small store. He nodded when I walked in. Eduardo had been an almost promising middleweight in the late Seventies. Time had been no more kind to him than it had to me.
I didn’t think I would find what I was looking for, but I did. I almost missed it. It was one I hadn’t seen before called Forbidden Destiny. I recognized the title, knew who was in it. I found it in the bin of overused tapes for sale in a plain white box with the title printed in ink on the spine. I gave Eduardo three dollars.
“Rain,” Eduardo said, looking out the window. “Bad for business. I think I’ll just close up early and get a beer at the Crisp Dollar Bill. You want to come?”
“Tired,” I said. “Busy day.”
Eduardo understood tired. I don’t think he knew much about busy days. He nodded.
When I got to my office just before ten, I found a message on the machine from Sally. “Lew, call when you get this if it’s before ten.”
I called.
“Hello,” said Susan, Sally’s daughter. Susan was eleven and was convinced that every time the phone rang it was for her.
“It’s me, Lew,” I said.
“I’ll get her,” Susan said, and put down the phone.
I could hear the television playing. The voice sounded like George Clooney in serious mode.
“It’s Mr. Sunshine, Mom,” Susan called.
“Dork,” said Michael, who was going to be fifteen some time soon. “He can probably hear you.”
“Lew?”
“Mr. Sunshine himself,” I said.
“I have to talk to you about the Severtsons. I need to fill out a report and I want to quote you in it.”
“Ken Severtson wants custody of the kids,” I guessed. “And he wants a divorce.”
“Neither,” she said. “I talked to them a few hours ago. They’re going to stay together.”
“For the kids,” I said.
“It’s always for the kids,” she said. “Even when it’s the worst thing that can happen to the kids. Well, almost the worst thing.”
The light in my office came from a line of fluorescent overheads, two of which were out, one of which was flickering and pinging. I could see the painting, the Dalstrom painting of the black forest and the single colorful flower.
“You think the kids should be taken away from the Severtsons?” I asked.
“It doesn’t much matter what I think. There’s not a judge in the state who would take kids away from parents who aren’t criminal offenders, don’t take drugs, and don’t beat the kids. But a detective in Orlando faxed a report to the sheriff’s office here, and the sheriff’s office sent me a copy.”
“Which says?”
“Mother and children present at a suspicious death. Mother in bed with a man who wasn’t her husband. Family bears watching. We add that to the complaint about them from before and…I don’t know.”
“What?”
“Report on Stark,” she said. “Lost his wife. Had some trouble with the law when he was young, but he’s been a regular churchgoer for years. Upstanding businessman. Volunteer at the food bank.”
“And child molester?” I added.
“Nothing in his past and no proof but Janice Severtson’s word,” said Sally. “Neither child remembers ever being touched by Stark.”
“It would have happened. It was about to happen.”
“But it didn’t,” Sally said. “Can you do me a favor and write out your version of what you know happened, what she told you, how Kenny and Sydney behaved? I’ll attach it to my report and list you as a semiretired former member of the Office of State Attorney of Cook County, Illinois.”
“When do you need it?”
“Soon,” she said. “Tomorrow? The kids want to go to the movies Saturday. How about coming over here for dinner and you join us?”
Sally couldn’t help it. It was her mission. Saving children and reclusive process servers. She knew I didn’t like going to the movies. I preferred my cot, something old in black-and-white, and being alone. She had made progress with me. I had gone out to restaurants alone with Sally five times, and seven or eight times with her and kids. The kids liked The Bangkok. Susan liked getting a sugar high on Thai iced tea.
The rain started to come down harder. I could hear it beating on the concrete outside my door.
“Dinner is fine,” I said. “I’ll let you know about the movie.”
“I was just joking when I called you Mr. Sunshine,” Susan suddenly came on.
“I know,” I said. “You know any real jokes?”
“Sure. Blond jokes. Lots of them. Why?”
“I’m collecting them for a friend I have to see in the morning.”
Susan told me a joke. I jotted it down in my notebook and thanked her and then Sally came back on.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Afternoon. I have to be in court in the morning. Another crack child is going to be given back to his mother who just got out of rehab.”
“And you’ll fight it.”
“And lose,” Sally said. “And then I’ll have the case back in a month or two or five and we’ll start the same cycle again. Listen to me. I’m starting to sound like you.”
“Did you hear the joke Susan just told me?” I asked.
“No.”
“Ask her to tell it to you. I think it will make you smile.”
“Did it make you smile, Lew?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
When we hung up, I turned off the office light, went into my cubbyhole room, hit the light switch, and got undressed. I put on a fresh pair of underwear, turned on the VCR and the television, and popped Forbidden Destiny into the slot.
I watched George Nader and Ernest Borgnine plan a bank robbery before Claire Collins appeared, her hair swept back, a knowing smile on her face, a dark sweater and skirt, her mouth pouting, her eyes darting.
When it was over, I turned off the television with the remote and lay in the dark listening to the rain.
Tomorrow was a busy day. I hated busy days.
The rain had stopped by morning but the sky was still dark and the DQ parking lot wet with puddles where the concrete was indented. Cars kicked up splashes and small waves on 301. My watch told me it was eight o’clock.
The phone rang. I got to it before the answering machine kicked in.
“Fonesca,” I said.
“You know where the Seventeenth Street softball fields are?” Kevin Hoffmann asked, full of energy.
“I can find them,” I said.
“Go east down Seventeenth past Beneva,” he said. “You’ll see the sign on the right. Drive past the big enclosed field where people run their dogs, and park in the lot. You’ll see the fields. I’ll be at the first diamond on your right.”
“When?”
“If the rain doesn’t come back, we’ll start our first game in about half an hour.”
“I’ve got a ten o’clock appointment,” I said.
“It won’t take long,” he said.
“I can come to your house later,” I said.
“I think it’ll be better if you stay away from my house,” he said.
“And from William Trasker?”
“Healthier,” he said.
“For who?”
“Everyone involved. Get to the game as soon as you can.”
I hung up, checked my watch again. I had time.
