December Boys Part 10

"What the h.e.l.l is this place?" Charlie asked.

We sat in my idling Chevy, shielded by a cl.u.s.ter of pines. Tall, barbed chain-link ran the length of the perimeter, boxing the property. Had to be a few solid acres. The main building, squat, stout, intimidating, sat a football field away across a windswept gully. With high lookout towers and too much room to cover before reaching freedom, the place mirrored a penitentiary.

Like Nicki mentioned, the complex appeared to be in the state of serious influx. I saw the skeletal frame of a new building at the back end of the lot-and not a storage shed either, like a mini high-rise you'd find downtown in a big city. There were other telltale signs of major renovation, too. Sandbags. Cement mixers. Breaking new ground in this weather was impossible, but you could always tack on. Scaffolding wrapped around steel girders, with lifts and ladders, piping for waterline extensions angled sharply and intertwined, a boatswain chair to reach the top floors. Several moving trucks, the long haul kind that transfer entire worlds, split the difference between the fence and D-block. Blue Belle Moving Co. Looked like you could fit the whole prison inside those trucks. Things were enormous.

I hadn't mentioned a destination to Charlie on the ride over, and he hadn't seemed too concerned, not even as we turned down dark, unfamiliar routes and endless farming roads. Charlie was always up for an adventure. We chewed the fat about less pressing matters. The Bruins. The Pats. The Sox. He didn't mention Jenny. I didn't touch on his lack of employment or direction in life. Win win. Now that we were here, I was having a tough time answering his questions why. I wasn't sure I could express my urgency to see North River. Maybe my friend had picked up on that uncertainty-I could feel his uneasiness-I only knew I had an itch to satisfy. Save for the occasional whisper of winter wind, the country night felt eerily calm. One by one lights flicked off. Bedtime for the inmates.

"Are you going to talk to me, man? What is this place?"

"I'm not sure, Charlie. A prison, of sorts."

"Of sorts?"

"A juvie. A prison for teenagers. Long-term drug treatment. I don't know."

"Sorry. I just don't understand why we're here."

Funny, I'd been asking myself that one, too.

I reached under my seat and pulled the folder, in which I'd coalesced Nicki's photocopies, adding a few webpages of my own that I'd printed off the Internet, flipping the entire batch to Charlie. I switched on the cab light so he could read.

"Court records?"

"Remember that kid I was telling you about? Brian Olisky?"

"What about him?"

"That's where they put him."

"The kid who lied about driving?"

I stared at North River. Even the pictures from the website, the ones supplied by the facility itself, boasted a fortress under lock and key. Up close, the place was a mini gulag.

"Not just him," I said. "Other kids, too. Bulls.h.i.t charges."

"Like?"

"One girl created a fake website," I said. "Making fun of her science teacher, princ.i.p.al, whatever. She's been locked inside North River for a year."

"What's North River?"

I pointed at the complex. "That is North River."

Charlie panned around. "What town are we even in?"

"Middles.e.x."

"Middles.e.x? Isn't that where your brother's ex-girlfriend lived? What was her name again? Bunny?"

"I told you. Kitty. Short for Katherine-she's not a stripper-and yeah, she lived here. At a halfway house, other side of town. Why do you keep asking about her?"

"You ever talk to her?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Because," Charlie said, "she knew your brother. She knew him during . . . that time. Maybe talking to her would help you."

"Help me what?"

"Y'know, get past his death." He paused. "The guilt you feel."

"I don't feel guilty."

Charlie turned toward the window, embarra.s.sed for me over my bold-faced lie.

Yeah, you're not guilty, Jay. Then why are we sitting on an access road staring at a lockdown ward? It's almost midnight.

"I don't know how to get ahold of Kitty," I said. "It's been over a year since we talked. Since then I've moved, changed numbers. I don't even know her last name. She lives in California, for Christ's sake. What could she really offer me, anyway? Chris is dead."

I'd seen the signs. Private Property. No Trespa.s.sing. Turn Back.

Charlie fidgeted. I twitched with edginess too. Which was strange because Charlie was the one person I could always be myself around. As much as I wanted to blame him for the weird vibe, I knew my mood was at fault. I'd been out of sorts all day.

He tried to change the subject, rambling about his dart league, something about a cute Australian girl from the bar. I was mired in my own game of solo Q&A, a psycho's version of solitaire.

Troubled teens? Drug addicts? Rehabs? Juvenile prisons. This isn't for work. I'm on involuntary vacation. My wife's out of town with my son. What am I supposed to do? What's it matter? Even when she's home, you're not there. Oh, shut up. What are you so p.i.s.sed off about? I don't know, man. You can't save me. You know that, right? No s.h.i.t. You don't think I know that?

"Jay?"

"What?"

Charlie stared at me like I was sweet pickling the short bus. "Dude, you're talking to yourself."

"So? People talk to themselves all the time."

"Yeah, but you're answering yourself, too. You okay, man? You haven't looked right since you picked me up. s.h.i.t, you ain't been right the last few times I've seen you. You're not telling me something." He held up the photocopies. "At least not the whole something."

I didn't know why I wanted to drive out to North River at this hour, or what I thought I'd find here. They weren't going to let me tour the place during business hours, let alone the middle of night. Nicki had touched a nerve. I ached to do something, find a reason to believe. I couldn't sit in that empty house a moment longer, not without Aiden and Jenny. I kept envisioning her having dinner with Stephen, laughing at his cornball jokes, touching his arm at all the right times, because when she'd walked back into Lynne's condo the other afternoon and I'd seen her smiling eyes it hadn't been over me; it was because of him. All I could do to combat the creeping malaise was smoke cigarettes, drink beer, and stare at water stains on the wall. I couldn't compete with the Stephens of the world as it was. Take away the steady paycheck, and what the h.e.l.l could I offer? I pictured my empty house, and I could already feel the cold air seeping in, insulation failing, hear the lack of laughter, the absence of other people breathing. So many times during this new life, I craved solitude. Not to be alone. Just to be left alone. I'd walk through the door after a long day of work, and Jenny would have a hundred things she wanted to talk about, mind-drudging domestic details, and Aiden would be jumping around, demanding attention, and I'd wish I had a remote. Press the pause b.u.t.ton. Let me grab a beer, put on sweats, take a deep breath, acclimate to suburban dad. I longed for a few minutes, not forever. I felt like the universe had heard my ungrateful b.i.t.c.hing and this was the retribution of ent.i.tlement. I'd grown to dread the sound of a coffeemaker gurgling at dawn's first light.

"Jay?" Charlie said. "You all right?"

"Never mind. Forget it." I turned off the cab light, flicked the nubbed b.u.t.t into the sub-zero scrub, and rolled the window back up. "Let's get out of here."

The headlights descended on us from out of nowhere.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

TWO ALL-TERRAIN VEHICLES came at us from opposite directions, jamming my Chevy kitty-corner, high beams catching us in the crossfire.

A beefy security guard, who looked like he'd flopped out of Boston College, pushing three hundred if he was a pound, smacked the b.u.t.t of a flashlight against the gla.s.s until I cracked the window.

"What are you doing here?" he said. "This is private property."

"Me and my buddy took a wrong turn," I said. "No street names. Can't get a signal." I held up my phone, offering its blank screen as evidence of my ignorance. "Do you know the way to the highway?"

"Let's see some ID."

"You're not a cop," Charlie said. "We don't have to show you jack."

The security guard flashed a secret hand signal, some gangland command, and another guard materialized from the shadows, standing outside Charlie's window. Light glinted off a grip of a handgun. I knew then these two would love nothing more than to split my skull open. And neither would be opposed to a two-for-one deal. After getting my a.s.s handed to me the other night, I didn't have the stomach for another beat down. Three days later, I still couldn't p.i.s.s right.

I slammed the truck in reverse and floored the pedal. The pa.s.senger door flung open, hand darting around inside, fumbling for the traction of Charlie's coat.

"Hold on," I screamed.

The guard had a firm grip on Charlie, who two-fisted the Jesus bar, squealing as I punched the transmission in drive. I cranked the steering column, burning donuts in double time until the guy let go.

I jerked, re-righted the front end, speeding to freedom. In the rearview mirror, I saw the big man roll across the frozen dirt. I waited for the echo of gunshots over my shoulder. But they never came.

"Christ, Jay! What the h.e.l.l?"

"I don't know, man. I don't know what their deal was."

"Not them! You!"

"Me?" Where was the grat.i.tude for saving his a.s.s?

"They were rent-a-cops, dude."

"I don't know what they were. But they looked like they wanted to use us for target practice."

"Target practice? With what? Their flashlights?"

"He had a gun."

"It was a flashlight. A couple of fat guys on golf carts. What did you think they were going to do? Lock us inside with the rest of the junkies?"

"We were on private property. And he had a gun. I saw it."

"Dude. It was a flashlight! Relax."

I checked my rearview to be sure we were clear of any hot pursuit. No one was on our heels. Golf carts? A flashlight? I was certain it was a gun. Was I going crazy?

"Jay, you don't look so good."

"Listen, man, I'm not supposed to be touching this case. DeSouza finds out I'm poking my nose around, I'm out of a job."

"Then what were we doing up here in the first place?"

I could feel him watching me, waiting for a better explanation, but all the ones I had tumbling around inside my brain sounded stupid. I didn't know what we were doing up there. I didn't know what I was doing, period.

I felt my chest tighten. I was having a tough time catching my breath. I steadied on the road and focused on my breathing.

"s.h.i.t," Charlie said, rotating his arm and ball joint. "I think Fatty dislocated my shoulder."

My lungs seized up. They stopped accepting oxygen.

"Jay, you okay?"

I tried to nod but it didn't come across right. More like my head swiveled in seven different directions at once.

"Pull over," Charlie said.

"I don't . . . If they're . . . behind us."

Charlie covered his hands over mine, taking control of the wheel. "No one is following us, Porter. Pull over. Let me drive. You look like you swallowed a case of mini-thins. You're going to wrap around an oak tree and kill us both."

I steered to the shoulder.

Charlie and I traded places.

I rested my head against the cool gla.s.s, and gazed out into the night. I focused on my breathing, like Dr. Shapiro-Weiss had told me to do. Count. One. Two. Twenty-three. Charlie didn't say anything more as he drove us back to his place.

Like a den mother, he led me to the couch, covering me with a quilt that reeked of mothb.a.l.l.s and liniment. Charlie Finn playing caretaker. h.e.l.l had truly frozen over.

He thumbed toward his kitchen. "You want a beer or something? Whiskey? You could use a shot to calm down. I think I still have a bottle of Maker's somewhere . . ."

Charlie returned with a pair of gla.s.ses. He broke the seal and measured out two fingers, like he was administering cough syrup to a sick kid.

"Okay, Jay." He pa.s.sed the gla.s.s. "Drink up."

I pounded the shot. He poured another. I pounded that too.

"Better?"

I nodded.

"Tell me what's going on. I'm your friend. Let me help."

"That folder I showed you."