"No, I think it makes a lot of sense. You can't hold on without letting go."
"Then we have to do something. Get dressed," he said. "I'll need a lot of moral support."
They drove back to Trenton. It took only two hours at that time of night. Beano pulled up in front of the Trenton Children's Hospital.
"What's this?" Victoria said.
'Carol was a pediatric nurse here, gave a lot of time and money to this place. She'd work like a dog, then hand half of it back. I thought she was being a sucker with these people, like she was trying to make up for the rest of the family."
He got out of the car, opened the trunk, and pulled the two tan suitcases out. "I can't believe I'm doing this." Then he walked into the building with Victoria.
"I want to make a cash donation," he said to the nurse behind the counter. "Who do I talk to?"
The nurse led them to a man named Dr. Foster, who was the Assistant Hospital Administration. It was past midnight, but he was there, working on the annual financial report. Beano put the suitcases up on his desk.
"I want to make a charitable contribution. I want you to invest it, and I want the annual proceeds to be spent on child cancer research."
"I see. And in whose name would you like this gift to be made?" he asked.
"In the name of Carol Sesnick," he said. "She used to be a nurse here." And then he filled out the paperwork.
When the man opened the suitcase and saw all of the banded cash, Beano put a finger to his lips. "Nobody is looking for this money. It's not stolen," he told the man. "But it would probably be better if you didn't talk a lot about it."
They filled out the paperwork and left the hospital and got back into the car. Dr. Foster was watching them from the front steps of the large hospital, wondering who they were. He only vaguely remembered a round-faced, freckled nurse named Carol Sesnick.
Beano drove Victoria to the main street in Trenton. They cruised the boulevard of dead-end dreams. Finally he pulled the car to the curb and turned off the engine. "Come on," he said.
She got out of the car. He had a strange smile on his face.
"What is it?" she asked, wondering where they were.
He walked with her down the seedy street and finally entered a tattoo parlor called The Black Angel. Standing there was Paper Collar John, along with Dakota Bates. Dakota was still wearing the after-effects of Tommy's beating as Victoria hugged them.
"What are you two doing here?" she asked.
"They wanted to be here to see this," he said. And then he took off her wristwatch and she knew what he was about to do.
The tattoo artist began to work in the painted shop full of the colors of sunset and dawn. She looked away as the bearded and beaded man performed his artistry.
Roger-the-Dodger had jumped up in her lap and sat there, looking up at her, until the man was finished and had wiped the tattoo clean. When she looked down at her wrist and saw it for the first time, she smiled. It read:
B6-17-97
It was a strange badge of honor and meant more to her than her law degree. "But I'm not a Bates," she finally said, her voice shaking in anticipation.
"We've got a best man and a maid of honor," Beano said. "If you want, we can even take care of that."
So two days later they did.