looked over at me and I shook my head to caution him. He turned his head back down before going on, “This guy wanted to talk to him about some other job. Doesn’t need him right away. Nah, I don’t know why he wants to talk to Jimmy, he just does. Must of got a recommendation. I don’t know, just checking for him. Nah, don’t tell Jimmy anything, let this guy talk to him. Yeah, let him work it out. How’s it going over there? Yeah, what the fuck. Don’t I know it. Yeah, Davy. Okay.” They volleyed banalities for a few more minutes before hanging up.
He turned to me from the phone.
“So what’s the big secret.”
“No big deal. Like you told him, I just want to work it out with Jimmy. You handled that well.”
“He owe you money?”
I drank some of his ubiquitous coffee. It was pretty good, even from a Styrofoam cup. I watched him write something down on the back of a receipt swiped from the in-box on somebody’s desk.
“Nothing like that. You can check it out with the Town. Ask a cop named Joe Sullivan. Tell him you talked to Sam Acquillo.”
He gave me the address of the job.
“That name’ll be on the sign at the job. Maddox’s working the backhoe on the utility trench. Good backhoe guy. Good enough to pick your teeth with it. Too bad.”
I tucked the folded receipt into my shirt pocket.
“What do you mean ‘too bad’?”
He shrugged.
“He’s a nasty asshole. Nobody can stand working with him. He’s just one of those guys. Asshole kid. You know what I mean?”
“I guess, sure.”
“You’ll see. Real sweetheart.”
I walked him back to his steam shovel.
“Someday,” the big guy told me as he climbed up over the polished steel treads, “somebody’s going to beat the snot out of that little fucker, you know what I mean?”
The day was coming in cloudy, but still clear, with a breeze that swept the Cat’s exhaust up into the pines and out toward the ocean. The diesel roared behind me as I lugged the Grand Prix back to Montauk Highway.
“Shit, fuck, Christ, you son of a bitch piece of shit. Fucking piece of shit. Fucking goddammit cock sucking piece of crap SHIT.”
Jimmy Maddox was about twenty-eight years old, but his face looked a lot younger. Soft and round, barely showing a few smudges of orange fuzz on his upper lip and jowls. Freckles and curly red hair bursting out from under a bright green hat with an orange rim. He looked like the demented trade-school son of Ronald McDonald. A little of his Aunt Regina haunted his face and poked through his bitter eyes.
I stood just outside the swing of the big shovel and spray of invective. The kid had an interesting style. The trench he was digging was almost sculpted. The action of the shovel was smooth and controlled. It didn’t fit with all that yelling and swearing. Dotty Hodges and the big excavator had it right. A young dickhead. But with a little texture.
“Fucking shit bag piece of fucking shit.”
He knew I was standing there watching him. I thought he’d finish the last section of trench in about half an hour. I decided I’d leave before that. Stand in one place too long and your dignity drains out of your feet.
Maybe curiosity got the best of him. Idling the backhoe, he curled the shovel between the little front wheels and climbed down from the seat. He walked past without looking at me, but close enough to hear me call out his name.
“Yeah?” he yelled back. “And you are?”
He had a good start on a blue-collar beer belly. It strained the fabric of his muddy white T-shirt. His jeans were bunched down around a pair of expensive Dunhill boots. His lip was actually curled a little.
“Sam Acquillo. I’ve got some bad news.”
He spit at the ground.
“Fuck. What is it?”
“Your Aunt Regina died.”
He looked at me as if I hadn’t said anything yet. I waited. He spit again.
“Died?”
“Yeah. Been about a week. She’s still in the morgue. It’s time somebody decided how to settle her out.”
“That’d be you?”
“With your help, if you’re interested.”
“You the ex-ec-u-tor?”
I’m not good with that kind of approach. But I was trying.
“I might be. That depends on you.”
He crouched down on his haunches and picked up a piece of dirt. It crumbled in his hand, and he tossed the pieces away like a sod farmer on the last legs of foreclosure.
“Just up and died?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
He stood up again, wiping his hands on his hips. I’d moved in a little closer so I could get a better look at his face when he talked. He noticed the intrusion and stiffened a little.
“What’s your deal in this?”
“Next-door neighbor.”
He looked over my shoulder.
“You got that old Pontiac. I seen it in the driveway.”
I nodded. “The cops couldn’t find any next of kin. I told them I’d help out. Talk to you.”
He crossed his arms over his belly and leaned back a little.
“Cops? Somebody kill her?”
“What do you think?”
“You a cop?”
“Should I be?”
“Is this twenty fucking questions?”
I smiled. The backhoe was still idling next to the trench. A hundred feet away a gang of foundation guys were leaning on their shovels and rakes, watching the mixer back up. The smell of fresh concrete competed with the mud smell and a touch of raw lumber coming from a large stack of two-by-eights. Maddox was slowly rocking back and forth on his heals, acting out his manifold indecisions.
“I’m just trying to help out,” I told him. “Something bothering you?”
He uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets. I saw him as I first saw him. As a kid.
“Aunt Reggie’s the only relative I got left. How’d she die?”
“Just did. I found her floating in the bathtub. Frankly, I think they should nail down the exact cause of death. I think you ought to authorize an autopsy. They got her on ice, but time’s going by.”
“I gotta do that?”
“You don’t have to do the autopsy. Just authorize it. And take a little responsibility for all this. Funeral, estate, all that.”
He wasn’t listening.
“My mom always said she had a bunch of money hid away somewheres.”
“You think so, too?”
His face shifted around under the pale, fleshy surface. I wondered how much of his family he’d already buried in his young life. That kind of thing can put uneven wear on a kid. Ruin his balance.
“Nah, she didn’t have shit.”
“You checked?”
His soft face filled up with blood.
“You think I’m stupid?”
“Not yet.”
