Deadly Lullaby Read Online Free PDF Page B

recorder under the living room sofa before I hit the streets. Played it back later that night, and in the midst of their drunk and stoned gossip about who was fucking who and what assholes men were, a slurry-voiced woman asked my mother, “Hey, Lorraine, what’s the latest on Rosemary’s Baby?” As if that’s how her friends referred to me all the time, my mother replied, “I told the little fucker he had to go to bed without dinner for a week after he got caught dropping soda bottles on cars off that highway overpass—then what’s he do? He comes home with a canned ham he boosted from Albertsons. I tell you, that devil’s spawn is beyond salvation.”
    The old man says now, “I was shocked when I heard you had applied to be a cop.” He shakes his head in wonder. “Did you know a background investigator actually interviewed me? She said you put my name on the application.”
    I shrug, saying nothing. The fact of the matter is I was going to write on the academy application he was dead, but a cop I knew said I’d never get away with it.
    He tilts his head, thinking back. “This woman visits me at the Q, reading questions from a checklist. The one that made a big impression on me was ‘Please comment upon your son’s suitability for the position of peace officer.’ Christ, I almost gagged. I told her I didn’t know you anymore, that we had disowned each other. The truth, as far as it went. The whole truth and nothing but would have hosed you.” A shrug. “I figured, what the hell. If the kid wants to be a cop, it is his life; let him ruin it.”
    “I bet you also figured, old man, that there’d be a day when you could corrupt me to your advantage.”
    “No, you are wrong. That thought never crossed my mind until I heard you were working for Sacci’s crew. Then I figured you would not give a shit what went down with Macky so long as you got cut in on the action.”
    Slowly shaking my head, I look away to think before addressing him again. “Now it’s you who’s wrong. I
do
give a shit. I was a mean kid, I’ll give you that, and hadn’t improved much before I joined the force. But I don’t see that as being my fault. The uniform, the badge…” I have to look away again for a couple seconds to think of the right way to phrase my thoughts. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but being a cop made me feel good about myself, like I was one of the good guys. It filled a hole you and—” I almost bring my mother into this but I can’t—I
won’t
—and pause yet again to weigh my words. “Face it, the way I was raised made dysfunction seem normal, made wrong seem right. I got to the point where I wanted to be normal, to do right.
    “And I’ve been a good cop—a great one when I was in uniform. Considering the brass knows you’re my father, I’d raise too many eyebrows if I didn’t kick ass and take names, especially the first five years or so out of the academy. And the stuff I do for Sacci hasn’t changed any of this.” The thought of working for Sacci throws me off a beat, concerns me, before I stuff it in the back of my mind and continue. “Joe’s crew is something I got pulled into because I needed money, bad. There’s a big difference between collecting shylock payments to make ends meet and sanctioning murder.”
    His face, his eyes, reveal nothing before he says, “I always heard compulsive gamblers get all gushy and reflective when they are free of their debts.”
    “Fuck you,” I say, out loud this time.
    “I am not judging,” he says, “but I would feel guilty if I failed to bring up what I perceive to be a problem you are having.”
    “
You?
Pointing out
my
problems?”
    He holds up a palm. “Forget me for the moment. All I am saying is you should address your gambling problem before it dooms you.”
    “Gambling problem. Jesus.” I rub the back of my neck. “Old man, one drunk night at Macky’s roulette wheel with a wild woman I’d just met doesn’t add up