58
Kat at Ricky’s door again. Defeated.
“What’s wrong, Kat? What happened?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know what to do. I’m just…”
“Jesus, come in.”
Ricky attempted a series of solicitous little gestures, a palm laid on Kat’s shoulder, an arm outstretched toward the couch, a reach to relieve her of her purse. The resulting display was a little ridiculous, like a sailor semaphoring, and Ricky wondered again at his new awkwardness. It was a new role, Ricky After, and he had not learned to play it yet. Ricky Before-detached, irresponsible, bored, charismatic-had been a closer fit. But Kat’s very presence here seemed to confirm the change in Ricky, or at least the change in the family’s perception of him. He had never been the type that weeping women turned to. He had not, for that matter, been in very direct touch with the female side of the family at all. For years Amy had represented him among the women. She had explained him to Margaret and Kat and the various aunts and cousins who materialized at family functions. But now Kat was here, and Ricky wanted to be what she needed.
Kat, though, seemed to gather strength as she came into the apartment and observed the mess there. She regarded Ricky’s apartment as if it were a direct reflection of his interior life, and she seemed to calculate that, whatever problems she might have, Ricky might actually be worse off.
“Where’s your record player? And all those records?”
“Somebody broke in.”
“Somebody what!?”
“You heard me.”
“Sorry, Ricky. It’s just…” She snorted.
“Can’t trust anyone these days.”
“I can give you back that Miles Davis record.”
“No, you keep it.”
“New couch?”
“Yeah.”
“Thief took the old one?”
“Sure.”
“That’s weird, thief taking an old couch like that.”
“Long story.”
“I bet.”
Kat sat on the new couch and ran her palm over the cushion.
It had been eleven weeks since Gargano’s goons turned Ricky’s place upside down looking for the stones. In that time Ricky had bought a used couch and coffee table and a new hi-fi, but that was it. He did not feel the same connection to the place. He thought he might move. He had no idea where. Someplace far away.
“You got to help Joe.”
“Help him how?”
Kat lowered her face into her hands.
“What, is he catting around again?”
“No, it’s not that. I think he’s in trouble. He’s betting. And we’re broke. I mean literally broke. You know? We have no money, Ricky. I don’t even-I have nothing to give them for dinner tonight.”
“Jesus, Kat, why didn’t you say so? I have plenty of cash. It’s no problem.”
“It is a problem. He’s not acting right. I think he’s in trouble.”
Ricky fished some cash out of his pocket. He peeled off two twenties and a ten, and handed it to Kat.
She gawped at the bills in her hand. “This is-I can’t take this. It’s too much.”
“Take it. I’ll get you more.”
Kat kept a twenty-dollar bill and put the rest down on the coffee table. “Thank you. We’ll pay you back, Ricky, I promise.”
“You don’t have to pay me back, Kat. It’s for you.”
“Ricky, do you know what’s going on with Joe? You do know, don’t you?”
“I-He told me a few things. Not the whole story.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Nothing, Kat. Really. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Ricky, you gotta tell me.”
“I really don’t know the whole thing. Joe and I don’t talk much, you know that. All I know is what you know: He likes to bet, he got himself into a hole, he’s a little short of cash right now. It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? He steals from us! He steals-from us! We have bills. You can’t imagine the bills.”
“Give them to me. I’ll pay them.”
“I can’t do that. He’d kill me.”
“So don’t tell him. Just put them all in a paper bag and give them to me.”
Kat rubbed her eyes. Her hand was jittery, with fatigue or strain Ricky could not tell. “Ricky, you won’t let anything happen to him, will you?”
“He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need my help.”
“Ricky, you look at me and you promise you won’t let anything happen to him. He’s your brother.”
“You overestimate me, Kat.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Look me in the eye.”
“Alright, alright. I promise.”
Kat exhaled a long sigh, as if the thing was agreed: No harm would come to her Joe. The twenty was still in her hand-that made two prayers answered. She folded the bill in half, then folded it again, so those magical digits, 20, showed in the corners. This piece of paper would change her life, it would stave off catastrophe. Kat had never thought much about money until the last year. Now she thought about little else. She opened her pocketbook and got out her wallet to put it away carefully. On twenty bucks she could feed her family for a week, maybe more.
Ricky retrieved her coat, which she had dropped on a chair. On the pretext of holding it open for her, he slipped the other thirty into her coat pocket.
59
Margaret answered the door looking bulletproof in a wool twinset and skirt. “Michael,” she said. “What are you doing here? No work today?”
“No.”
“Are you all right?”
“No. All wrong, actually.”
“What does that mean? Did you call in sick?”
“No.”
“Don’t you think you should? What if someone’s looking for you?”
Michael hunched past her, as a porcupine trundles across a road with its load of erect quills.
“I really think you should,” Margaret repeated. “What if they’re looking for you, Michael? Why don’t you go use the phone in the kitchen? It’s the responsible thing, dear. It’ll just take a second.”
Michael stood in the center of the small living room. One of Conroy’s Mickey Spillane novels lay on the table by the big saffron chair.
“I need to ask you about Dad.”
