Crowd-laughter.
‘I mean I ain’t exactly coming over there with long-term sobriety, right? And I accept that. But the cunt’s got the hook on the door and she’s going Who the fuck are you to be telling me to go for fucking counselling after the sick fucking little like stunt you and that bimbo pulled on that kid who only just now even got the cast off? Oh, and no sign of the fucking kid anywhere. Just her and Ma through the screen door, all over the place with the attitude. And now they tell me to get the fuck off their porch, No they tell me, as in like Permission Denied, consent to see my own kid fucking refused. And the cunt still in her fucking bathrobe after noon, and Ma behind her half in the bag already and hanging on to the fucking wall. You know what I’m saying? My serenity’s like: See yaa! And I say up boat-ayouse’s asses, I’m here for my goddamn kid. And now my sister says she’s going for the phone, and Ma’s saying The fuck, get the fuck out, Mikey. And plus did I mention no sign of the kid, and I ain’t to even like touch the screen door, not without consent. And I’m wanting to fucking kill somebody here, you know what I’m saying? And my sister’s getting the antenna out on the phone, and so I go OK I’m fucking leaving, but I like grab my balls at the both of them and go Eat me the boatayouse, you know what I’m saying? Cause now it’s the old Mikey back, and now / got with the attitude now, also. I’m wanting to light my cunt of a sister up so bad I can’t hardly see to get the truck off the lawn and leave. But and so and but so I’m driving back home, and I’m so mad I all of a sudden try and pray. And I try and pray, driving along and whatnot, and it comes to me I see irregarding of their fucked-up attitude I still need to go back and apologize irregardless, for grabbing my balls at them, cause that’s old fucking behavior. I see for my own sobriety’s sake I need to go back and try and say I’m sorry. The thought of it just about makes me puke, you know what I’m — but I go back and pull the truck up out front on the street and pray and go back up on the porch, and I fucking apologize, and I go to my sister Please can I at least see the kid to see the cast off, and the cunt goes Fuck you, get the fuck out, we don’t accept your fucking apology. And no sign of Ma, and the fucking kid there’s no sign of him, so I got to accept her word and don’t even know for sure if the cast is even off. But why I needed to share I think is it scared me. I scared me, you know what I’m saying? I was at the counsellor’s after and I told him I go I got to get some kind of hold on this fucking temper or I’m going to end up right back in front of the fucking judge for lighting somebody up again, you know what I’m saying? And God fucking forbid it should be somebody that’s in my family, because I been that route once too many times already. And I go like Am I nuts, Dr., or what? Do I got a like death-wish or what? You know what I’m saying? The cast just only now finally comes off and I’m wanting to light up the fucking cunt that’s got to consent I should get closer than a hundred m.’s to the kid? Is it like I’m trying to set myself up for a drink or what exactly is it with this spring-loaded temper, if I’m sober? The temper and judge is why I fucking got sober in the first place. So what the fuck is this? Well fuck me. I’m just grateful I got some of that out. It’s been up in my head, renting space, you know what I’m saying? I see Vinnie’s getting ready to fucking gong me. I want to hear from Tommy E. back there against the wall. Yo Tommy! What are you, spanking the hog back there or what? But I’m just glad to be here. I just wanted to get some of that shit out.’
The man’s pants’ crease was gone at the knee and his Cardin topcoat looked slept in.
‘It was good of you to grant me an easement.’
Pat M. tried to recross her legs and shrugged. ‘You said you weren’t here professionally.’
‘Good of you to believe me.’ The Assistant District Attorney for Suffolk County’s 4th Circuit up on the near North Shore’s hat was a good dress Stetson with a feather in the band. He held it up in his lap by the brim and slowly rotated it by moving his fingers along the brim. He’d re-crossed his legs twice. ‘We met you and Mars at the Marblehead Regatta for the McDonald’s House thing for children, not this summer but either the sum—’
‘I know who you are.’ Pat’s husband wasn’t a celebrity but knew a lot of local celebrities, from the mint-reconditioned-sports-car upscale network around Boston.
‘Well it’s good of you. I’m here about one of your residents.’
‘But not professionally,’ Pat said. It wasn’t a question or verification. She was cool steel when it came to protecting the residents and House. Then back home in her own home she was a shattered husk of a wreck.
‘Frankly I’m not sure why I am here. You’re just down the hill from the hospital. I’ve been up at Saint Elizabeth’s off and on for three days. Perhaps 1 need to simply air this. The 5th District boys — the P.D.s — speak well of the place. Your House here. Perhaps I need simply to share this, to work up the nerve. My sponsor’s no help. He’s simply said do it if you want to have any hope of things getting better.’
Anything less than a combination thoroughgoing professional and AA-longtimer would have at least hiked an eyebrow at one of the most powerful and remorseless constables in three counties saying sponsor.
‘It’s Phob-Comp-Anon,’ the A.D.A. said. ‘I went through Choices[383] last winter and have been working a program of recovery in Phob-Comp-Anon a day at a time to the best of my ability ever since then.’