7. Mike
MIKE
Itype it before I can talk myself out of it.
Can't stop thinking about you.
I hit send and set the phone on the counter.
Her scent is still in the apartment. Still on my skin.
I wait to see if she replies. Nothing.
Shit, I'm late. I head for the shower.
I put on music as soon as I get in the car.
Something with a beat. Something loud, to give my head somewhere else to go.
By the time I'm heading north, I've forgotten about her laying in my bed. The lines of her body.
Her hair loose in my kitchen. Her dress wrinkled. That mouth of hers trying not to smile. The way she looked like she could cross-examine God and still somehow looked a little undone because of me.
I turn the music up.
The city falls behind me. The air through the window is cool against my face, the road opening ahead. Past Kingston, the hills rise on both sides, and every few miles the river flashes silver through the trees.
For a while, I let the song do its job. Let the bass fill the car. Let the miles stretch out between me and last night.
Her touch comes back.
By the time I see the exit for Coxsackie, the music is blasting.
Coxsackie Correctional Facility sits off the road like it was built to make people turn around.
Gray walls. Razor wire. Guard towers. A state sign out front with the kind of plain black lettering that makes the place feel even worse.
I park in the visitor lot and sit there for a second with both hands on the wheel.
I take a deep breath. Head inside.
Empty pockets.
Metal detector.
Sign the book.
Hard plastic chair.
No phone. No belt. No privacy. No pretending this is anything but a prison.
The waiting room is cinder block and bad light, floor wax and burnt coffee, with a CO behind the glass watching everyone like we all came here guilty.
Doors buzz open.
Doors slam shut.
Every sound has teeth.
The good mood from the drive drains out of me, mile by mile, until all that's left is the reason I came.
I sit down across the glass and pick up the phone.
Ryan's already got his to his ear.
"Hey brother," he says.
"What's going on?"
"Same. I got the money, thanks. How are you coming — is this a better question?"
"We're ahead of schedule."
"No shit."
"She spent the night. Left this morning. I made her breakfast and everything. That's why I'm late."
"She got the full Mike experience, huh? I'm sure it wasn't too hard. Lucky for you she's actually pretty fucking hot. Nice ass, nice tits."
"Real?"
"Yeah. You want details?"
"No, the last thing I want to hear about is you fucking that bitch."
He taps the table once, two fingers.
"What's your next move?"
"I need to go slow."
"Yeah."
"I have to get her comfortable. That's not going to be easy. She's got trust issues."
"Don't we all," Ryan says.
"You know this is a long shot, right? Her keeping a copy of the video?"
"Look, it's the only shot I got. I got to get out of here. I can't do another twenty years."
"I hear you," I say.
"He was one of the cops who worked the case. He knows there was a video from across the street."
"You believe him."
"He wasn't in a position to lie when he told me, if you know what I mean."
"I do," I say.
"She had to make a copy to cover her ass," Ryan says. "Her boss, Frank Liu, was going to get me off the streets no matter what. They couldn't let me off on a technicality. He'd look stupid. But she's not stupid. She'd cover her ass."
"Okay."
"She has it. Unless you want to fuck Frank Liu to get into his computer."
"No, I'll stick with Janet."
He leans back.
"You go see Ma?"
"Not in a couple of weeks. I have to head over there."
"Go see your mother."
"I will. She say something?"
He shrugs.
"So you knew. Don't bust my balls."
"Telling you to go see your mother is busting your balls."
The guard checks his watch.
The drive back is quiet.
No music this time.
There's gray under his eyes now. A twitch in his jaw.
And his eyes are different.
Not dead. Worse than that. Too awake. Too busy. Moving over everything — the guard, the door, my hands, the glass between us. Like some part of him is still counting exits, measuring threats, waiting for someone to come at him from the side.
Five years in a place like that changes a man.
I think about my next move with Janet.
Somewhere past Kingston, I pull into a gas station and fill the tank. The pump clicks in my hand. Cars move in and out.
I get back in the car but don't start it right away.
My phone is in my hand.
Janet's name is on the screen.
I hit call.
She picks up.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself. What are you doing?"
"Cleaning."
I hear movement on her end. Something sliding across a counter.
"Finally doing it."
"Yeah, I got preoccupied."
"So, it's my fault."
"It is. My plan was to wake up first thing and clean this place."
"Can I screw up your day even more? I want to see you."
A pause.
"Now?"
"No, I can't now. I had to go out of town for a meeting. I'm headed back and will be in the city in two hours."
"Today? Are you supposed to wait like a few days to call the girl?"
"You're out of practice," I say. "The modern man doesn't wait."
"I guess not."
"How about dinner?"
"I can't today."
I look down at the steering wheel.
"When can I see you?"
"Mike, I think we need to slow down."
A truck pulls in beside me, brakes hissing.
I wait until the sound passes.
"Hey, we can do whatever you want. You tell me when, alright. I know what you've been through and I don't want to scare you. I've never met anyone like you,” I say.
The line goes quiet.
Through the windshield, cars keep moving toward the highway.
I sit there with the phone against my ear and wait for her to give me something.
"It's been a while for me too. Last night is not something I normally do,” I add.
"What are you doing to me?"
"I'm trying to sweep you off your feet, can't you tell?"
"I will call you this week."
"Promise?"
"I promise,” she says.