“Tell me what happened.”
“It’s Eddie and Ricky. They got into a fight with that Flaherty kid. Ricky got the worst of it, five stitches in his chin, but he’s fine. Really. They both are. Please don’t worry. How is it down there? You must be going through hell.”
“It’s not that bad,” I lied. “I’m actually leaving now. I’m on my way.”
Chapter 22
ANGRY, DIRTY, AND EMOTIONALLY HOLLOW, I parked in my driveway and sat for a moment. I smelled my hands
. I’d scrubbed them at the hospital, but they still smelled like burnt metal and death. I poured another squirt of Purell into them and rubbed until they hurt. Then I stumbled out and up the porch steps and through the front door.
The dining-room table was packed full with my family having dinner. It was silent as a graveyard as I came through the kitchen door. I stepped down to the end of the table and checked out Ricky’s chin and Eddie’s shiner.
While I was carrying out the dead, some sick kid had savagely beaten up my ten- and eleven-year-old sons. This was my sanctuary, and even this was under siege. Nowhere was safe anymore.
“What happened, guys?”
“We were just playing basketball at the court by the beach,” Ricky said.
“Then that Flaherty kid came with his older friends,” Eddie jumped in. “They took the ball, and when we tried to get it back, they started punching.”
“Okay, guys. I know you’re upset, but we’re going to have to try to get through this the best we can,” I said with a strained smile. “The good news is that everyone is going to be okay, right?”
“You call this okay?” Juliana said, pointing at Ricky’s chin. She made Eddie open his mouth to show me his chipped tooth.
“Dad, you’re a cop. Can’t you just arrest this punk?” Jane wanted to know.
“It’s not that simple,” I said, my voice calm, and a convincing fake smile plastered on my face. “There’s witnesses and police reports and other adult stuff you guys shouldn’t worry about. I’ll take care of this. Now, until then, I want everyone to lay low. Stick around the house. Maybe stay away from the beach for a few days.”
“A few days? But this is our vacation,” Brian said.
“Yeah, our beach vacation,” Trent chimed in.
“Now, now, children. Your, uh, father knows best,” Seamus said, sensing how I was about to snap. “We need to be Christian about this. We need to turn the other cheek.”
“Yeah,” Brian said, “so the next time we get socked, the first stitches don’t get reopened.”
Brian was right. We were getting our asses kicked, and I was too drained to come up with some good bullshit to bluff them that everything was fine.
That’s when Bridget started crying from the other end of the table, followed almost simultaneously by her twin, Fiona.
“I want to go home,” Fiona said.
“I don’t like it here anymore,” Bridget added. “I don’t want Ricky and Eddie to be hurt, Daddy. Let’s go to Aunt Suzie’s for the rest of our vacation.” Aunt Suzie lived in Montgomery, New York, where she and Uncle Jerry owned a mind-blowingly fabulous restaurant called Back Yard Bistro. We had vacationed at nearby Orange Lake the previous summer.
“Girls, look at me. No one’s going to get hurt again, and we can still have fun. I really will take care of this. I promise.”
They smiled. Small smiles, but smiles nonetheless.
I couldn’t let them down, I thought. No excuses. New York City under attack or not.
I’d have to think of something. But what?
Chapter 23
IT WAS DARK WHEN Berger crossed the Whitestone Bridge. He buzzed up the hardtop as he pulled the Mercedes convertible off 678 onto Northern Boulevard in Flushing, Queens.
Traffic, crummy airports, an even crummier baseball team. Was there anything that didn’t suck about Queens?