December Boys Part 4

Still, most nights I ended up in that garage. Long after Jenny and my son were asleep inside our warm home, I'd drink beer in the cold garage alone, rehashing the past and reliving the nightmare. My wife was right. So was Charlie. I needed to move on.

I closed the book.

Sweeping the remains, I cradled the entire sordid mess in my arms, turned one-eighty and dropped it all in the trash bin.

CHAPTER FIVE.

WHEN I WALKED into the office Monday morning, I could tell right away something was up. Coworkers I seldom talked to made eye contact, nodding approval. I got two thumbs-up and one handgun salute. Another-I think his name was Marc, or maybe Ron, some bald guy-raised his coffee mug in a toast. A hero's welcome.

They started coming up one by one. Took me a moment to realize why they were congratulating me. Even without filing my report, I had been credited with cracking the Olisky case. NEI investigated potentially fraudulent claims all the time. Finding incontrovertible evidence to refute those claims was rare. Nabbing a confession, almost unheard of. The only problem: I hadn't said a word. The emphatic response shocked me. The reality of the situation was far less glamorous. An overwhelmed, emotionally distraught sixteen-year-old boy had admitted lying. I hadn't done anything but be in the right place at the right time. How had DeSouza even found out?

A little after ten, the boss' door swung open.

"Porter," DeSouza called from the doorway. "Get in here." I'd heard those words before, but never with the warmth and smile that accompanied them now.

"A h.e.l.luva job, Jay," DeSouza said, closing the door after me, pointing to take a seat. "h.e.l.luva job."

I'd hated my boss from the first day I met him. Andy DeSouza embodied every douchebag characteristic I'd grown to despise, the kind of short, slick man who shakes your hand extra hard before finding an excuse to tell you what he paid for his new hot tub.

"I'll admit, Porter, there were times over this past year when I questioned your motivation. Started thinking you may not be cut out for the insurance game. But this Olisky investigation, you really delivered the goods. Came up big when we needed it most."

"Didn't realize it was such a big case."

"Are you kidding me? Do you know much an insurance company loses to fraud every year?"

I shrugged.

DeSouza's face pinched up. "Well, I don't have an exact number. But I can tell you it is a lot. This is the sort of case that gets a claims man noticed. I noticed. Trust me, Concord noticed. Speaking of which . . ." He left those words dangling there. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with them.

It was nice getting praise for a change, but I was still curious how this information had made its way to DeSouza in the first place. "How did you-I mean, how could you deny the claim without my final report?"

"When you didn't return to the office Friday afternoon, I called the Olisky house. Brian admitted he'd been driving. Sounded like you grilled him pretty hard, eh? I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," I said, even though if DeSouza called the Oliskys directly, he'd been checking up on me because he didn't trust me to do my job.

I glanced around at the motivational posters plastering the walls. Hands covering hands, skydivers forming a circle, a single snowflake testifying how special we all are. The worst part was the cloying plat.i.tudes stamped underneath, all variations of Believe in Yourself, Work Harder, Take No Shortcuts. Loose translation: keep selling your soul to the company store and don't ask what your company can do for you. I had more in common with the Oliskys of this world than I did the DeSouzas.

I must've made a face, because DeSouza launched into the party line.

"We are in a war, Jay. Every day. Against criminals trying to defraud NEI with their scams. Swoop and Squat. Drive Down. Two-Lane Turn Sideswipe. These crooks are always cooking up new schemes, trying to screw us. We have to stay one step ahead of them. Be willing to go that extra mile. And do you know why we do this?"

I shrugged.

"Because we fight for the little guy."

The way he said it, I half expected him to leap on his desk and rip his shirt open, Big S advertising truth, justice, and quarterly profits.

"We advocate for those who play the game the right way. That is what you did, Jay. You helped keep premium rates lower for the honest Joe, the guy who busts his hump at the factory every day, the mother who pays her bills on time-the folks who don't think rules are just for 'other' people, that exceptions should be made for them. Insurance is a safety net, not a ladder to come up. Scammers like the Oliskys-"

"It wasn't like that," I said. Donna and Brian weren't bad people. A mother and son who didn't have much money tried to pull a fast one. I could understand that. "I don't think the Oliskys were trying to deceive-"

"What do you call lying on an official claim?"

Hard to argue with that one.

"I've been in conversation with HQ down in Concord," DeSouza said, picking up the thread from earlier. "The Big Office needs a call up. Been in the works for a while, and I've been trying to decide who deserves it most. Not an easy decision. I'm sure it comes as no surprise, last year wasn't the greatest for claims."

I didn't bother responding that I hadn't much thought about it. "Your work on the Olisky case helped make my decision for me."

He paused for drama's sake. "I've decided to recommend you."

"No s.h.i.t?"

"No s.h.i.t."

DeSouza waited for me to jump through his hoop. When I didn't hop fast enough, he sweetened the pot. "Of course, the Concord position comes with greater responsibility. Which comes with a b.u.mp in salary."

"A b.u.mp?"

"A big b.u.mp." He smiled wide. "So, you ready for the majors?"

I couldn't wait to call Jenny with the good news. This was the break I needed. The break we needed. Concord, a promotion, a raise-I could finally deliver on the promise I'd made to my wife when I'd asked her to marry me. For the first time in a long time I could see light at the end of the Turnpike tunnel.

My boss came around the desk.

"It's not a done deal yet, of course," DeSouza cautioned. "But if I were you, I'd start checking out the housing market down south."

DeSouza patted me on the back, leading me to the door. Hand on the k.n.o.b, he extended a firm paternal handshake.

"Don't waste another minute worrying about the Oliskys," my boss said. "They knew what they were doing was wrong. Which is why the son confessed. You did the right thing. You leaned on him until he cracked. And that effort is about to pay off for you. Big time."

Back at my desk, guilt still gnawed at me, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. I hadn't said a word to DeSouza. Brian Olisky confessed all on his lonesome. What was so wrong with taking the credit? I couldn't do anything to help the Oliskys now.

I hadn't been sitting there five minutes when I heard someone shout above the floor chatter, "Porter, line one."

The only person who ever called me at work was Jenny. I took the call, anxious to share the good news. Only it wasn't my wife.

"Mr. Porter?" A woman blubbered on the other end.

"Yes. This is Jay Porter. Who is this?"

The woman sobbed, sputtering illegible gibberish without vowels.

"Ma'am, calm down. I can't understand what you're saying-"

The woman inhaled slowly, forcing composure. "This is Donna Olisky. We met last week? We talked at the copy place where I work? About the accident?"

"Yes, Mrs. Olisky. I remember you." In fact, I was just basking over having denied your claim a few minutes ago. I glanced up from my desk to make sure no one could hear the conversation. "Why are you calling me?"

"They arrested my son this morning."

Across the room, DeSouza stood in his doorway watching me. When our eyes met, he gave me a double-barrel thumbs-up.

I returned the corny gesture, and told Donna I'd call her back.

"Going for a smoke," I said to no one, grabbing my Pats cap and slipping outside with my cell to the parking lot, where a winter's worth of snow remained piled high on islands.

I wasn't sure why I felt the need to hide a work call while I was at work, but after DeSouza's speech, just talking to Donna Olisky felt like fraternizing with the enemy. Why was she calling me? I didn't have any pull with the police. What kind of trouble could a dork like Brian Olisky have gotten into, anyway? Returning a library book late?

I fired up a Marlboro. Tasted so d.a.m.n good I wondered how I ever quit in the first place. Donna Olisky picked up on the first ring.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Porter. I didn't know who else to call-"

"Yeah. Okay." Flurries drifted. I stomped my feet to keep blood flowing. Ground so frozen, every time I touched down I could feel the cold penetrate my sole. "What happened?"

"The police picked up Brian this morning," Donna said, still battling to contain the sniffles.

"What for?"

"For leaving the scene of an accident." She said it so calm and matter-of-fact, like I was the moron for asking. I hadn't considered the possibility.

"I'm not blaming you, Mr. Porter-"

"Call me Jay." I'd met that kid. Cops didn't arrest boys like Brian. "They probably need a statement. You don't get arrested for lying-" I stopped myself, thinking about what I'd said. Lying on an insurance claim was textbook fraud.

"We were having breakfast. They hauled him off like a common criminal."

"Did they actually arrest him?"

"Huh?"

"Did the police read him his rights?"

"I don't know!" she snapped. "But they weren't very nice."

"Cops can be like that." I'd been through this drill before with my brother. An actual arrest meant paperwork. Police hated unnecessary paperwork. I started to feel better. "I'm sure they just want to talk to him."

"He has a driver's license," Donna said, still believing I held sway over the situation. "We can't afford the premium. Brian has a chance to go to Europe."

"I know, Mrs. Olisky. He told me. But I don't know what you think I can do. I work for an insurance company. I'm not a.s.sociated with the police. I don't know any cops. Well, I know this one cop, Rob Turley. But he's an Ashton cop-"

"I want to drop the claim. Officially. I thought maybe if I did that, they'd let him go." More sobbing. I made myself remember this woman's loss. I saw her dead son's picture on the mantel, a shrine erected by a grieving mother. I kept telling myself that it wasn't my problem. Except, of course, now it was.

"Mrs. Olisky," I said. "I wouldn't worry about anything. For one, your son is a minor. There's not much they can do."

"I want to drop the claim," she repeated. "Rescind it. Officially. If you send over paperwork, I'll sign it."

"It doesn't work that way-"

"Then can you call the Longmont County Courthouse? Tell them we changed our mind about filing a claim."

"Courthouse? First of all, if the police have Brian, he wouldn't be at the Longmont Courthouse." I tried not to act glib over her unfamiliarity with police procedure. People watch way too much TV.

"They said he's being arraigned this morning."

"Who said that?"

"The police. When I called down the station."

"They said he was being arraigned? Are you sure?"

"Yes! At the Longmont County Courthouse. This morning!"

I knew firsthand that the legal system didn't move so fast. None of this was adding up.

"Please," Donna Olisky said. "Can't you halt the claim? My son can't go to prison."

"No one is going to prison."

"He must be so scared. He's just a boy. I can't leave the store again. I'll get fired. I need this job. Tell them he didn't mean to do it. Tell them I put him up to it. He's a good boy. This is all my fault." The inconsolable sobbing returned.

"Please stop crying. Let me see what I can do."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Porter, Jay," Donna said through choked-back snuffles. "That's very kind of you."

"I'm not making any promises. Listen. This is my cell. If you need to reach me, use this number. You're going to have to give me a little time, though."

Mrs. Olisky thanked me profusely. Not like I had any choice.

You'd have to be one heartless sonofab.i.t.c.h not to be moved by a mother's crying.

CHAPTER SIX.