Chapter 27
On the morning of Christmas Eve, Simon went to the house he once called home and said goodbye to his family.
Paula and the children were packing up for the two-hour drive to Richmond where they would spend a couple of nights with their grandparents.
Paula planned to wait until the day after Christmas to break the news about the divorce.
Simon was still kicking the can with his mother and stepfather, who he had no plans to see until after the New Year.
The kids were in the holiday spirit and looking forward to seeing their grandparents. Two cousins lived close by and they enjoyed their time together. Simon was delighted to miss the trip.
After they left, he locked the house and went to check on Eleanor’s.
Ming’s Chinese restaurant opened at eleven, and he was the first customer there.
For carryout, he ordered two large portions of shrimp spring rolls and a box of crunchy rice cakes.
He drove to the hospital and found Eleanor in a wheelchair singing carols with a dozen other patients in the small chapel.
A youth minister from the Methodist church was leading them as he banged on the piano.
Simon waited in the lobby and checked the Vegas line on football games.
For lunch he pushed her to the cafeteria and found a table with a nice view of the mountains. He unwrapped the spring rolls and poured honey on the side. She took two bites and seemed bored.
Eleanor was not herself. The head bandage was gone and the stitched wound looked awful.
Not for the first time, he wondered how much damage the blow had caused.
And he wondered how much of a toll the meds were taking.
Her left leg was practically useless and would require hours of rehab before she could walk.
She fretted over her legal problems and cried at the thought of causing the accident that hurt two others.
Her speech was slow, her recall fuzzy. She coughed a lot and made noise when she breathed.
Her nurse said they were worried about her fevers and headaches.
She said over and over, “Sy, please promise me I won’t go to jail.”
“I promise. You have my word.”
And she wasn’t going to jail. He had talked to the prosecutor several times and they were working out a deal. No one wanted her behind bars. Officer Pully had been reined in and was no longer threatening handcuffs.
She showed a bit more interest in the crunchy rice cakes, and Simon fetched some coffee.
She ate one and nibbled on another before giving up.
When she said she was tired, Simon pushed her back to her room and waited in the hall while two orderlies put her to bed.
She was already asleep when he entered the room and quietly took a seat.
On the table near the bed, there were five floral arrangements, four from his office and one from a person he didn’t know. There were four get-well cards, a platter of untouched brownies, and two boxes of Saigon ginger cookies from Tan Lu’s.
Her breathing was heavy, even labored at times, but the monitors were not alarmed. Then she became quiet and slept peacefully. He wondered if the only other guest, other than himself and Tillie, had been Jerry Korsak. Did that clown really stop by this room, or was he lying? What was his game?
Simon closed his eyes and could see trouble around every corner.
He couldn’t nap in the torture chair and was soon bored with waiting. As he was leaving the hospital, his luck changed dramatically with a phone call. It was Landy, who began with “Ho, Ho, Ho. How’s your Christmas?”
“Ho right back. Doing swell, and you?”
“Delightful. Are you making big plans?”
“Not exactly. Paula took the kids to see her family, so it looks like a rather lonely Christmas Eve by the fire. What about you?”
“Same. My husband is in Puerto Rico staking out an arms dealer. Doesn’t know when he might be home. How about that for a Merry Christmas?”
“Sounds pretty dull. Where are you?”
“Georgetown. Staying with a friend. You guys file papers?”
“We did. The PSA is on record and we’re counting the days to make it official.”
“And the kids?”
“Bummed-out but we’re making the best of it, so far. Paula’s cool. We’re not fighting.”
She paused for a second and said, “Let’s get together, have a little Christmas cheer.”
“Now?”
“Why not? I’m only an hour away. Drive over and we’ll find a spot for dinner.”
“You’re on.”
“And get a room.”
The call was far more important than dinner and sex. It meant that he was no longer a target in whatever gambling probe the FBI was pursuing. Landy would never have a date with someone she was investigating.
Or would she?
They met in a hotel bar, one that couldn’t close on Christmas Eve because of guests.
Almost all of them appeared to be foreigners and a half dozen languages chattered about.
The lobby and bar were draped with ivy and lights and carols hummed overhead.
The holiday spirit was contagious, especially after the first drink.
Landy had ditched the drab FBI garb and was dressed up in a short, slinky dress and heels.
She looked rather fetching and Simon’s mind was instantly wandering.
They reminisced about their law school days as if they were a couple of geezers instead of two forty-year-olds entering middle age.
As they remembered old classmates and difficult professors, both were thinking of the rowdy sex they had enjoyed back in those days.
Simon finally said, “You have to tell me the truth, Landy. About the investigation.”
“You think I would be here if you were still involved?”
“No, I don’t. When you called, I assumed I was off the hook.”
“You are. Justice shut down the investigation. Someone up there ultimately agreed with you and decided we have bigger fish to catch. Small-time gamblers are a dime a dozen and where are the victims? I thought it was a waste of time from day one.”
Simon could not suppress a smile. He closed his eyes and said, “Thank you. What about Chub?”
“Free and clear. We don’t have the time or energy to chase down bookies.”
“Can I tell him?”
“He knows. His lawyer was informed yesterday. Merry Christmas to all.”
Simon kept smiling as a heavy, dark cloud disappeared. There were others, but none carried the possibility of a federal indictment.
She said, “But you should be more careful, Simon. When I first saw your name I was shocked.”
“How many names were there?”
“Couple of hundred. Chub is a busy boy. At first we thought he was working with some Mexicans and distributing fentanyl, but our sources dried up. Once we realized he was only a bookie we lost interest. He’s a big bookie, though, with business up and down the East Coast. I’d stay away from him.”
“Don’t worry.” But Simon was already thinking of late-night visits with a drink or two and the games on the big screens.
“I’m starving. Let’s order from the bar menu and stay here.”
“Good idea. And the check’s on me, a free man.”
They ordered sandwiches and fries and had another drink.
They talked about their careers and their frustrations.
She had been with the FBI for eighteen years, since law school, and, like all agents, would be forced to retire at fifty-seven.
She didn’t want to wait that long before getting the boot, but she had few options.
She felt too old to learn how to practice law.
Don’t do it, Simon said. He clicked off a litany of reasons to avoid the grind that had become his life and career.
The dinner arrived and the conversation slowly wound around to why they were there.
Two married people, old lovers, meeting in a bar on Christmas Eve, indulging in the pleasant pre-game before they hustled upstairs for a romp, one for old time’s sake.
She startled him with “I think we should wait before we go to bed.”
“Aren’t we waiting now?”
“I’m serious. Your marriage is almost over. Mine is a mess. It seems rather foolish to start something now that will only complicate matters.”
“When would you like to start?”
“I don’t know. You’ve taken the big step. Curt and I have talked about it. We’ve drifted so far apart we seldom talk. I haven’t seen him in three weeks and don’t know when he’s coming home. He called four days ago. He’s probably seeing someone else.”
“It is a mess.”
“Give me some time, and I promise it won’t be long. I really want to see you, Simon.”
“You’re seeing me now.”
“You know what I mean.”