But there was another Kyle, secret and hidden. This was the Kyle who had run off with the urn holding his father’s ashes. This was the Kyle who scanned the obituaries each day and trucked out to cemeteries north and west and south to pay his father’s respects. And while all his slacker instincts screamed at him to leave this thing alone, the hole left by his father’s death seemed to draw forth an undeniable initiative that annoyed the hell out of him. If the questions were about anyone other than his father, he’d spend the day on Halo, no doubt about it. But they were about his father. And the only person he could talk to who might have a sense of what he’d be getting himself into was his Uncle Max.
“So, to what do I owe the honor of your presence in this crappy little joint?” said Max when the beers had been served and uncle and nephew had repaired to an empty booth by the bathroom door, from which the delicate scent of urine cake seeped into the air about them.
“I just thought I’d stop in to say hello.”
Max looked at him for a long moment. “How much you need?”
“Nothing,” said Kyle. “For now at least. I actually fell into a small wad, so I’m a bit flush.”
“What did you do, rob a bank?”
“Not that flush. How’s the back?”
“Who’s asking, you or the insurance company?”
“Me.”
“Then it sucks. It hurts like a nagging wife kicking a boot into my spine every single day.”
“And if it was the insurance company asking?”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation, because I can’t no more get out of bed. So what’s really going on? What can I do you for?”
Kyle spun his beer slowly. “Remember Laszlo Toth?” “Your dad’s partner. The one that was killed the other night.” “I went to the funeral today.”
“It’s a shame,” said Max. “I mean, it’s a shame to waste a nice day like today on that Hungarian piece of crap.”
“Maybe, but some weird things happened at the funeral.” Kyle leaned forward and in a quiet voice told his uncle about the strange conversations he’d had, first with the cute cop and then with that O’Malley character. Max listened with pursed lips and squinted eyes, like he was visiting the proctologist.
“That’s a hell of a funeral,” said Max when Kyle finished the story. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“How cute was the cop?”
“Really cute.”
“Still. You know, cops are tricky. Maybe you should let the whole thing die down a bit before you start slamming her with your pecker.”
“But it’s like all these mysteries have been tossed in my face, and I’m not sure I can let them go. I got to tell you, Max, my head is spinning.”
“When that happens, there’s only one thing to do,” said Max. “Yo, Freddie, two more. And since he’s struck it rich, put this round on the kid’s tab.”
When the beers came, Kyle took a swallow and then, without looking at his uncle, said, “Tell me about my father.”
“What’s there to tell? Truthfully, I didn’t know him much, but even so, I never liked the son of a bitch.”
“Why not?”
“Look, all I cared about was my sister, and then you. And this guy, he knocks her up but doesn’t marry her, doesn’t end up living with her, doesn’t spend any time with her or the kid but instead keeps on living with his little French number. In my book a son of a bitch does that to my sister . . . well, I’m not going to like him.”
“Fair enough. What about my mom?”
“Paula? She was dazzled by him. He had big words, big ideas, big emotions, big ambitions, and he was able to con her into thinking she could come along for the ride. She fell in love and never stopped loving. Even after the son of a bitch left her for the last time, she kept missing him.”
“You mean left her by dying.”
“Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
“I miss him, too,” said Kyle.
“I know you do,” said Uncle Max. “And that’s another of the things he done that pisses me off.”
“Sometimes I wonder how different everything would have been if he hadn’t died, you know?”
“All that wondering, it gives you gas, Kyle. It’s better to not think about it.”
“Maybe, but I can’t help feeling that my father’s death is at the root of what my life has become. By finding out what happened to him, I can maybe find out what the hell happened to me.”
“What the hell’s so wrong with you? You’re doing okay, aren’t you?”
“Look at me, Uncle Max, and tell me I’m doing okay.”
Max looked Kyle in the eyes for a moment before his gaze slipped to the right.
“See?” said Kyle.
“Do you really think what happened to Toth had something to do with your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“It doesn’t make any sense that it would.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I mean, he ain’t been around for fourteen years.”
“I know.”
“My guess is there’s nothing to it.”
“You’re probably right.”
“So it’s best to forget about it.”
“I guess so.”
“But you’re not going to.”
“I don’t know.”
Max pursed his lips and rubbed his bulbous nose, and it looked for a moment like he was really thinking things through, which was strange, because Max never thought things through. Thinking, he always said, only served to stir up the blood. But Max thought it through for a while before lifting his beer to his lips, draining it, and slamming the bottle back onto the table.
“Maybe you got to do what you got to do,” he said finally.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Maybe you ought to find out what the hell is going on. Maybe you owe it to your mother. And yourself.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, who the hell knows? Did I ever tell you I saw that girl Tricia again?”
“Tricia? Wasn’t she the—”
“Yeah.”
“The one who blew you off when you were in Vietnam?”