there as a prisoner, but I dug my way out and escaped. It’s taken me a long time to get here.’ It’s starting to get a little more convincing now, but I still have my doubts. ‘Does that mean you’re going to live with us now?’ I say to him. ‘Not exactly,’ he says, ‘but that shouldn’t stop us from getting to know each other.’ That seems all wrong, and now I’m pretty sure that he’s trying to trick me. ‘You can’t be my father,’ I say again. ‘Fathers don’t go away. They live at home with their families.’ ‘Some fathers,’ the guy says, ‘but not all of them. Look. If you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it to you. Your name’s Pozzi, right? John Anthony Pozzi. And your father’s name has to be Pozzi, too. Right?’ I just nod my head at what he’s saying, and then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. ‘Look at this, kid,’ he says, and then he takes the driver’s license out of the wallet and hands it to me. ‘Read what it says on that piece of paper.’ And so I read it to him: ‘John Anthony Pozzi.’ And I’ll be damned if the whole story isn’t written there in black and white.”
Pozzi paused for a moment and took a sip of beer. “I don’t know,” he continued. “When I think about it now, it’s like it happened in a dream or something. I can remember parts of it, but the rest just blurs over in my mind, like maybe it never really happened. I remember that my old man took me out for a spin in his Caddy, but I don’t know how long it lasted, I can’t even rememberwhat we talked about. But I remember the air conditioning in the car and the smell of the leather upholstery, I remember feeling annoyed that my hands were all sticky from the Popsicle I’d been eating. The main thing, I guess, was that I was still scared. Even though I’d seen the driver’s license, I started doubting it all over again. Something funny’s going on, I kept telling myself. This guy might say he’s my father, but that doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth. It could be a trick of some kind, a hoax. All this is going through my head as we drive around town, and then all of a sudden we’re back in front of my house. It’s like the whole thing took about half a second. My old man doesn’t even get out of the car. He just reaches into his pocket, pulls out a hundred-dollar bill, and slaps it into my hand. ‘Here, Jack,’ he says, ‘a little something so you’ll know I’m thinking about you.’ Shit. It was more money than I’d ever seen in my life. I didn’t even know they made things like hundred-dollar bills. So I get out of the car with this C-note in my hand, and I remember thinking to myself, Yeah, I guess this means he’s my father, after all. But before I can think of anything to say, he’s squeezing my shoulder and saying good-bye to me. ‘See you around, kid,’ he says, or something like that, and then he starts up the car and drives off.”
“A funny way to meet your father,” Nashe said.
“You’re telling me.”
“But what about when you came here to the Plaza?”
“That didn’t happen until three or four years later.”
“And you didn’t see him in all that time?”
“Not once. It was like he just vanished again. I kept asking my mother about him, but she was pretty tight-lipped about it, she didn’t want to say much. Later on, I found out that he’d spent a few years in the can. That’s why they got divorced, she told me. He’d been up to no good.”
“What did he do?”
“Got himself involved in a boiler-room scam. You know, sellingstocks in a dummy corporation. One of those high-class swindles.”
“He must have done all right after he got out. Well enough to drive a Cadillac anyway.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. I think he wound up in Florida selling real estate. Struck it rich in condo land.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“I’m not sure of anything. I haven’t heard from the guy in a long time. He could be dead now for
Pozzi paused for a moment and took a sip of beer. “I don’t know,” he continued. “When I think about it now, it’s like it happened in a dream or something. I can remember parts of it, but the rest just blurs over in my mind, like maybe it never really happened. I remember that my old man took me out for a spin in his Caddy, but I don’t know how long it lasted, I can’t even rememberwhat we talked about. But I remember the air conditioning in the car and the smell of the leather upholstery, I remember feeling annoyed that my hands were all sticky from the Popsicle I’d been eating. The main thing, I guess, was that I was still scared. Even though I’d seen the driver’s license, I started doubting it all over again. Something funny’s going on, I kept telling myself. This guy might say he’s my father, but that doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth. It could be a trick of some kind, a hoax. All this is going through my head as we drive around town, and then all of a sudden we’re back in front of my house. It’s like the whole thing took about half a second. My old man doesn’t even get out of the car. He just reaches into his pocket, pulls out a hundred-dollar bill, and slaps it into my hand. ‘Here, Jack,’ he says, ‘a little something so you’ll know I’m thinking about you.’ Shit. It was more money than I’d ever seen in my life. I didn’t even know they made things like hundred-dollar bills. So I get out of the car with this C-note in my hand, and I remember thinking to myself, Yeah, I guess this means he’s my father, after all. But before I can think of anything to say, he’s squeezing my shoulder and saying good-bye to me. ‘See you around, kid,’ he says, or something like that, and then he starts up the car and drives off.”
“A funny way to meet your father,” Nashe said.
“You’re telling me.”
“But what about when you came here to the Plaza?”
“That didn’t happen until three or four years later.”
“And you didn’t see him in all that time?”
“Not once. It was like he just vanished again. I kept asking my mother about him, but she was pretty tight-lipped about it, she didn’t want to say much. Later on, I found out that he’d spent a few years in the can. That’s why they got divorced, she told me. He’d been up to no good.”
“What did he do?”
“Got himself involved in a boiler-room scam. You know, sellingstocks in a dummy corporation. One of those high-class swindles.”
“He must have done all right after he got out. Well enough to drive a Cadillac anyway.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. I think he wound up in Florida selling real estate. Struck it rich in condo land.”
“But you’re not sure.”
“I’m not sure of anything. I haven’t heard from the guy in a long time. He could be dead now for
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