“Beer does that to me,” I say with a straight face.
His head is dropping down closer to the table. He’s holding himself up with his elbows. He sips the drink that’s already been made into water by too much melting ice.
“Why’d you retire so early, Marr?” he asks, barely able to turn to me.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve been asked that question, even by Luna and Costello, but that was during a time shortly after I left, when it would’ve been a reasonable question. McGuire himself has asked me the question before, but he’s silly drunk and probably starting to feel nostalgic. We did have some fun. I had a tighter relationship with Luna, though.
I give him the standard answer. “Simple, really. I wanted my life back.”
But the honest answer would be, “I was given the opportunity to own my life by taking a onetime offer. I didn’t have a choice.”
“I’m a lifer, bro,” McGuire says.
“Hate to admit it, but so am I,” Luna says.
“Brother, you came in so young, you’re going to have to do thirty,” I tell him.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Quit being such pussies,” McGuire says, then turns with a downward look toward Costello and says, “Nothing personal.”
“Why would I take that personally, unless you think I’m a pussy?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, just that you’re female,” he says seriously. “The bad condensation with the word, is all. Know what I mean?”
“Connotation,” I correct him.
“Whatever, dude. You know what I mean, right, Leslie?”
“Yes, Stan, and I appreciate your delicacy.”
“And you know I’ve always liked you, even if you did turn and go to the other side?” He smiles.
“That makes me feel better, Stan,” she says.
“Never could understand why, though. I can understand becoming a prosecutor, maybe working for the U.S. Attorney’s Office, but not from cop to defense attorney.”
I stay out of this one. I know how McGuire can get, especially with too much alcohol. Costello can take care of herself. Hell, McGuire puts me through the same shit almost every time we get together. I’m sure I’d be his target if Leslie weren’t here.
“Is it about the money? Because that, I can understand.”
“No, most of you guys with all your OT make more than me. There are certain clients I won’t take. I’d like to think that most of them deserve a chance.”
“The old ‘revolving door.’ If you succeed, the only thing you’re doing is giving them a second chance to commit more crimes,” Luna says.
Luna’s a good man, but a better cop. He can’t handle his liquor. It’ll either turn him angry or just sloppy and sentimental. I get the feeling it’s gonna start moving toward the latter.
The evening is getting close to an end for me, and I sense Costello feels the same way. It takes a few minutes to get the check and then a couple more to extricate ourselves from the table, but we manage to make a break for it.
It feels cooler outside. I don’t have to hold Costello up for the walk back to the car.
I double-park in front of her house.
“I can find a parking spot if you want?”
“Not tonight, Frankie. I don’t like it when I’ve had too much to drink.”
She leans over and kisses me on the corner of my mouth. She pulls away before I can turn all the way toward her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
“Good night, Frankie.” And before she closes the door she says, “And thanks. For tomorrow, I mean.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
She smiles and shuts the door.
I watch her as she walks up the steps to her porch, opens the security gate, unlocks the front door, enters, and closes the door behind her. I wait a few seconds, notice the living room light turn on. I wait a couple more minutes and then I drive home.
When I get home, I strip down to my boxers, down four ibuprofen, a couple of Klonopins, and a full glass of water, then pour myself a bit of Jameson to finish the night off. I will have to go to bed soon or I’ll have a hard time waking up. I love sleep when I can find it.
I sit on the sofa to sip my Jameson.
Costello sneaks into my head. I usually like when that happens, but I was hoping for a little more than a slight peck on the lips from her tonight, so I’m feeling a bit discouraged. I just need to give it a few minutes to let the Klonopins do their thing. It always begins with a feeling like little waves moving through the frontal lobe. A good feeling, and one that should help ease the pain in my loins.
I don’t know what’s in store for us. If we have a future together, I mean. Probably nothing more than the occasional fucking around like we do, and only when she makes the move. Thus far, all my moves have failed. What does that tell you? I’m not in control.
It isn’t long before I hit the sack and sink my head into the pillow. I watch the clock for about two hours and the last thing I remember is 3:30 a.m.
Part Two
Twenty-two