******
Billy the Driver’s in the back yard with Darren and Orpheus. They’re sitting at a card table with coffee cans wrapped in orange paper filled with change and bills. They’re counting the money spread over the table, the coins in small stacks, the bills pressed down.
“Not too bad,” Billy says, and Orph says Teddy went with Bucket and Dom to work the malls for the afternoon.
“How much this guy gonna’ cost us?” Darren asks, and Billy says it depends on what kind of daredevil he turns out to be.
“He was on TV,” Orph says. “Motherfucker starts flying around Atlantic City with some brothers right there, watchin’; they see this shit and they freak right the fuck out.”
“He can levitate?” Billy asks. “I mean you’re tellin’ me this guy defies the laws of gravity.”
“Saw it on TV,” Orph says. “Then again they coulda’ had wires and made ‘em invisible with some special-x Superman bullshit.”
“Dom says he ain’t gonna’ fly tonight,” Darren says.
“Motherfucker better fly, what the fuck we payin’ him for,” Orph says.
“Dom says he’s gonna do this other thing where they bury him alive.”
“Get out,” Billy says. “I put out the flyers sayin’ this guy’s gonna’ fly.”
“Maybe they gonna’ bury him and then he’s gonna’ fly,” Darren says.
“Tell you right now,” Orph says, “this motherfucker cancelled twice and we get him on a Monday night – he better fuckin’ fly.”
“It’s still a holiday,” Darren says.
“It ain’t no fuckin’ holiday,” Orph says.
“Sure it is,” Darren says.
“Then it’s one of them bullshit no-mail-today-holidays, not like it’s Thanksgivin’ or nothin’.”
“It’s local,” Billy says, “Something about the Charter Oak.”
“I thought it was Veterans Day,” Darren says.
“That’s November,” Billy says.
“You’re a veteran,” Darren says.
“Don’t remind me,” Billy says.
“Those Vietnam motherfuckers,” Orph says, “Now those motherfuckers were crazy.”
“You know, Orpheus,” Billy says, “I could do one of those college boy drinkin’ games with you.”
“What the fuck you talkin’ ‘bout, Billy?”
“What I’m talkin’ about is every time you say fuck or motherfucker, person playin’ the game’s gotta’ take a drink. Swear to God, five minutes into the game those college-boys’ll be drunk on their ass.”
“Fuck me,” Orph says.
“Jesus,” Billy says. “Enough, already.”
Orpheus and Darren get serious till Billy leaves the table, then they do the high-five bullshit and laugh about the old guy who treats them okay.
Billy walks by the fence and down the driveway and sees the Buick parked at the curb. He walks around the front of the house. Detective Moraski’s standing on the front porch, ringing the doorbell.
“Morning, detective,” Billy says.
Moraski looks over the banister. “Hey, Billy, I’m glad you’re home.”
“They got you workin’ on Veterans’ Day.”
“Veteran’s Day? It isn’t Veteran’s day.”
“I know, I was just funnin’ with the boys back there. We’re getting’ ready for tonight.”
“You working with the Bishop?”
“Sorta’. We figure better on board than off the side watchin’ things go by.”
“You know, when I was a kid they called it Armistice day.”
“Sorry?”
“Veterans Day. They called it ‘Armistice Day.’”
“O, right, I remember that – Armistice Day,” Billy says.
“Eleven, eleven, eleven,” Moraski says.
“Yes, sir,” Billy says.
“You a vet, Billy?”
“Nam, two tours.”
“Two?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Marines?”
“Army.”
“God bless you, Bill,” and he notices the chain around Billy’s neck with a small cross and a little gold charm in the shape of the Vietnam Memorial.
“Thank you, sir. Two tours was more than enough.”
“I bet,” Moraski says. “Mind if I sit a minute?”
“Be my guest,” Billy says, joining him on the front steps.
“A little chill this morning, but it’s warming up nice.”
“Yes, sir, it sure is. So what can I do for you, Detective?”
“I’m looking for Matthew Wyman,”
“Okay.”
“Any idea where he is?”
“No, sir. Last I heard he was in a hospital, least that’s what his brother told me.”
“I called out there,” Moraski says. “They say he broke out over the weekend. They think he hitched a ride with whoever picked up a Mrs. Johnson, a woman who died over the weekend and was taken to O’Neal’s Funeral Home.”
“That was me,” Billy says.
“So?”
“So what?” Billy says.
“You gave Matthew a ride back here?”
“I just picked up a body and delivered it to O’Neal’s.”
“And you didn’t see Matthew Wyman.”
“No, sir.”
Moraski leans back and picks at his front teeth with a toothpick.
The April sun lays a sheen of almost white, barely perceptible by sight, that registers as some element of air changing from cool and hard to mild and soft, like the sky opening up after a long season of metal-clouds and the weight of impending storms. It’s there, beyond a veil, within the here and now, this seasonal affectation, and more than anything else it speaks of that bitter-sweet turn of a world at birth, about to wake, too young to acknowledge its bold cycles. Moraski waits for this sort of thing every spring, like a memory from his childhood, and though he’s unable to articulate what it is, he feels it when it happens. And this year it happens, unbidden, unexpected, as he looks over Billy’s front yard with the new grass and the gray grass and the broken pavement of a worn sidewalk.
“You from here?” Moraski asks Billy.
“Pardon me?”
“You grow up in Connecticut? New England?”
“Grew up in Ansonia.”
“Family from there?”
“Family was from St. Louis. My father moved here to go to dental school.”
“Father’s a dentist?”
“He was.”
“That’s great.”
“I guess it was.”
“Parents still alive?”
“No, sir. Both passed. Long time ago.”
“Sorry.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Moraski pauses. Looks across the street to another house, not unlike Billy’s - same size, same color. An old woman brushes leaves off the porch with a broom. She looks over her shoulder, sees Billy and waves. Billy waves back.
“Tell me something,” Moraski says. “How well do you know Matt Wyman?”
“I know him; we were acquainted, ya’know, worked at the same place.”
“What did you think of him?’
“How do you mean, Detective?”
“I mean what kind of person is he. Did you like him?”
“I liked him okay. I got him the job as a favor to his brother.”
“How did you do that?”
“I just introduced him to Mrs. O’Neal, and he took it from there.”
“I heard he’s pretty smart.”
“Book smart, alright.”
“You call him the ‘Professor.’”
“I used to. I meant it friendly-like.”
“Do you think he had anything to do with Mrs. O’Neal?”
“Dyin’ you mean?”
“Yeah, dying.”
“No, though I’m not surprised you’re askin’.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s like this, Detective, I mean the world is like this: There are all kinds of people out there and there are some bad people, I mean really bad people, and most times they get away with all of it, and more often than not they tend to do pretty good for themselves.”
Moraski sits forward, breaks the toothpick, puts the pieces in his pocket.
“Matthew like that?” he asks.
“No, sir. Not at all. People like the Professor are the exact opposite, like the balance on the other side. Matthew Wyman’s not bad at all, but people like him, they do one little thing wrong they’ll pay for it their whole lives, and that’s when they’re not payin’ for somethin’ they didn’t even do. There were guys like that in Vietnam – fresh-faced good boys and you just knew they were gonna’ catch it and you stayed away from them so you wouldn’t catch it too. Call it bad luck, karma, coincidence, bein’ naive, foolish, call it whatever – fact is the world says the Professor’s gonna’ pay, guilty or not – doesn’t matter – he’s the one’s gonna’ pay.”
Moraski nods. “It’s a mystery,” he says. “Some people are just fucked from the get-go. And some people walk on water. No wonder people got to believe in a better life than this. Most people want things to be fair.”
“Now, you’re givin’ me one of those ‘I-have-a-dream’ speeches, Detective. Now don’t be settin’ me up with one of those ‘I-have-a-dream’ speeches.”
Moraski wants to say something about what it feels like to be let down, to be disappointed, when he sees the flyer sticking out of Billy’s shirt pocket. Block letters spell: The Amazing Levon.
“The Amazing what?” Moraski asks.
“Sorry?”
“The flyer there. In your pocket.”
Billy takes it, spreads it on his knee.
“The Amazing Levon,” he says. “Cat’s suppose to be able to levitate or some such thing.”
“He’s the daredevil you guys got for your show tonight.”
“Bishop got him. Bishop Ravezzi’s wife knows Eddie Davis, the guy’s manager. Guy’s supposed to be able to do all kinds of weird things.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know – talk with dead people. They bury him alive sometimes; he does card tricks, you know the usual stuff.”
“Levitating sure isn’t usual.”
“No, but, I think that’s the hook to get you in the door.”
“So the Bishop’s wife knows his manager?”
“That’s what they told me.”
“I didn’t know Bishops could have wives.”
“He’s a Protestant bishop.”
“And this Amazing Leon, he really does come off the ground?”
“Levon,” Billy says. “They say he can, though they’re supposed to bury him alive tonight. You should come on down, Detective. We’re trying to get people to show up.”
He hands Moraski the flyer. Moraski holds it up, folds it, puts it in his pocket and stands up.
“I’ll do what I can, Billy. I’m all for helping out when I can.”
He puts his hand out to shake Billy’s hand. After some hesitation Billy offers his hand, and Moraski feels the limp handshake, looking Billy in the eye, trying to send the same little signals white men send white men to say something about trust and respect. Billy sees it, he knows all the white-on-white signals, and he doesn’t hold it against the guy for trying.
Moraski walks across the lawn to his car, and Billy enters the house and walks through the front room, the second room, the dining room and then the kitchen where he opens the door to the basement. He walks downstairs into the darkness with one light hanging from the ceiling. At the far end of the basement there’s a room with a cot and an outlet and a lamp and a radio, a desk and a chair. The radio’s on, and Matthew Wyman’s sitting on the cot.
“What’s going on?” Billy asks.
“Just this ‘dirty bomb’ stuff out of New York.”
“That guy, Moraski, was just here,” Billy says.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted to talk to you. Figured I was the one who gave you a ride this weekend.”
“I guess I can’t blame him,” Matthew says. “Especially since I’m the only one who knows what really happened.”
“So, they’re causin’ trouble in New York, then,” Billy says.
“Looks that way,” Matthew says.
“World hasn’t been the same for a long time,” Billy says.
“Not for a long time,” Matthew says.
“Won’t be for a longer time, neither.”