CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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Julia bumped around in the dark, finding the lamp on Angel’s desk.
It cast a dim light through the room. She wiggled out of her jeans and walked to the couch.
The beer made her unsteady on her feet. She laid on the couch next to Conor.
He grunted and shifted to his side, smelling like smoke from the grill.
She pushed her nose into the crook of his neck.
“Conor? You up?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. He grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and pulled it over them.
Julia turned nose-to-nose with him, watching his lips separate as he breathed slow and even.
“Today was fun,” she said.
“Uh-huh.”
She traced a finger around his face, then touched the scar that ran over his eyebrow. He pushed her hand away.
“Your dad is great,” she said.
“Yep. Great.”
“You look like him,” she said, running her hands over his face. She stroked his cheek. “Hey, do you remember when you asked me if I had any dreams about my life?”
Conor turned away.
Julia rolled to her back and looked at the ceiling.
“I think I have one. Instead of Maine, let’s go somewhere warm.
Maybe a Caribbean island.” She reached under the blanket to hold Conor’s hand.
“You could fix cars or something. And I could get a job as a bartender.” She rubbed her thumb over Conor’s palm, feeling his calluses.
“We’ll use the money you’ll get tomorrow to set us up.
It’ll be a whole new life.” She pulled Conor’s hand to her chest and smiled.
“Your dad can come down and join us. Even Angel if he wants to. One big family, you know? Maybe we’ll even have kids.
” She turned toward Conor. “What do you think?”
When he didn’t respond, she kissed his hand and snuggled against him. “We’re going to do it. It’ll be the best time of our lives.”
* * *
Cracker woke up in the front seat of his pickup.
He could’ve slept in a hotel last night, but why?
Sleeping was sleeping, even if it was in the front seat of his truck in a strip mall parking lot.
He rummaged through a plastic bag on the passenger seat, pulled out his last protein bar and chewed his way through it while he watched the sun lift from the horizon, illuminating the crumbling parking lot.
This strip mall was like everything in this town—old, tired, and broken.
He’d had his fill of it. But he’d finish his business today.
It was time to bring out the sledgehammer.
Everyone Conor Monroe had any connection to, however slim, was going to be smashed.
If that boy was in Brannigan, he’d stick his head out of his hidey hole and get what was coming to him.
Cracker opened his glove box and took out paper and a pen. He chewed his protein bar thoughtfully, tapping his pen on the back of a wrinkled Chinese restaurant menu. He smoothed the menu on his thigh and started writing.
Family—Mickey Monroe
Friends—Sully Bomba and Jackie Fitzsimmons—Fitz
Current Poontang—Julia Terranova
Old Tang—Mona Bomba
He stopped writing and looked over the list. From what Derek Ryder had told him, these were all the people on God’s green earth that had a relationship with Conor.
And based on what he’d learned from picking through Monroe’s apartment, the boy was a spook.
He didn’t mind spending time with himself, which was rare.
Most people needed all kinds of ruckus and distraction to keep their mind occupied.
Monroe was different. He was disciplined.
He’d taken fourth place in the state high school wrestling tournament based on a trophy buried in his closet, and he was a pretty damn good street fighter based on Derek Ryder’s broken ribs.
And he didn’t fear much. The beating he’d given Duck, a man who other criminals catered to, proved that.
Based on the preponderance of evidence, Cracker was sure Monroe would be fun to tangle with.
But somebody’s pain and dying had to garner his attention first.
Cracker scanned the list of names. This was gonna be a tall order.
He scratched out Julia’s name. She was out of reach, hiding out with Monroe.
He ate his last piece of protein bar and sucked chocolate off the end of a finger.
He scratched out Jackie Fitzsimmons. Derek Ryder told him Fitz disappeared after he, Conor, and Sully got caught trying to steal from Duck.
No help there. So that left Sully Bomba, Mona Bomba, and Mickey Monroe—Conor’s daddy.
According to Derek, Monroe hated his daddy and hadn’t talked to him in years because he was a drunk.
And although Conor and Mona Bomba—Sully’s sister—had once been in a relationship, Mona had a fairly strong dislike for Conor now.
Taking all that into consideration, it made sense to start with Sully.
He called Derek. After a brief conversation, he started his truck and got moving, rolling through the crumbled ruin of parking lot.
Sully was at the hospital. He’d been in a coma, but according to Derek, he’d pulled out of it.
If Conor was back in town, he’d have surely heard about Sully being on the mend.
And that would undoubtedly have made him happy.
It was time to dump a big load of crappy on Conor’s happy.
Cracker pulled into a drug store to get a couple things for his visit with Sully. He jumped out of his truck, walked into Walgreens, and roamed the aisles until he found what he was looking for.
Back in his truck, he dug a roll of reinforced elastic bandage out of the plastic bag that held his purchases.
Wrapping his right wrist and hand took a while.
When he was done, he looked over his handiwork.
With his hand all wrapped up, it looked like he’d broken it.
He turned it this way and that, admiring it for a bit before resting it in his lap.
Using his unwrapped hand, he reached in the Walgreens grocery bag, feeling around the shrink-wrapped legal pad and pack of ballpoint pens to grab a box of protein bars.
Mmmm. Blueberry and strawberry yogurt flavor, just the thing for a shot of energy before he visited Sully.
He wolfed down two of the bars and stared out the windshield, watching people walk in and out of the drugstore.
Visiting hours weren’t until noon. Best bet was to get there an hour or so before.
He’d kill a couple hours people watching, then he’d go see Sully. It was gonna be a productive morning.
* * *
Cracker stood in the doorway to Sully’s room, watching Sully eat orange Jell-O from a plastic cup. He walked in, shut the door, and dragged a chair to the side of Sully’s bed.
Sully ran his spoon around the bottom of the plastic cup, ate the last of the Jell-O, and put the spoon down. He eyed Cracker.
“Who are you?”
Cracker laid a legal pad and pen on his lap.
“I’m from down the hall. Checking out today. Wondering if you could help me with something.”
“What happened to your hand?”
Cracker held up his bandaged hand. “My old lady closed the car door on it. Wish I could say it was an accident, but, well, you know how women can be. ” He lowered his hand to his lap and nodded at Sully. “What you in for?”
Sully didn’t say a word. He just stared at Cracker. Cracker held Sully’s dark-eyed gaze and waited, but he had to give it to Sully, the boy was stone cold. He didn’t flinch. Cracker tilted his head.
“Something about my face interest you?”
Sully shook his head. “Nah. Just looking.” He tossed his Jell-O cup in a trash can. His bedsheet rustled as he sat up and smoothed the sheet over his legs. “They tell me some guys jumped me and put me in a coma. I don’t know—I don’t remember a thing.”
“Is that right?” said Cracker, fiddling with the bandage on his hand.
“What’s your name?” said Sully.
Cracker settled back in his chair. “It don’t matter.”
“Don’t matter, huh?” said Sully. “Well, my mom and sister are coming to visit, so what do you need, ‘don’t matter?’”
Cracker lifted the legal pad and pen from his lap. “Can you write something for me? I need to leave my old lady a note.”
Sully held out his hand. “Sure. But make it fast. I got shit to do.”
Cracker handed over the legal pad and pen.
Cracker slowly unwrapped his bandage from his hand, winding the loose end around the palm of his free hand. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” said Sully, uncapping the pen. “Go ahead.”
Cracker stretched the foot-long length of bandage between his hands until it was as tight as a guitar string. “Let’s start with this, ‘As you can see, I’m gone.’”
“Got it,” said Sully.
“And if you want to know why, ask Conor Monroe.”
“Conor Monroe?” asked Sully.
Cracker continued. “One thing’s for sure—if Conor had fought Joe Cracker Jones instead of hiding like a bitch, I’d still be here.”
Sully wrote it down, and then looked up. “‘How do you know Conor? And who’s this Joe Cracker Jones guy?”
Cracker leaned forward, tightening his grip on the bandage wound around his fists, and said quietly, “I’m recently acquainted with Conor.” He watched Sully put the pen down. “And I’ve known Joe Cracker Jones since he was born. There’s no better man on earth than good old Joe.”
“Is Conor involved with your old lady or something?” said Sully.
Cracker shook his head. “No.”
Sully squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow. “Well, why does Conor have to fight this Cracker dude?”
“That’s between them.”
“Here’s your letter,” said Sully, holding out the piece of paper.
“Now get the fuck out. I got better things to do than worry about Conor getting into a fight. Plus, you’re a fucking weirdo, and I don’t want you in my room anymore.
” Sully lifted a hand, forced a smile, and waved.
“See you later. Good luck with whatever you’re doing but do it someplace else. ”
Cracker pointed across the room. “What the hell is that?”