his eyes.
“Are you thirsty?” Patsy patted the blanket on top of his knee. “I could get you some water, or there’s soda if you want it. Do you want a Coke?”
Franny was just about to tell her they were fine but Fix nodded. “Water. Water would be good.”
Patsy looked at her. “You?”
Franny shook her head.
Patsy went off to get his water and Fix waited, opening his eyes so that he could watch her go.
“So then what happened?” Franny said. This was the deal of taking her father to chemo when none of the doctors spoke in terms of a cure: this was the time she had, these were all the stories she was going to get. It was why she and Caroline took turns flying out to Los Angeles, because they’d never been with him for very long. It was to give Marjorie a break because it was Marjorie who did all the work, but more than anything it was to have a chance at the stories he was going to take with him. She would call Caroline tonight after their father had gone to sleep and tell her about Lomer.
“The house filled up with people—cops, the ambulance guys working. Lomer found an envelope in the trash and he drew some mice on the back for the littlest girl. It was clear she was in serious trouble with her parents and Lomer felt bad for her. The father went to the hospital in the ambulance, the mother and the kids, my God, we probably left them in the house for somebody else to finish off, I don’t even know. It must have been two years before I thought about them again. We took the guy Mercado back to the station and booked him. When we were done it was nearly one in the morning and all we wanted was coffee. The coffee at the station was unfit. That was Lomer’s word—‘
unfit
.’ I used to find myself thinking that if they’d troubled themselves to get decent coffee then Lomer would have had a cup at the station, but those are the kind of thoughts that make you crazy. We went to a gas station over on Olympic. Not close but close enough. The guy who owned the place spent real money on his coffee and he taught all the kids who worked for him the importance of dumping it out and making a fresh pot. People would drive an extra couple of blocks to buy their gas from a guy who had good coffee. It wasn’t like it istoday where there’s nobody to fill up your tank but you can get a goddamn cappuccino. A coffee pot in a gas station, especially if the coffee was good, that was full-on innovation. The guy made the coffee and the cops came around and sat in the parking lot drinking the coffee, and then more people would come because they felt safer because of the cops. It was a little ecosystem based on coffee, so that’s where we went. I was driving. The guy who drives drives all night, and the guy who isn’t driving gets the coffee, so Lomer went in. I have to think he didn’t see what was going on. He was eight, ten feet in the door before he was shot. And I didn’t see what was going on because I was writing in the log. I heard the shot and I looked up and Lomer was gone. What I saw was the kid behind the cash register raising up his hands, palms out, and then this guy Mercado turned around and shot him too.”
“Wait,” Franny said. “Mercado? The guy from the house?”
Fix nodded. “That’s what I saw. The gas station was just like all gas stations were back then—like a fish tank with a bright light on top—so I got a very clear look: Latino, twenty-five, five seven, white shirt, blue pants, some blood on the shirt. I’d been looking at this guy for the past two hours. He’d been sitting at my desk. I knew him, he knew me. He looked out the window and saw me there. He fired one more shot but he must have been rattled because the bullet didn’t even hit the car. All it did was punch out the glass in the front of the station. Mercado ran out the door and went around the back. I heard a car but I didn’t see it. I went in the station and Lomer was on the floor.” Fix stopped there, thought for a
“Are you thirsty?” Patsy patted the blanket on top of his knee. “I could get you some water, or there’s soda if you want it. Do you want a Coke?”
Franny was just about to tell her they were fine but Fix nodded. “Water. Water would be good.”
Patsy looked at her. “You?”
Franny shook her head.
Patsy went off to get his water and Fix waited, opening his eyes so that he could watch her go.
“So then what happened?” Franny said. This was the deal of taking her father to chemo when none of the doctors spoke in terms of a cure: this was the time she had, these were all the stories she was going to get. It was why she and Caroline took turns flying out to Los Angeles, because they’d never been with him for very long. It was to give Marjorie a break because it was Marjorie who did all the work, but more than anything it was to have a chance at the stories he was going to take with him. She would call Caroline tonight after their father had gone to sleep and tell her about Lomer.
“The house filled up with people—cops, the ambulance guys working. Lomer found an envelope in the trash and he drew some mice on the back for the littlest girl. It was clear she was in serious trouble with her parents and Lomer felt bad for her. The father went to the hospital in the ambulance, the mother and the kids, my God, we probably left them in the house for somebody else to finish off, I don’t even know. It must have been two years before I thought about them again. We took the guy Mercado back to the station and booked him. When we were done it was nearly one in the morning and all we wanted was coffee. The coffee at the station was unfit. That was Lomer’s word—‘
unfit
.’ I used to find myself thinking that if they’d troubled themselves to get decent coffee then Lomer would have had a cup at the station, but those are the kind of thoughts that make you crazy. We went to a gas station over on Olympic. Not close but close enough. The guy who owned the place spent real money on his coffee and he taught all the kids who worked for him the importance of dumping it out and making a fresh pot. People would drive an extra couple of blocks to buy their gas from a guy who had good coffee. It wasn’t like it istoday where there’s nobody to fill up your tank but you can get a goddamn cappuccino. A coffee pot in a gas station, especially if the coffee was good, that was full-on innovation. The guy made the coffee and the cops came around and sat in the parking lot drinking the coffee, and then more people would come because they felt safer because of the cops. It was a little ecosystem based on coffee, so that’s where we went. I was driving. The guy who drives drives all night, and the guy who isn’t driving gets the coffee, so Lomer went in. I have to think he didn’t see what was going on. He was eight, ten feet in the door before he was shot. And I didn’t see what was going on because I was writing in the log. I heard the shot and I looked up and Lomer was gone. What I saw was the kid behind the cash register raising up his hands, palms out, and then this guy Mercado turned around and shot him too.”
“Wait,” Franny said. “Mercado? The guy from the house?”
Fix nodded. “That’s what I saw. The gas station was just like all gas stations were back then—like a fish tank with a bright light on top—so I got a very clear look: Latino, twenty-five, five seven, white shirt, blue pants, some blood on the shirt. I’d been looking at this guy for the past two hours. He’d been sitting at my desk. I knew him, he knew me. He looked out the window and saw me there. He fired one more shot but he must have been rattled because the bullet didn’t even hit the car. All it did was punch out the glass in the front of the station. Mercado ran out the door and went around the back. I heard a car but I didn’t see it. I went in the station and Lomer was on the floor.” Fix stopped there, thought for a
Similar Books
