invited me. I was not insulted.

  “Maybe they thought you guys were gay,” I said. “I mean, there’s you, with the hair and the grooming…”

  “There is nothing wrong with taking pride in one’s appearance, little sister. You should try it sometime.”

  “…and I don’t know that many straight men who are as buff as Rosen,” I continued, ignoring him. “But what Fred said about Zuzi, and him getting beat on, and that Kelly chick… I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Seems to me that you put your whole hand on it,” Darren said. “Or in it. Whatever.”

  I looked at my hand. “It’s healing nicely. And I highly doubt I’ll experience another injury like that again. This was a fluke.”

  “Famous last words,” Darren said.

  “We’ll see,” I said. I felt cheerful. It was good to have a plan. “But I’ll tell you one thing: Sitting around waiting for someone to try and kill us is screwing with my mojo.”

  “Then you have my blessing. Go forth, young woman, and retrieve your mojo.”

  FIFTEEN

  Garrett Jones, the manager at Helen of Troy, seemed relieved and nearly overjoyed when he got my call.

  “I’ve been kicking myself that I didn’t get your number,” he said. “I would have phoned and harassed you. To come and talk about working here, I mean,” he added. He obviously didn’t want me to think he was after anything else. I assumed that working with scads of barely dressed strippers and cocktail waitresses every day had made the man overly aware of sexual harassment boundaries.