On the ride home, Sue and Big T thanked me over and over again for being part of everything. And I got the sense that maybe they felt just as exhausted as I did. I’d caught them looking weary while we were still at the party, and at one point in the afternoon I had seen Big T whispering with his mother and heard Sue’s name come up a few times and maybe even heard something about her not being black, which was when I realized that maybe everyone’s family had hypocrites and liberals and assholes in it regardless of skin color.
I have to admit that I did not like Big T’s parents very much, even if they did put out good ribs and fantastic cornbread. And I could understand why Big T had moved to the city and why he wanted me to be his new father-in-law, who would not discriminate against his wife.
I noticed that Sue and Big T were driving me through Jersey, so I asked why we had come this way.
Sue said they were taking me home to my own house.
I asked if I was healthy enough to spend the night alone, and they assured me that I wouldn’t be alone.
I asked who was going to babysit me, and they said they weren’t sure, which seemed strange, so I pushed for more answers. Turns out that they had been in contact with Hank, who was calling the shots from afar while he put his life back together with Femke.
I wasn’t surprised to see Frank’s limousine in my driveway when we pulled in. I said good-bye to Big T and Sue, and as they pulled away, Frank said, “I did it for your own good.”
I got a bad feeling. I rushed toward my front door, which was unlocked. I knew exactly what had happened right then and there. I went to my weapons room and found it empty. When I turned around, Frank was standing in the doorway behind me.
He said that he did this, not Hank, which I realized was bullshit right away, primarily because Frank didn’t have a key to my house, although he could have easily paid a locksmith to let him in.
“What the fuck?” I said.
Frank said it wasn’t as bad as I thought. He hadn’t gotten rid of my guns, he had stored them at a private gun range he belonged to, and he and I could go any time we wanted. The only catch was that he had to go with me, and I couldn’t take any guns out of the range.
I asked how I knew that my guns wouldn’t be stolen. “Come on,” he said, meaning he was a billionaire, so any gun range he belonged to would be devoid of thieves and heavily insured.
We got into his limo and we drove past the city and into Pennsylvania, and finally we arrived at a compound of sorts in the woods.
Once I saw the inside of this place—Persian rugs everywhere—I realized it was only for billionaires like Frank who didn’t need to steal shit. Frank had bought me a private room and a gun case. All of my weapons were cleaned and oiled and displayed, including the Glock Sue had been holding for me. Frank told me that my arsenal would be kept there from now on, and that whenever I wanted to shoot, he’d take me—and if a war should break out in America because of the fucking jihadists, he would pick me up fully armed by helicopter, and we’d put our military training to good use.
You should see Frank’s helicopter. State-of-the-art, to say the least.
All of this was a really nice gesture that probably cost him an obscene amount of money—but it meant everyone, including my best Vietnam veteran buddy, no longer thought I would be able to have firearms unsupervised ever again, let alone carry.
For a second I caught myself worrying if this would be the end of me, but then I caught a whiff of that motherfucker Death, and that was all I needed to keep myself from buying the bullet. Frank and I put on our hearing protector earmuffs and shot a few hundred dollars’ worth of bullets, filling pictures of raghead terrorists with holes, which made everything feel okay.
On the drive back to New Jersey, I asked Frank if he would spend the night at my place, even though I had no more weapons with which to hurt myself or others, and therefore no longer needed a babysitter. “I hate to admit this, but I’m feeling sort of fucked up about a lot of things,” I told Frank.
He smiled and said he had taken the liberty of putting a handmade Cuban humidor in my office, stocked full with Cohiba Esplendidos. “They’re not all for you, though,” he said. “I’m going to smoke my share. Starting tonight.”
I nodded my thanks and then turned my head to look out the window, because I felt like I was going to start crying girly-man tears again. I was happy my friend was looking out for me, but I was terrified by the thought of facing my past. And so when Frank and I were smoking cigars, I began to worry I would chicken out on the whole fucking deal. Killing is a lot easier than saying sorry and meaning it, which I was still working up to accomplishing.
15.
The next morning Hank and Ella showed up at my place around eight, which is when I noticed that Frank’s limo and driver had also returned.
Frank emerged from the guest room in a suit and tie and reeking of some Italian cologne his mistress had given him. It smelled like a goat had eaten a bowl of potpourri and then pissed into a spray bottle, but I was polite enough not to mention that because I knew his side woman was into this goat-piss stuff.
Instead, I asked him if Geneva was back in town. He smiled and told me he had some “mentoring” to do. I knew this meant he wanted to get his dick wet, and since I hated his wife anyway, I had no problem with Frank getting laid. Especially after all he had done for me recently.
We shook hands the white person way, and he told me not to smoke all of the Cubans without him. Then he and Hank talked outside as Ella burst through my front door and into my arms.
“My mommy is home for good!” she screamed into my ear. It was hard to be bitter about that, when I could plainly see how much joy it gave my granddaughter.
Blood, as they say, is thicker than water. And as you now know, I had no blood left in the world at all. Hank and Ella didn’t know that we weren’t blood at that point, but regardless, biology always knows the truth. You can’t trick it into favoring nonblood—I had learned that long ago with Hank. Femke had me beat in every way there, now that she and Hank had combined their blood and made Ella.
Midmorning, Hank and I took Ella to an ice-skating rink. She loves to skate, and she’s actually pretty good, meaning she can go round and round the rink without falling at all, provided that no other asshole kids knock her down, which sometimes happens. Usually Hank would have been out there on the ice with her, only he never wore actual skates; he just sort of shuffled along in his designer shoes that look like sneakers and cost thousands of fucking dollars just because they have European brand names you’ve never heard of stamped on the sides.
But on this day, Hank stayed with me on the outside of the rink, watching Ella go round and round with all the other kids and dumb goofy parents. I thought Hank was sticking with me because I was still fucked in the head on account of my brain surgery and was still wearing the safety camouflage too, but it turned out that he wanted to have a man-to-man talk.