Chapter 27
Don’t worry, Vail. I know I can’t “kill” Harris Wesley Walker IV. My dad didn’t go to Dalton, and in the event of a trial, I’d be stuck with some hapless public defender. Besides…Murder? Not my style. I wouldn’t want to kill him or anyone even if Daddy could get me out of it.
But I am going to find the fourth-generation fucking knockoff.
I am gonna get to the bottom of that yellow fucking hat.
I wish I didn’t have to work today. Mooney is in a mood.
He just lit another cigar—ugh—and it’s not fair.
I don’t belong here. Not anymore. I don’t need books or advice or a smoke trap.
I need to leave. I need to hunt Harris Wesley Walker IV.
“Joseph,” he says. “You can relax.”
Nope. Not yet. “Okay…”
“I am not mad at you. I’m not your father, Joseph. I am not ‘disappointed.’ ” He leans forward. “I am disgusted.”
Does he know about Dalton? “Okay. Okay, sorry. I can explain.”
“Impossible, Joseph. Unless you know what you did….”
Uh-oh. I didn’t fucking “do” anything. I walked into a school. I didn’t steal. And no one can punish you for killing a family of dickheads in your head. “I know I fucked up.”
“Language, Joseph.”
I do not say sorry. I am fighting for my life.
“I received a phone call today, young man.”
Can you go to prison for going to a library? Am I fucked? “Okay…”
“I received a phone call from our friend Angus Kaplan.”
Wait. Angus? “Okay…”
“Joseph, do you think I am a stupid man?”
It feels good to tell the truth, to be direct. “No. You’re the smartest guy I know.”
“Well, you don’t know that many men, now do you, Joseph?”
I hang my head. You know a lot of men, Vail.
You know Harris Wesley Walker IV. I know four men—Dumb and Dumber, Dick and Schlitz—unless you count Mooney, which I don’t, not right now.
“Mr. Mooney, whatever that Philistine said…” Pause and give the boss man a second to remember that Kaplan is an asshole.
Someone we hate. “Whatever he said, I can explain.”
He spits in his ashtray, and all the trash trucks in New York City take a dump on me.
He is crying. I made him cry. He doesn’t do that, he doesn’t cry, and what the fucking fuck have I done?
“I’d like to see you try, Joseph. I’d like to see you try to defend stealing from me, running a business behind my back, stealing from a customer, and breaking into said customer’s abode to have sexual relations with a woman who doesn’t even like you, let alone love you. ”
Oh fuck. The cat clawed its way out of the bag. “I can make it up to you.”
“No, dear boy, you can’t. I have taken you under my wing. Your actions reflect on my person, my business. This is the real world, young man.”
It’s another fucking loss. A hit when I’m down. I can’t lose my job, and I’m not on my knees begging but I’m close. “Mr. Mooney, please…I’m sorry. I can apologize to him. I can work for free, and I can…I know I screwed up, but that’s on me and I can fix it.”
A single tear rolls down his left cheek, and it may as well be blood.
The old man really did think of himself as my father.
He trusted me. All you adults, you and Mooney, you’re the same.
You say the opposite of what you feel. There’s no way around it, Vail.
I killed him, the man who gave me a job, the man who tried to teach me everything he knows.
I want to bring him back to life and I want a world where Mooney doesn’t cry and then the door opens and oh no.
Oh shit.
It’s you.
You don’t look happy to see me and you can’t be here. Mr. Mooney hates you, and you can’t see him cry. He rises out of his chair. “Get out of this office, woman.”
You ignore him like that’s allowed and I reach for you and you push me off like I’m bad news, like I’m Harris Wesley Walker the Fucking Fourth. “Outside, Joe. There is no way I am having this conversation in front of that monster.”
Mr. Mooney cackles, and you don’t get it. You can’t see him cry. It would be better if you walked in on him jacking off. “I will meet you outside in five minutes, Vail.”
You balk, and Mooney pounds his desk. “You will do no such thing, Joseph. And you…” That’s to you. “You are not welcome in this shop, young lady.”
“And you are not welcome to speak to me like I’m your fucking child.” And then you look at me. “Let’s go. Let’s go right now or else.”
“Joseph,” he says. “Beware the woman who gives a man an ultimatum.”
Your face pops like a kernel. “Excuse me, but you need to step the fuck off, old man.”
The two of you are fighting over me in the worst possible way—Who gets to kill Joe first?
—and if I look at you, I’m not looking at him, and if I look at him…
. I am being torn in half, and this must be how you know you’re an adult, when two other adults are pulling your arms and legs off your body with their eyes.
Miss Frascatore is not coming to my rescue.
I am not a kid. I am not a victim. I’m a grown-ass man and I fucked the fuck up.
I have power but I don’t know what to do with it, with him, you.
Begging feels right, so I go for it. “Vail, please, give us like five minutes.”
Your cape is dirty. Stained. “No. I’m not waiting for you, Joe, not after what you did.”
Mr. Mooney cackles. “Says the broad who broke into a customer’s house with you and didn’t suck you off for weeks.”
You gasp—this is bad—and I tell him to stop. You spit. “Fine, Joe. Stay with this old man pig. I only came here to tell you that I do not mess with effing stalkers.”
Effing is a Cynthian word—I knew she was a bad influence—and Mr. Mooney cackles and ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I am not a stalker. I am your BOYFRIEND whether you like it or not and I can’t say that out loud because it doesn’t even sound good in my head but come on already. Come on!
“Vail…I don’t know what you mean by that, but if you just give me a minute…”
“Cynthia saw you, Joe, okay?”
I don’t like that. I don’t want to be seen and you are waiting for me to say something, but what?
“Ah, the silent treatment. To be expected, I guess, given that you’re a child, and a stalker.”
No. “No.”
“I’ll spell it out for you, ‘Joseph.’ ”
Mooney gnaws on his cigar, and you’re so mad you don’t even react. “Cynthia was home, Joe. She was there by the door…” Oh no. Please, no. “She saw you, sicko. She saw you lurking in our hallway and trying to look in the peephole and—”
“I love you. Don’t you get it? I went there because I was worried about you.”
“You love me? You love me so much that you stood me up at my birthday party?” NOT FUCKING FAIR. “What gives, Joe? Were you scared to meet my friends?”
“You told me not to go.”
“I told you to do what you want, Joe. And apparently, you wanted to make my birthday about waiting for you to show up…and then stalk me the day after. Cherry on the cake, truly.”
You are stabbing me incessantly with the word stalker and I can’t breathe, I can’t keep up. I pull my fucking hair. “Jesus Christ, Vail, will you stop? I am not a stalker.”
Mooney grunts. I reach for you. You back off like I have STD fucking cooties.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t stalk me. I mean it, Joe.”
“Vail, you’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve shown up. And the day after, yes…I should’ve knocked on your door. I just…I got scared. I didn’t know what to say.”
“How did you even get into my fucking building?”
“Language, young lady.”
You flip the bird at the old man and you don’t get it, Vail. He could lock us in the cage, if he wanted. Does he? “Answer me, Joe. How did you get in?”
“The door was propped.”
“Nope,” you say. “That’s a lie. See, I know my neighbors. Molly in 2A told me how you played the good guy and quote-unquote ‘helped her’ with her stroller.”
I did not “play” the good guy—I AM the good guy—and Mr. Mooney puffs on his cigar. Disgusted. “That extra hole, Joseph…Lying to a woman is a dangerous thing to do….”
Your eyes pop out of your head. “ ‘Extra hole.’ Did you hear that?”
That’s to me, and Mooney said that, not me, and I don’t control what comes out of his mouth and I am freezing up, fucking up. I don’t speak your language. I speak no language. I don’t have a mouth.
“All right,” you say, and now there are tears in your eyes, as if the tears in him ran off to be with you. “That’s it for me. Follow me, don’t follow me. Whatever.”
You are calm in this way where there is hope for us yet. Whatever means you want me, and Mooney clears his throat as you walk out the door, as you leave the door open.
“Joseph,” he says. “If you exit these premises, there is no future for you in this shop.”
He breaks eye contact. That’s how I know he means business. You are close by, pretending to search for something in your purse. That’s how I know you mean business.
No dog can have two masters. I can’t be his bitch and your boyfriend at the same time. I don’t say goodbye. I don’t even have the nerve to look at Mr. Mooney.
I turn my back on him. He mutters, “Pussy-whipped.”
He doesn’t mean that, but nobody likes to be left in the dust. And this is it, this is my grand gesture. I leave Mooney Books and call out to you. I’m on your tail and if I was really “stalking” you, you wouldn’t slow down. You wouldn’t want me to catch up with you. But you do.
“Nice try, Joe, seriously. But you’re wasting your time.”
The nice, sweet, loving girl I know is gone.
You are angry. Angry and loud as if I didn’t just WALK OUT ON MY JOB FOR YOU.
As if I’m the one who stained your fucking cape.
And it’s the worst kind of angry. Your hands are in your pockets.
You walk like a cop or a mom who’s mad at her son for shoplifting.
You are loud, screaming about the best birthday ever.
Sarcasm is not your look and today is not your birthday, but that’s girls, as if the word is birthweek and not birthDAY.
I grab your arm. Mistake. You pull away. “No.”