“Where are the kids?” Malone asks.
“Oh, shit, it’s true,” Sheila says. “They’re at my mother’s. What happened, Denny? Are you in trouble?”
A part of him wants to lie to her, keep playing it out. But he can’t do it—even if he wants to, she knows him too well, has always known when he’s lying. Part of which crashed their marriage—she always knew when he was trying to lie.
So he tells her.
All of it.
“Jesus, Denny.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to jail?”
“Yeah.”
“What about us?” she asks. “Me and the kids? What have you done to us?!”
“I didn’t hear you complaining about the envelopes,” Malone says. “The new living room furniture, your restaurant tabs—”
“Don’t put this on me!” she yells. “Don’t you dare put this on me!”
No, it’s on me, Malone thinks.
No one put us here but me.
“I have cash put away,” Malone says, “where the feds can’t get to it. Whatever happens, you’ll be taken care of . . . the kids’ college . . .”
She’s reeling. He can’t blame her.
“Did you give them Phil?” she asks. “Monty?”
He nods.
“Jesus,” she says. “How am I ever going to face Donna again?”
“It’s okay, Sheel.”
“It’s okay?!” she asks. “We have federal agents in our house! Why are they here?”
He puts his arm around her shoulder. “Listen. Don’t freak out on me. But we might have to go into the program.”
“Witness protection?”
“Maybe.”
“What the fuck, Denny?!” Sheila says. “We’re supposed to take the kids out of school, away from their friends, family? Move to what, Arizona or someplace, we’re going to be cowboys or something?”
“I don’t know, it might be a fresh start.”
“I don’t want a fresh start,” Sheila says. “I have family here. My parents, my sister, my brothers . . .”
“I know.”
“The kids, they’re never supposed to see their cousins again?”
“Let’s take this one step at a time, okay?”
“What’s the next step?”
“You and the kids,” he says, “you take a little vacation.”
“We can’t pull them out of summer camp.”
“Yeah, we can,” Malone says. “We’re going to. Soon as they come home. Go to, I don’t know, the Poconos, you’ve always wanted to go there, right? Or that place up in New Hampshire.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh my God.”
“I need you to be strong, Sheel,” Malone says. “I really need you to be strong right now. You have to trust me on this. To get this thing straightened out, take care of this for our family. Pack a few things. I’ll get the kids’ things together.”
“That’s all you have to say.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” Sheila says. “‘I’m sorry’?”
“I’m sorry, Sheila.” You don’t know how sorry I am. “A couple of days, the feds will bring me to where you are and—”
“No, Denny.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“I don’t want to be with you anymore,” Sheila says. “I don’t want you around our kids.”
“Sheel—”
“No, Denny,” she says. “You talk a great game—family, brotherhood, loyalty. Honesty. Honesty, Denny? You want honesty? You’re empty. You’re an empty person. I knew you took money, I knew you were a crooked cop. But I didn’t know you were a killer. And I didn’t know you were a rat. But that’s who you are, and I don’t want my son growing up to be his father.”
“You’d take my kids from me?”
“You already threw them away,” Sheila says. “Like you threw everything else in your life away. Why wasn’t I enough for you, Denny? Why weren’t we enough for you? I knew the deal, shit, I grew up with the deal. You marry a cop, he’s distant, he’s removed, maybe he drinks too much, okay, maybe he fucks around a little. But he comes home. He comes home and he stays. I took that deal. I thought you did, too. Say good-bye to the kids. You owe them that. And then you owe it to them to stay away from them, let them forget about you.”
It goes tough with the kids.
Harder even than Malone thought.
Shit, when he was a kid his old man said he was going to take him out of school he’d have pissed his pants with joy, but John and Caitlin were all about they had dance class, Little League, day camp.
And the feds frightened them.
Now they stand in the living room, looking out the window at the feds Malone told to wait out in the street, for Chrissakes.
“Who are they, Daddy?” Caitlin asks.
“Cop friends.”
“How come we’ve never met them before?”
“They’re new.”
“How come they’re driving us?”
“Because I have to go back to work,” Malone says.
“Catching bad guys,” John says, although this time he doesn’t sound so sure.
“Why can’t Uncle Phil take us?” Caitlin asks.
He puts his arms around both of them, draws them close. “Listen, I need you two to keep a big secret. Can you?”
They both nod, pleased.
“Me and Uncle Phil are working on a very big case,” Malone says. “Top secret.”
“I saw that on TV,” John says.
“Well, that’s what we’re doing,” Malone says. “We’re pretending to be bad guys, do you understand? So if you hear someone say that we are, you have to pretend to go along with it. Don’t say anything.”
“Is that why we have to hide?” Caitlin asks.
“That’s right,” says Malone. “We’re fooling the bad guys.”
“Are the bad guys going to try to find us?” John asks.
“Nooooo, no.”
“Then why are the new police going with us?”
“It’s just part of the game,” Malone says. “Now give me a big hug and promise me you’re going to be good and take care of Mommy, okay?”
They hug him so tight he wants to cry. He whispers into John’s ear. “Johnny.”
“Yeah, Dad.”
“You gotta promise me something.”
“Okay.”
“You gotta know,” Malone says, choking back tears. “You’re a good kid. And you’re gonna be a good man. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Then O’Dell comes in and tells them they have to get going.
Malone kisses Sheila on the cheek.
It’s a show for the kids.
She doesn’t say anything to him.
She already had her say.
He opens the car door and helps her in.
Watches his family drive away.
Donna Russo answers the door.
She’s been crying. “Go away, Denny. You’re not welcome.”
“I’m sorry, Donna.”
“You’re sorry?” she asks. “You sat at our table, on Christmas Day. With my family. Did you know then? Did you sit there with us knowing you were going to destroy my family?”
“No.”
“What did you come here for?” Donna asks. “So I could tell you I understand? I forgive you? So you could feel better about yourself?”
No, Malone thinks. So I could feel worse.
He hears Russo yell, “Is that Denny? Let him in!”
“No,” Donna says. “Not in this house. He doesn’t set foot in this house ever again.”
Russo comes to the door. Looks like he’s been crying, too. “Sheila and the kids, they’re pretty busted up?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Russo says, “They don’t know they’re the lucky ones yet. This is my last night with my family, so unless you got something to say . . .”