“You there?” Finley asked.
“This is the Mancini Homes guy? A developer?”
“That’s right.”
“The one who’s bought the drive-in land.”
“Yeah,” said Finley, a hint of caution in his voice.
“If you’re meeting with him to discuss the accident, I should be there. I need to know what your strategy is here, Randy. How are you planning to spin this?”
“This has nothing to do with what happened, David,” Finley said.
“If it’s got nothing to do with it, why are you in a rush to set up a meeting with this guy?”
“I’m not in a rush,” Finley said. “This meeting was set up a long time ago.”
“Wait. What?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Finley said. “It’s got nothing to do with you. Like I said, we’ll touch base this afternoon. And, David, again, thanks for the idea. Top-shelf, that one. You’re gonna make me the poster boy for humanitarianism.” The man laughed. “One day, they’ll erect a statue in my honor that the pigeons can shit all over.”
Before David could ask him another question, Finley had hung up.
Ten
“So how’ve you been, Vick?”
Victor Rooney struggled to sit up straight in the chair. He was tired, and a little hungover, but when he’d gotten up this morning, he’d done his best to make himself look presentable for a job interview, although he wasn’t entirely sure that the man behind the desk, the man he hoped might hire him, was aware this was a job interview. So far as he knew, Victor had dropped by to say hello.
“Pretty decent, Stan,” Victor said. “Not bad, all things considered.”
Stan Mulgrew owned Mulgrew & Son Fittings, even though he was the son. His father, Edmund, had died the year before, and now Stan was running the business, which made industrial fittings. Stan didn’t want to change the name to just “Mulgrew Fittings.” Didn’t sound as personal. So he left the “& Son” even though he had three daughters, none of whom showed the slightest interest in pursuing a career in the manufacture of quality brass fittings.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” said Stan. “Not since high school?”
“I don’t think so,” Victor said. “You’re looking good.”
“Yeah,” said Stan. “Thanks.”
What else could he say? If he’d returned the compliment, Victor wouldn’t have believed it. He knew he didn’t look all that great. He’d lost enough weight that his clothes were starting to hang off him, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he’d missed a couple of spots when he’d shaved this morning.
“I just wanted to say,” Stan said hesitantly, “that even though it’s been — I don’t know — a few years...”
“Three,” Victor said.
“Three, yeah, wow, I thought it was actually longer. But anyway, I’m awful sorry about Olivia. You guys were going to get married, right?”
Victor shook his head. “That’s right.”
Stan grimaced. “Hell of a thing. They still haven’t caught the sick fuck who did it, have they?”
“No,” Victor said.
“And, Jesus, this thing that happened last night at the Constellation? That’s totally unfuckingbelievable. They’re saying it was a bomb. Can you believe that? I hear it was the demolition people who were going to bring the screen down next week, that they totally screwed things up.”
Victor studied the pens and stapler sitting on top of Stan’s desk. “That sounds like what probably happened. Pretty awful thing.”
“Part of me — this is crazy, I know — but part of me kind of wishes I’d been there. Just to see the screen come down. Must have been wild.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky when something else bad happens,” Victor said.
“What?”
“I’m saying, maybe someday you’ll be around when something else terrible goes down. So you can say you were there. I read somewhere that there are people who say they were in New York on 9/11 but weren’t anywhere near it. Because they think it makes them seem more important or something.”
“Is that what you think I’m saying?” Stan asked.
“Shit, no. It was just a thought that popped into my head.” Victor grinned. “That happens to me a lot. Some random idea just hits me.”
“Well, believe me, I’m not praying for more tragedies or anything. But anyway, what’s up? To what do I owe the honor?”
Victor Rooney shrugged. “I was thinking, we hadn’t seen each other in a long while, and I was on the high school Facebook page, the one for people who’ve graduated and like to keep in touch, and I saw your picture, and wondered what you’re up to, and thought I’d drop by.”
“Nice,” Stan said, nodding slowly. “You know, nice.”
“And I had something I wanted to give to you.” Victor reached into his jacket and pulled out an unsealed envelope. He took out an unevenly folded sheet of paper and handed it across the desk.
“What’s this?”
“That’s my résumé,” Victor said.
“Oh,” Stan said, setting the paper on his desk, taking note of a grease stain that had turned the paper translucent. “We’re not hiring right now, Victor.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to drop that off anyway. In case. You look on there, you’ll see I have experience. I know all sorts of mechanical-type things. I know how to run machines. I know electrical work. Something doesn’t work, I can get it going. And anything I’d need to know here at your place, I’m a fast learner. I can put just about anything together. I didn’t actually get my engineering degree — I kind of dropped out after Olivia passed away — but I learned a lot. I’m thinking of going back, finishing it.”
Stan glanced at the page for a full three seconds. “You worked one summer at the water plant, and I see here you were with the Promise Falls Fire Department.” He took a closer look, frowned. “But not for long.”
“But while I was there, I did good work. You know, reasonable.”
“Why’d you leave? A job with the Promise Falls Fire Department, that’s like a job for life.”
“I was... having some problems at the time.”
Stan studied him. “What kind of problems, Vick?”
“You know, I guess I was still dealing with Olivia.”
Stan nodded sympathetically. “Sure, of course.”
“So, I went through a period... when I didn’t quite have it all together. So I had to leave. Go for, you know, treatment. Kind of put the pieces back together.”
A moment of silence passed between them. “So how’d that go, Vick? Do you have it together now?”
“You think I don’t?”
Stan swallowed. “You just — I mean, forgive me for saying this, but you look like you had kind of a rough night. Your eyes look a bit bloodshot.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed. “They always look like that. And I started running last night, so I’m kind of tired.”
“Running?”
“You know, trying to get back in shape. Didn’t get real far. About half a mile. But I’m building up slowly.” It was true. The part he’d left out was that after half a mile he was throwing up. He’d walked home and had a drink.
“Sure, I guess that could be it,” Stan said, trying to sound as though he actually believed it.
“You don’t believe me,” Victor said.
Stan shrugged. “Look, it’s not up to me to judge, Vick.” He raised the piece of paper in his hands. “Why don’t I hang on to this? Keep it on file. And if something comes up, I can give you a call. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, we’ve been going through a real slowdown lately. Who hasn’t, right? Just about everybody I know isn’t doing as good as they were a year ago.” He raised his hands in a gesture of futility. “I had to let a couple guys go in the last six months, and if I did do any hiring, I’d have to bring them back first, if they haven’t found something else. And odds are, they haven’t. I hope you understand.”