The Fixer Read Online Free PDF Page A

sit in a wheelchair all day in front of the TV. Rick still had no idea how much his father understood when you talked to him.
    He was unshaven this morning, or maybe just poorly shaven, clumps of gray beard scattered here and there like tumbleweed on his chin and his sunken cheeks. His fingernails were long and ridged and yellow, badly in need of clipping.
    “Hey, Dad, I’m having some work done to the house.”
    Len turned and looked in his direction. His expression was hostile, disdainful, the way he constantly looked these days.
    Talking to his father felt like talking to himself, except that Rick kept some topics—Holly and all that, the flaming wreck of his career—carefully off-limits.
    “You remember Jeff Hollenbeck next door? He’s a contractor now, and he’s going to give me a good price.”
    Len stared, blinked a few times.
    “Remember I said we’re going to sell the old place, now that no one’s living there anymore?” He sidestepped the fact that he was sleeping on Len’s couch. That was too depressing to talk about; Len didn’t need to know.
    “So I wanted to ask you something.” He watched Len’s eyes. “I found something inside . . . inside the house.” He waited a beat, glanced back at the door, then back at his father. “Inside the walls. Next to your study.”
    “I
thought
it was Rick!” a loud female voice exclaimed. Rick turned, saw the aide he liked the most out of all of them, a heavyset blonde named Brenda, swoop into the room. She was probably fifty and wore her thick glossy hair in a pageboy. She wore baby-blue scrubs and had rhinestone-speckled harlequin glasses, which seemed to be an artsy affectation. The rhinestones glittered in the light from the ceiling. She smiled her big gummy smile. “Wait, it’s not Sunday, is it?”
    “Nah, decided to shake things up a bit.”
    “Phew, I guess I’m not losing it after all.”
    “My dad treating you okay?”
    “Your dad’s a sweetie,” she said. “We all love Leonard.” They both knew that Brenda had no idea what Len was like, whether he was a sweetie or an ogre. The man didn’t talk, didn’t even react. But Rick appreciated her saying it just the same.
    She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for
Judge Judy,
and I know he doesn’t like to miss that.”
    “Dad and I are going to talk just a little more.” His father had never watched
Judge Judy
or any other court show, back when he was able to voice his opinion; he doubted Len liked it now. And if he did, he had no way of letting anybody know.
    “Leonard, what about your lunch, honey?” she said. “Not hungry today?”
    “I don’t think he’s a big meat loaf fan.”
    As Brenda began to leave, Rick asked, “Do you have a pair of nail clippers?”
    “Of course.” She swiveled to one side and plucked a pair of clippers out of a dresser drawer, handing them to Rick with a flourish.
    “Let’s see your hands, Dad.” He took hold of Len’s left hand and began to clip his father’s thick, grooved nails, and Brenda drifted out of the room.
    Rick clipped slowly. His father held out each hand, one at a time. It felt oddly intimate. It was like taking care of a small child. He thought about how everything sooner or later comes back around. He realized with a jolt that his eyes had teared up.
    He stopped clipping. “Jeff and I were doing some exploratory demolition,” he said quietly, “and we opened up the wall next to your study, at the back of the closet.” Len’s mouth was frozen in that haughty expression, but his watery eyes seemed anxious. They followed Rick’s. “There was money back there. A huge amount of money. Millions of dollars. How did it get there, any idea?” Rick swallowed, waited. “Is it yours?”
    Len’s restless eyes came to a stop, looked directly into Rick’s.
    “Is it?”
    The old man’s eyes bore into his. Then he began to blink rapidly, three or four times. Nervously, maybe.
    “Are you signaling me, Dad?” His father